Date: Tue, 12 Jun 2007 01:19:10 -0400
From: Nicholas A Ryan <nickwhatever@juno.com>
Subject: Golden Balls Chapter Seven

DISCLAIMER: The writer in no way questions the actual sexuality of the
athletes/celebrities involved. Any situations and incidents are purely
fictional and in no way reflect actual events. The writer also holds no
license agreement to the following actors, teams, organizations and/or
movies that may be mentioned. All persons and films are a copy write
and/or are the property of the people, organizations and films
themselves. The author in no way holds or maintains any rights to films,
athletes and actors.


Author's note; thanks for the patience awaiting follow-ups!


Chapter Seven

A Jet prepared to leave the runway at Kennedy National Airport.

	Troy Aikman observed the over head flashing light indicating the need to
fasten his seat belt.  The NFL star was seated in a comfortable seat in
first class.  On the aisle seat, Aikman briefly glanced at the wealthy
matron seated between him and the window.  She was popping a few
tranquilizers.  Noting his curious glance she wanly smiled.
	"Flights terrify me."  She sipped from a small expensive looking flask.
"I need the....rest to endure long flights."
	Troy nodded and smiled politely before turning his attention to the
other visible seats in first class.  He grimaced at the usual uptight
matrons and spoiled heirs.  He sighed in resignation and was about to
close his eyes hoping for his companions sleep, but only naturally.
	"This way sir," a flight attendant's voice broke Aikman's forced revere.
 He opened his eyes to observe the woman helping a vaguely familiar man
to the seat opposite of his over the aisle.  Aikman took in the man's
solid built form and handsome features as he sank in his seat.  The man
briefly noted Aikman and nodded in pleasant acknowledgement.  Aikman
found the man exceedingly sexy but couldn't pin down the niggling
recognition.  The man was in his late thirties or very early forties,
like Aikman with almost similar hair coloring.  His features were
chiseled and his eyes were a fair color.  Aikman couldn't quite see them
directly to judge if they were blue or green, or perhaps gray.
Nevertheless, the man was incredibly sexy.  Aikman chagrined his luck as
he adjusted his straining boner, seated next to a hot stud to ensure
torment throughout the flight.  He definitely couldn't wait to get to
London so he could fuck the shit out of Beckham's tight soccer ass!


London, England;

	David Beckham entered the BBC studios casually dressed in jeans and silk
shirt.  He was greeted by a studio assistant who directed him to the
appropriate studio for the shoot.  The fragrance line he and Victoria
backed was filming a series of TV spots to fight off the plethora of
knock off scents that had recently hit the market.
	"Becks," the director gushed as Beckham entered the lighted studio sound
stage.  The over head lights were intense and Beckham had to squint
briefly before his eyes adjusted to the lighting.
	"Clive," Beckham greeted the flouncy director.
	"The ad agency has come up with a great by line."  Clive ushered Beckham
toward a set graced with a white dais and several white cubicle pieces.
"Its very cheeky," he assured with a glint, "the women and poofters are
going to eat it up."
	"Yeah," Beckham replied with less enthusiasm.  "Tell me a bit more."
	"Well," he chided, "why don't I show you a bit of our game plan."  Clive
turned to an assistant.  "Can you get Ben out here?"
	The assistant nodded and soon disappeared off set through a door on the
far side of the studio.  She returned several minutes later with a man at
her side.  Beckham tilted his head back and pursed his lips at the sight
of the man.  Actor Ben Price, formerly with the series 'Footballers'
Wives' nodded to Clive as he drew near.  Since the series wrap-up, Price
had allowed his hair to go back to its natural color, but now he was
dolled up as 'Wives'' character Conrad Gates, metero-sexual clone of
Beckham-bleached locks and all.
	Clive introduced the two men.  "David," he grinned, "this is Ben Price."
 He glanced from Beckham to Price.  "Ben, David Beckham."
	Ben Price extended a hand and Beckham grasped in with his own in
greeting.  "Mr. Beckham," he grinned, "it's a pleasure to meet you."
	"Like wise mate," Beckham lifted one side of his mouth into a lopsided
grin, "but please, call me David."
	Price nodded.
	"Now," Clive ushered the two men closer to the white platform.  "Picture
it, you and Ben, of course the audience sees him as Conrad Gates, in a
cheeky pose with a bit of arse flesh shown.
	Price and Beckham exchanged a humorous glance.
	"The voice over urges the audience to be sure of an original."  Clive
nodded his head confidently, "now here's the clinch, make up is going to
apply similar henna tattoos to your exposed arse flesh.  Becks," he
demonstratively emphasized, "yours will say arse by David Beckham while
Ben's will say arse by BBC."
	The two younger men exchanged speculative but interested glances.
	"Fantastic," he gushed, "right?"
	Beckham lightly chuckled but continued to hold Price's gaze.  It was
like looking in a distorted mirror.  Suddenly Becks was overcome by a
narcissistic thought.  What would it be like to fuck him self?

