Date: Sat, 2 Jul 2011 00:06:46 -0400 (EDT)
From: scotttimscott09@aol.com
Subject: A Quarterback's Tale

This story is complete fiction. Only read this story if you're not offended
by sexual situations between adults and minors.

Any resemblance by name or description to anyone dead or alive is totally
coincidental. If you are not of legal age or if this content is not legal
in your area, please do not read this. Please don't post or publish this
story without asking my permission. If you have comments, please email me
at scotttimscott09@aol.com.


"A QUARTERBACK'S TALE"

	Boy was I fuckin horny!

	I had just awoken and my sheets were absolutely soakin wet. My hair
was matted with sweat and it seemed my whole body was covered with a sheen
of perspiration that continued to form. I was a fuckin mess. The dream I
had just had was so totally fuckin awesome that I wanted to jerk-off
immediately. The thin white sheet that was covering me stuck out (proudly,
I might add) with one of the biggest woodies I ever had.

	The `rents had gone to work already; I vaguely remembered hearing
their cars leave the driveway, and to boot I had a free day from school; a
teachers' seminar thing. With that I threw off the covers and grasped my
thick, hard teenaged cock and figured I'd work one out real fast. After
spreading my legs comfortably wide I was set to go. But as soon as I
wrapped my right hand around my solid 8 inches of flesh--with my left hand
tugging at my aching nuts--I knew that I would spew my white-hot young seed
in about 2 seconds flat. I was gasping like hell and rolling my hot ass
deep into the mattress.

	I knew I had to stop right then and there, cause I wanted to relive
my soon-to-be dick-draining dream over and over and over again. It was
awesome.

	But, I digress.

* * *

	Hey, my name is Eric and I'm the quarterback of my school's
football team out here in the Midwest. I'm 5-feet, 11-inches tall and
weigh-in at 185 lbs. and I'm pretty solid. My blond hair is long (probably
too long, but I think it's hot...I love long hair) and my eyes are really
cool; sometimes they're blue and sometimes they're green, depending on what
I'm wearing. By the way our team colors (The Gladiators) are emerald green
and metallic gold; that's when the green-eyed look really stands out. Way
cool. Luckily I got the whole thing going on and I'm pretty thankful.

	I play my ass off for the team. I love football. I really love
it. I work out every single day. I get really pumped especially on game
day.

	As team captain I also like seeing the guys as they enter the
locker room, either at Home or at Away Games. They're all so psyched up you
can actually feel it in the air. The comraderie is awesome. the high-fives
are thunderous; tending to bounce off the pedestrian green-colored
cinder-block walls of this all-male environment.

	Ah yes, then there's the smell of testosterone that permeates the
air as the guys start to strip down in that enclosed space. It's
mind-boggling--causing my sense of smell to work overtime. I mean its
fragrance really should be bottled and sold to anyone with a thing for
young, hot--let alone virile--male high-school jocks like me and my buds. I
can see it being marketed now: "The Essence of Eric," "Scott's Sport Scent"
or "Matt's Musk." Just thinking' out loud here..

	Hot!

	So, as the guys start to shed their street clothes I can't help but
notice how we've all filled out during the past 4 years. Hard, young bodies
have taken shape after all the years of workouts and rough-and
tumble-games. Big, strong thighs, totally ripped pecs and depending on the
guy either a solid 6-pack or (in my eyes) a perfect 8-pack goin' on in with
the abs.

	Next there's the glutes. All perfectly shaped, high and proud; not
a flat ass in the bunch. By the way when I say "perfectly shaped, high and
proud" I mean that. You could probably bounce a quarter off any one of
those buns from across the room, and it's practically guaranteed the coin
would boomerang right back and sting the palm of your hand.

	Lastly, and what really counts is what we're packin' up front. The
guys have also grown in that respect throughout the years too. We've all
traded up to bigger jocks and cups. That's a good thing. We all proudly lay
these accessories down on the bench for all to see. All marked "Large" or
"X-Large" in big bold lettering; nary a Medium or Small in the lot. By the
way we found a manufacturer that makes custom-fit straps. Since we're all
still pretty trim at the waistline--not an ounce of extra fat among us--the
"Large" or "X-Large" refers to the pouch size and not the elastic that
wraps around our waist. It really makes for a comfy and snug fit (if you
know what I'm sayin'). Sadly I hear some teams have begun to wear a
boxer-brief type of support. That doesn't work for us. We're all "real"
guys and prefer the tried-and-true. And we like the look. I mean we LIKE
the look. It's all about grabbin' and rearranging our junk.