Chicago;

	Josh Matthews had his pants down around his ankles and was bent over one
of the seats in the stand overlooking the arena.  His creamy bubble butt
was preferred to John Cena and his jutting hard cock.
	Cena looked at the creamy globes and sneered in pleasure, "you ready for
it boi?"
	"Ready as I'll ever be," Matthews said gripping the backs of the seats
on either side of the seat he was pressed over.
	Cena chuckled.  "You sound a bit scared pussy boi."
	"I can take it dude," he muttered in false bravado.  His entire body was
trembling, with anticipation and trepidation.  Matthews had sucked off a
few dudes before, Test and Randy Orton came to mind with their hard veiny
cocks.  But.....He'd never been fucked before.  Still....Cena was one hot
stud and he wasn't willing to pass up the chance of a life time.  "Give
it to me bro'," Matthews urged.
	Cena stroked his cock as he squatted before Matthews' cheeks.  Palming
each globe, he tugged them apart exposing Matthews pink quivering hole.
Cena spit on the pulsing ring.  "Got to lube you up," he murmured before
he spit again.
	Matthews shivered at the contact of the spittle mingled with the rush of
Cena's warm breath.  "Ohhhh," he gasped and blinked in surprise when he
felt Cena's tongue stroke his sensitive pucker.
	Cena lapped the ring a few times; up and down and then traced it with
just the tip of his tongue in hot circular flecks.  Matthews wiggled back
against his face in response.  Cena pursed his tongue and gently poked at
the aperture.  It resisted the pressure a bit but Cena thrust harder.
The warm vacuum of the boi's chute clung to his tongue and sucked him up.
 Cena felt the warm ass walls cling to his tongue.  He rasped the moist
flesh with quick hot strokes, burrowing deeper each time.  Matthews
bucked back harder and soon Cena's entire face was pressed within the
warm cheeks.
	Matthews' eyelids fluttered as Cena's hot tongue worked his sensitive
chute flesh in circular motions.  He bit his lower lip and ground back
against Cena's sexy face.  Cena's razor stubble tickled his butt cheeks,
sending shivers up his spine.  When Cena's tongue zeroed in on his
prostate, Matthews gripped the wooden seats more tightly.  Cena
concentrated stroking and pressing Matthews pulsing nub and Matthews
flushed, his breathing deepening in response.  Matthews cock was rock
hard, aiming down to the floor, pressed against the lifted seat bottom.

	Cena thrust his tongue faster and pressed harder against the boi's
prostrate.  Moving one hand down from Matthews' now flushed butt cheek,
he gently massaged Matthews balls within his palm.  Matthews apparently
waxed his pubic hair.  That was the way it should be with all pussy bois,
Cena reasoned.  The wrestler pressed his lips tightly against Matthews
ring and sucked against the chute as well as fucking it with his tongue.
Frenching the kids' ass wasn't enough, so Cena gripped the base of
Matthews cock and roughly jerked it.  His palm was smeared with pre-cum
as he covered and squeezed Matthews' flared pulsing cock head.
	Matthews' eyes were closed.  He was panting and his balls were churning.
 Fuck!  He was already close to shooting.  Cena was one hell of a butt
muncher!  Matthews shivered and his cock jerked in Cena's grasp.  His
balls were tightening.  He was gonna'.......abruptly Cena gripped and
pressed the base of Matthews cock with his fingers, stopping the approach
of ejaculate.  Matthews blinked a bit in surprise and slight discomfort
as his cock was forced to hold back.
	Cena moved his head back, extricating his tongue from Matthews'
throbbing chute.  Spittle seeped from the flushed ring and drizzled down
the boi's butt crack.  "Not yet baby," Cena soothed.  Play time has only
begun."
	Cena continued to squeeze Matthews' cock until he felt the kid's efforts
to climax recede.  He released the enflamed cock and rose back upright.
"Now," he spit in the palm of one hand and began slicking up his thick
veiny shaft.  "Now the real fun begins."

Los Angeles;

	Nick Lachey was running late.  After his extended session with Justin
Timberlake he'd realized the time and headed out to his buddy Josh
Reynolds home.  As he pulled his sports' car in the drive of Reynolds'
home he reflected on the sexy Timberlake. It had definitely been a hot
recording session.  He'd have to hook up with Timberlake again.
	Lachey climbed out of the car and bounded up to the house's front door.
Reynolds had pumped up a hot bod over the last few years, but recently
he'd begun to let it go so Lachey had been training with him, getting
Reynolds ready for his next film, another action adventure where Reynolds
was required to be shirtless most of the time.  Pressing the doorbell,
Lachey grinned in confidence.  Over the last six weeks he'd helped
Reynolds almost match his previous physique peak.
	The door abruptly swung open.  Reynolds greeted Lachey with a grin,
wearing nothing but a pair of track pants.  His tanned torso was wide,
powerful and ripped.  His pecs were hard and pretty impressive with his
waist narrowed down to an incredible six pack.  Yeah, Lachey
congratulated himself.  He'd done a hell of a job on his buddy.
	"What's up bro'?" Reynolds merrily greeted ushering Lachey into his
home.
	"Just chillin'," Lachey grinned walking into the home.  "Had a pretty
intense recording session with that dog Timberlake," he chatted.
	Reynolds nodded, "cool."  He began to lead Lachey to the home gym both
were very familiar with.
	"Ready for some intense training pussy," Lachey teased.
	"Pussy my ass," Reynolds scoffed.  "Are you ready?"
	"Hell yeah," Lachey enthused.  "That session with Timberlake wore me
out.  I need to get revved back up for tonight."
	"Yeah?" Reynolds queried.
	Lachey nodded and rolled his eyes.  "My agent booked me to host some
reunion special for that VH1 shit 'I love New York.""
	Reynolds chuckled.  "No shit!" Reynolds playfully punched Lachey in the
stomach.  "I guess you really need to be at your best.  That queer dude
'Twelve pack' might show you up."
	"Bull shit!" Lachey scoffed.  "He'll get his speedoes all twisted when
he sees the master," Lachey hedged in humor, "twenty-four pack!"
	The two studs laughed as they entered the gym.


A passenger jet in route to London;

	Daniel Craig was finally winding down.  He'd been tense all day from his
busy schedule and nearly missed his flight due to an over long interview
he'd granted Bryan Phillips of NBC to discuss his next 'Bond' feature.
Craig shifted to get more comfortable.  He would have much preferred a
window seat but his late arrival only offered up an aisle seat next to
some dignitary.  Well, he admonished inwardly, he'd just have to make the
best of it.
	After several moments of attempting to sleep, Craig opened his eyes and
irritably glanced at the snoring dignitary at his side.  If the over
blown politician would only shut up.......
	"Gentlemen," a female voice intruded, "would you care for a drink?"
	Craig swept his head around to the aisle to respond to the flight
attendant and his gaze clashed with the man directly across the aisle.
He was big buff and blonde, Craig took in, and some what familiar.  He
smiled politely at the man, who nodded and returned the smile.  Craig
directed his gaze up to the flight attendant.  "Scotch on the rocks," he
replied smoothly.
	"And I'll have a beer," the other man replied in an American accent.
	The flight attendant noted the drinks and briefly glanced to the
sleeping dignitary next to Craig and the sleeping woman next to the
American man before moving on.  At that moment, the woman at the
American's side shifted, thrusting an arm across the man at her side and
nearly striking him across the face.  He winced in response and
simultaneously the man at Craig's side let out a loud nasally snore that
sounded more like the squeal of a pig.  Both men laughed at the humor of
their situation.
	"It would appear that we're both destined to endure a long flight with
our pleasant seat mates, Craig drawled.  They both chuckled again and
Craig extended an arm across to the American in greeting.  "I'm Daniel
Craig."
	The American clasped Craig's hand within his own in a firm grip, "Troy
Aikman," he returned.
	"Ahh," Craig pinpointed the recognition now, "the American football
player."
	"Retired presently," Aikman amended in good nature.  "Now I simply do
the rounds of publicity and lecturing to aspiring college athletes."
	"A heavy burden," Craig chuckled.
	"Heavy flying," Aikman corrected with a grin.  "And what do you do Mr.
Craig?"
	Craig was not offended that Aikman did not recognize him.  Though he'd
been in the acting profession for a number of years, he was still
relatively unknown to Americans.  "I'm an actor."
	"Yeah," Aikman lifted a hand to his chin thoughtfully, "that would
explain the familiarity."  He pursed his lips a moment.  "Your last
film," he struggled to pigeon hole the familiarity, "I might have seen
it?" he queried.
	"I would likely believe so," Craig smiled.  "It is a rather familiar
franchise."  Craig was not one of those prima-donna actors.  Vanity was
not his style.
	"What a minute," Aikman slowly began to register.  "Bond!" he
categorized.  "You're the new James Bond."
	"Yes," Craig's gaze warmly flowed over the American football star.
	"Well I'll be damned," Aikman chuckled.  An image of Craig's hot
muscular form rising up out of the water sizzled in his mind.  "Great
film Mr. Craig," Aikman enthused.
	"Please," Craig extended an arm across the aisle, "Daniel."
	Aikman reached out and clasped the man's hand warmly in greeting.
"Right," the handshake lingered a bit, "Daniel."