	Anyway, we're just hangin' out for a while before the coach walks
through the locker room and gives us "the look." We abruptly break up our
little chit-chats and go to work in donning our beloved school uni's,
because the game's gonna start in about 30 minutes.

	Now, this where it gets good (though the after-game showers are
where it gets REALLY good and hot. Scott (aka "Scott's Scent") and Matt
("Matt's Musk") have lockers on both sides of mine; Scott to the left, Matt
to the right. We're feverishly trying to get dressed as quickly as possible
because we still have to get some plays down with the coach.

	As I'm sitting on the bench and putting my sneaks into the locker
Scott begins to slide his jockstrap up his thighs, and his ass is just two
inches from my face. Right when I look up I can see his ass spreading out
as he puts one foot on the bench to tug it the rest of the way up. What a
perfect view of his ass, so fuckin' hot and tight and I can swear his
asshole is winking at me personally. I can feel my face blush as he looks
back at me and says "Sorry, dude." I just kind of blink and say "No prob
man" but my brain is saying "Houston, we DO have a problem."

	He finally sits down to pull on his uni pants and I breath a sigh
of relief. Then, all of a sudden I hear an "Oh fuck!" from my right. I spin
around and see a forlorn look on Matt's chiseled face. "What's up dude?" I
ask. I see him rummaging around his gear bag deeper and deeper. "I forgot
my cup. It must have slipped out of my bag in my bedroom when I was getting
my stuff together." I look over at his perfectly jock-strapped and
"cup-ready" pouch. I mean it's right in my line of sight and I could have
sworn he had already inserted said cup because his strap is protruding from
the front in an almost obscene way. I feel more beads of sweat forming on
my brow and just hope that it's not visible. "Dude, chill. Same thing
happened to me a couple of weeks ago. I think I lost it at that Away Game
against The Mavericks, so I bought a backup one, just in case."

	As I say that I hear Scott next to me rummaging for his cleats in
his gym bag. Damn, he's almost ready I thought. I turn back around to
Matt. "Anyway, I have it with me, so if you want to borrow it that's cool."
"You sure dude? I mean it is your cup and all" Matt says. "Nah, I haven't
worn it yet (I lied), so it's yours. Just don't get it too funky" I
chided. He kinda chuckled, giving me his megawatt smile, grabbed it and
inserted it into his already pronounced pouch. Be still my heart.

	All was good...his sweat was going to be mixed with mine; I could
hardly wait to get home that night, put that puppy up to my nose, huff like
hell, and really work one out. But first we had some ass to kick on the
field.

	We hurriedly got dressed, went over our plays and ran out onto the
field, with the crowd roaring their approval. All we had to do is win this
game and then we'd go to the State Finals. I was pumped and my dick was
hopelessly fluffed with thoughts of both Scott and Matt's hard rockin'
bodies seared into my mind. I needed to concentrate.

	After the lineup was announced we both took our sides preparing for
the kick-off. This was a do-or-die game. We've had perfect season up to
this point and the pressure was overwhelming. Oh yeah, the opposing team,
The Vikings (from the other side of town), opted to receive after the coin
toss. Game time,

	Our kicker sailed the ball all the way down to their 15-yard line,
so they only had 85 yards to go to score. Yuk, yuk. Surprisingly the
receiver hauled ass for 20 yards to make 1st and 10. Damn. I was
pissed. Time to put some plays in action (way earlier than I expected). We
did our best to confuse them. Defense going to the left and then suddenly
to the right. They didn't have a chance with that one and gained shit. As a
matter of fact they lost 5 yards when their quarterback drew back for a
throw we tackled him at their 30. After 4 more plays they failed to gain
more than 7 yards so it was our ball at their 37. We were hungry for the
win.

	We went into our huddle, discussed our play and made our formation.
Scott hiked the ball to me (what a hot ass I thought, staring for a split
second). Snapping out of my trance I grabbed at the game ball, and stood up
with the it gripped in my right hand rarin' to go. I scanned the gridiron
and saw Matt already barreling down the field, doing his sidestepping
routine around the `Kings and he glided perfectly into the End Zone.
Touchdown! We also made the field goal with no problem. Now it was 7-Zip.
We're on our way.