London, England

	Beckham's advertising shoot had run about two hours but now it was
wrapping up.  The over head lights were making Price and Becks perspire
so that their bare torso's glistened under the brightness.
	"Ok," Clive instructed, "now for the last two shots.  First, guys I need
you to unbutton your jeans and pull the crotch open a bit," the two men
looked at one another and shrugged as they complied.  "Open the fly
enough to show just enough flesh to tease the consumer."
	Becks and Price did, exposing tanned flat skin lightly dusted with
trimmed pubes.
	"Beautiful," Clive cried dramatically.
	"Beautiful isn't quite the adjective I'd use to describe this," Price
murmured low to Becks.  The other man grinned in response.
	"Now," Clive swooped up a bottle of Becks marketed cologne and walked to
the athlete.  "David," he instructed, take the bottle and reach over and
press it against Price's exposed pelvis.
	"Like this mate," Beckham reached over and pressed the bottle flat
against Price's exposed flesh.
	Price shivered, "Easy mate," Price murmured low, "that bottle is cold."
	"David, push it a bit lower so that it rubs Price's' arse," Clive
ordered
	"Becks complied and Price shivered again.  "Bet you'd prefer something
hot but just as hard against you skin versus the bottle," Becks hissed
conspiratorially.  Price chuckled in response.
	"Good," Clive barked.  "Keep looking at each other."  Clive lifted a
hand as indication to the photographer that he should start shooting.
	The repetitive click of the camera sounded but neither man much paid
attention what was actually going on.  They held one another's gaze
hotly, their minds wandering to sexual fantasies about the other.  Becks,
again was struck with the thought of getting to fuck himself while Price
thought about the thrill of getting fucked by an international footballer
star.
	"Fantastic!" Clive's enthusiasm broke the revere between the men.  "Now,
for the final scene I want you both to get up on the platform on your
knees with your arses facing the camera.
	Becks gave a lopsided grin to Price who shrugged and moved to the wooden
dais.  Both got down and rested upon their knees atop the platform.
	"Ok," Clive walked to the men.  "First we need to lower the band of your
jeans a bit," he tugged down Price's first exposing nearly all of his
bubble butt.  "Got to make sure," he moved to Becks, "those tats are
visible."
	Clive slipped Becks pants equally low so his hard muscular glutes were
visible for the shot.  "David," Clive gently grasped the wrist of the arm
closest to Price, I need you to rest your hand like this."  Clive
maneuvered Becks hand so the palm was resting flat against Price's clear
butt cheek.  His finger tips rested on the curve of Price's arse crack.
	"Ben," Clive concentrated on how Becks' palm was resting against Price's
arse.  "Do the same to Becks."
	Price frowned but moved the arm closest to the athlete down until his
finger tips grazed the athlete's hard glute.  The men looked at each
other a bit in sexual frustration.
	"A little lower Ben." Clive was oblivious to the building sexual tension
between the two subjects.
	"Um," Price's cock was stirring and he was afraid that his boner might
slip free from his unbuttoned jeans.  "Clive, don't you think that this
is a bit....homo erotic?"
	"Yeah mate," Becks' boner was already surging hot.  He looked down to
his waist and noted that his stiff cock was partially exposed by his open
fly.
	"Ben," Clive reprimanded, "you know perfectly well that poofters
concentrate the largest portion of the viewing base of 'Footballers'
Wives.'"  He moved his gaze to Beckham.  "And David," his tone was
incredulous.  "Who the hell do you think buys your cologne?"
	"Gotcha Clive," Becks reluctantly agreed.
	Price released a resigned sigh, quickly looking down to his waist as his
hard cock nudged a bit free from the open fly of his denim.
	"Ok," Clive moved back to the photographer.  "Now that we've squared
that away, just hold that pose guys, but turn your heads toward each
other a bit."  Price and Becks turned to each other and both nearly burst
out in laughter.  "Start shooting," Clive instructed the photographer.
	The repetitive click filled the studio again.  Becks couldn't help but
lower his gaze to Price's waist.  The actor's boner was thick and
appealing.  Price blushed a bit at Becks' scrutiny but couldn't help but
glance down to Becks hard shaft.  A drop of pre-cum glistened at the tip.
 Price unconsciously ran the tip of his tongue along his lower lip.  The
men moved their gazes upward again and unflinchingly looked at one
another.
	The photographer continued shooting.  Clive instructed him to get an
extra amount of shoots for the print ads.  Price's throat was dry and he
roughly convulsed his throat.  Becks' lips held the hint of a promising
grin.  Color started to flood Price's cheeks with the knowledge that he
WAS going to get fucked by Beckham.  Becks winked conspiratorially at
Price.
	"Hold it," Clive suddenly barked at the photographer.  "Mates," he
looked to Becks and Price, "keep it this way for a moment while I speak
with the photographer."  Clive walked to the photographer and soon the
two had bent heads together deep in hushed discussion.  Becks and Price
both looked at the two other men and then looked back at one another.
Neither man smiled but something hungry was alight in their eyes.  Becks'
eyes widened a bit as he felt Price's hand gently slide down the slope of
his arse crack to push between the two hard glutes.  Price gave Becks a
lazy grin as he ran the tips of his fingers along the arse crack, before
zeroing in on Becks pulsing arse lips.  Becks looked back to Clive and
the photographer quickly as one of Price's fingers nudged against his
arse ring.  Becks shuddered and bit his lower lip to suppress a groan as
Price worked the digit between the clenched muscular ring.  Becks closed
his eyes and inhaled sharply as the finger nudged deeper.  Price's grin
turned sly as he withdrew the finger and worked two fingers within at
once.  Becks swallowed convulsively and moved his arse back against the
digits that filled him, stroking and stretching his chute.
	"Ok mates," Clive turned back to Price and Becks and Becks blushed as
Price simply slipped the two fingers deeper.  Becks clenched his muscles
tightly around the probing fingers and expelled a hot breath.  Price's
grin slipped away but the intensity of his gaze remained upon Becks.
	"Hold that pose a bit longer."  If Clive was aware of Price gently
finger fucking Becks right in front of him, he gave no indication.
"Start shooting again," Clive called to the photographer.
	The sound of the repetitive clicks was droned out by the heavy thud of
heartbeat within Becks' ear as Price rubbed and stretched the slick
chute.  Becks suppressed another groan when Price's finger tips
deliberately stroked his prostrate, the wetness on the front of Becks
open jeans gradually grew to a larger circle.  Becks clenched his rectum
walls tighter around the digits.  If he wasn't careful, Becks realized,
he'd shoot a huge load right there in front of Clive and the
photographer.  He concentrated on his physical control which wasn't easy
since Price obviously was trying to drive him wild.
	"Ok gentlemen," Clive barked, momentarily diverting the men's attention,
"that about wraps this up."  Clive moved to the photographer who was
collecting his equipment.  Becks and Price remained where they were.
	"Just a second, mates," Clive called to Becks and Price before helping
the photographer with his equipment pack everything up and carry it to
the studio doors.
	"Fuck me, mate," Becks chuckled at Price as the man slightly withdrew
his fingers.
	"No Dave," Price gave Becks a cheeky grin, "fuck you."  Price thrust the
two fingers deep again and Becks jerked his arse back.
	"Ughh," Becks lifted a hand to his lips to drown out his grunt of
approval.
	"David," Clive called, "Ben.  I'm going to have to help Owen here," he
shrugged to the photographer as he picked up several of the equipment
cases, "with his equipment down to his van."  Becks and Price looked to
Clive tensely and Price's fingers momentarily stilled....
"Do you think the two of you can see yourselves out?"  Clive chatted on
obliviously to Price's fingers jammed up becks' chute.
	"Sure mate," Price answered while Becks merely nodded, his throat dry
from the intense stimulation of Price's fingers.
	"Great," Clive smiled.  "I'll call you both later to go over the final
shots when everything is developed and on print."  Becks and Price both
nodded.  "Cheers mates," Clive nodded in departure as he and the
photographer walked through the studio's double doors.
	"Now," Price ventured warmly, "where were we mate?"
	"Enough with the fingers," Becks instructed as he sprawled out upon the
dais and raised his hips a bit to uplift his arse.  "I need you to fuck
my arse," he grinned looking back at Price over his shoulder  as he
reached back and pulled his muscular glutes further apart revealing his
twitching quim.
	"Right," Price stood and fully withdrew his hard cock free of the jeans.
 It jutted hard and proud upward and Price stroked it gently as he
climbed up behind Becks' upturned arse.  "Now we're going to have a real
shoot," he sniggered as he nudged his mushroom shaped cock head against
Becks' pulsing arse lips.

To be continued....