	The game got tougher after that. Conversion after conversion.
Damn. Suddenly it was halftime. Time to regroup.

	We entered the locker room knowing we were ahead at that point--not
by much in the whole scheme of things--so all was not lost. Damn I love
football. The guys were all huddled together ingesting water and the usual
assortment of sports drinks. As this was going on they were going over the
plays that worked, the ones that didn't and the ones yet to be put into
action. Some of the guys wanted to use a couple of the past plays that
worked so well when we played The Vikings last season (as only a few new
players were on their roster this year--and those were just basically
decorating the benches), but I had to rattle my brain to remember them.

	Fortunately, I had written them all down last year and had entered
them into my PDA. I went over to my locker to retrieve them. As I was
walking over to my locker I was also thinking of another play we could use
if need be. Suddenly I tripped over a gym bag which was sticking halfway
out from under the bench where Scott had been sitting. The handle strap got
caught in my cleats and I had to bend down to free my foot. The whole bag
fell upside down at that point and the contents came tumbling out. Scott
suddenly glanced over and his face went white as a sheet. As I began to
gather up the stuff I noticed a plastic bag with a cup inside it. It was
sealed and dated: "Gladiators (we won, 27-17) Vs. Mavericks. Smithdale
Stadium, Fri., Oct. 15, 2010." I looked further and on the cup itself were
the initials "E.M." Only one guy has those initials on the team. Me. Eric
Martin. It was my "lost" cup in his gear. WTF!

	My heart was pumping in my chest so fuckin' hard at this point I
thought that it would rip open my chest. Scott had stolen my cup and had it
fuckin' preserved. I looked back over at Scott and thought that he would
pass out right there on the spot.

	"Hey dude, you okay" inquired Matt. Scott gulped and barely
squeaked out "I'm good. Just more dehydrated than I thought." Matt handed
him another sports drink which Scott drank in one massive gulp.

	By that point I had retrieved my PDA, looked up the play and went
over it with my guys, the coach lurking in the background. Every time I
looked over at Scott his eyes diverted to the floor in shame. He's so cute
when he's embarrassed. "You got that guys?" They all nodded their heads,
except Scott. "Earth to Scott. Did you get that?" I asked him. Scott
sheepishly shook his head signifying a "yes" and we were on our way. We
high-fived and hurried out of the locker room and trudged back onto the
field.

	The second half had both teams piling up the points. We were tied,
21-21, and near the 2-minute warning. That play from last year was just
what we needed and we used it several times. Those clowns, The Vikings,
just couldn't wrap their arms around it though we used it
repeatedly. Finally the last play of the game and we were at the their
45-yard line. We went into the huddle, went over the oft-repeated play one
last time, just to be sure. The last thing I said coming out our strategy
session, as it were, was "Make me proud guys. Make `E.M' proud." Some guys
were miffed that I referred to myself that way.

	Scott knew what I meant and as I went way back, holding that damned
pigskin in my hand he was already hauling ass down the field. I looked
left. I looked right. I made sure Scott was still in position and I hurled
that ball with all my might. Scott ran up a few yards with arms
outstretched, jumped up retrieved that spinning orb then turned an abrupt
left, clutching the ball to his chest and ran like hell all the way into
the end-zone. Touch-FUCKIN'-down!

	Yes! We also made the extra point giving us a final score of
28-21. We were going to the finals.

	As we made our way back into the locker room I grabbed Scott around
his waist with one arm, and scruffed up his hair with my right hand. "Way
to go dude, way to go." He smiled at me with his great toothy grin and
thanked me profusely. He was beaming and I was horny.

	All the guys were delirious with joy. We were going to the Finals
and even though a lot of the guys did great it was Scott who made the final
play. Everyone was hugging him and slapping him on his bubble butt. After a
few minutes we started shucking our uni's and gathered our towels and body
wash and headed towards the showers. Pretty soon the locker room was
deserted and you could hear the showers going full-force as the guys
cleaned themselves to get ready for the after-game celebration.

	I had stayed back to talk with the coach as the guys had gotten
undressed in preparation for the shower. What a sight. All those guys
completely nude in all their hot, young, testosterone-laden glory. I could
not say what the coach talked with me about, even if you put a gun to my
head. All I saw was flesh. Flesh I lusted after. Flesh I wanted. Flesh I
recently dreamt about and lusted for night-in and night-out.

	When the coach was finished he told me to lock up his office after
all the guys were gone (he kept it open just in case we need spare towels,
sports drinks or whatever). I was gonna bitch that that was really the
towel boys' job, but since the dude had not showed up tonight, of all
nights, I didn't consider it a biggie. I said "Okay coach." Coming out of
his office he bellowed, "See ya tomorrow guys." We already knew we'd be
practicing tomorrow, Saturday, in preparation for the finals, so we
acknowledged him with a collective "K coach." As he was walking past me
toward the door he smacked my ass and told me he was proud of the team and
what a good job we had done. We both smiled really big.

	The guys started to come out of the showers, still toweling
themselves off. What a hot scene. Dripping hair, dripping bodies and
dripping dude-hood (is that a word? It is now.) The guys were in a hurry
but nonetheless they casually and methodically dried themselves off. What a
flesh-feast. Low-hanging teen cum-filled balls, floppy dicks (er,
dude-hoods) and nips that just needed a good thorough sucking.
	Snapping out of my wanderlust I noticed that Matt and Scott had not
come out of the showers. Uhm, this could be interesting. I went back
towards the showers telling them to get their asses in gear. But Matt had
already gotten out but was taking a wicked piss. He strolled past me giving
me the celebratory high-five.

	One shower was still running full blast but there was also some
noise (groans) that were barely audible. I peered through the steam in the
room, barely seeing the lone figure of in the dense fog. But as I opened
the doors some of the steam had started dissipated and all I could see was
my man Scott in the throes of rubbing one out. His fuckin' cock was totally
erect, extended and blood red. His nuts were hot, tight and nestled tightly
up against his body. His head was bent totally all the way back with his
eyes rolling in their sockets. "Oh, E.M. I love you man. You fuckin'
rock. I'm glad I made you proud man. I so fuckin' want you E.M." And with
that he blasted such a massive rope of cum that it practically destroyed
the wall on the opposite side of the showers.

	As I continued to look on, totally mesmerized, 6 more awesome thick
strings shot out of the end of his delicious-looking cock. I almost came
right then and there, but I didn't want him to see or hear me. I just
hurried back out to the shower area stunned as hell and just stood near the
urinals trying to regroup. Fortunately all the guys were gone by then and
on their way to Matt's house for the post-game fete.

	I just had unleash my load. And I had to do it right now!

	I carefully walked over to Scott's gym bag, reached deep down in
and retrieved the plastic bag holding my gym cup. I was fuckin' rock
hard. I mean stiff as a railroad spike. I opened up the top of the bag,
grabbed my dick, closed my eyes and within 3 seconds I pumped out the
hottest, thickest, gooiest fuckin' load in my young life, totally
double-coating the "prize" that Scott had pilfered at the last Away Game. I
carefully pulled the closure across the top of the bag and carefully set it
down on the bench.

	Going over to the white board that we used to outline our plays, I
grabbed a green marker (to match the color of our uni`s) off the ledge,
went back to the bench and wrote on the plastic bag "No, Scott 'you'
rock. And thanks for the play. Love, E.M." I placed it right on top of his
gear.

	I went back into the coach's darkened office and waited for Scott
to come out of the showers. He saw that the room was deserted and just
kinda shrugged his shoulders. Sitting down bare-assed to get dressed he
noticed the plastic bag right away. He lifted it up and looked at it; his
hands trembling as he read the note I had inscribed on it. He then ran his
fingers over the plastic. It was still warm. He eagerly open the bag and
gingerly ran his fingers across the gooey cup. He licked his fingertips
ever so slowly and was again hard as a frickin' rock.

	As he tipped the bag up to his gaping and drooling mouth he tilted
his head back and watched the thick batch of semen make its way towards the
opening. As the first dollop of my jizz oozed onto his tongue he grabbed
his cock and started to stroke. He took another big hit and just swirled it
around his mouth, as he panted with his eyes closed. His whole body was
shaking so bad I thought he'd self-implode; but he was steadfast in his
lust, his jacking hand was a blur.

	As his cock exploded with more ropes of molten-hot cum, I carefully
walked up behind him, softly putting my hand on his shoulder and whispered
in his ear, "Let's go party, stud."

--Copyright 2011. Tim Scott.

* * *

Okay guys. I'd like to continue this story if I get some positive feedback.
Continuing/expanding story lines and new characters can also be handled if
you like. You can e-mail me at scotttimscott09@aol.com. Oh, and happy
stroking.