Date: Tue, 14 Jun 2005 18:19:01 -0700 (PDT)
From: Rio Mack <badprose@yahoo.com>
Subject: alien culture 13 (gay/college)

The Alien Culture Project, part 13
by Rio Mack

DISCLAIMER: Contains depictions of gay sex.

Reed recognized him immediately.  Standing there next to him, smiling
slyly, with a roguish glint in his eye, and shaking the last few drops of
pee off of what looked to be about 8 semi-hard inches of thick,
mouth-watering, uncut man-meat, was Chance's wrestling coach.  Reed smiled
back, after getting over the shock of recognition.

"Hey, how ya doin'?  Fuck, man, you gotta excuse me for starin', but you
are fucking gorgeous.  And that meat you're packin' between your legs is
about as fine-looking a dick as I've seen next to Chance's."

"You boys lovers, then?"

"You got that right."

"Thought so."

Reed just drank in the sight of Chance's coach: short-cropped hair, with
just a hint of gray; rugged, handsome face; about a week's worth of beard,
nicely trimmed, also with a sexy sprinkling of gray; and small, barely
noticeable yellow diamonds in each ear.  He had an incredible physique, of
course - Reed knew that much from wrestling practice the other day.  He
judged him to be maybe 35, and the early touch of gray made him look hot as
hell.  Reed thought of himself as nicely-built, but he felt like a twerp
standing next to this hunky older dude. Damn, he thought, portrait of a
total gay stud.

"Come on, dude," Wyatt said.  "Let's wash up, and I'll buy ya a drink.
Chance here with you?" he added, as he re-packed his dick into the jock he
was wearing and zipped up, trying to sound nonchalant, despite the fact he
was horny as hell at the prospect of Chance Taylor, his favorite jerk-off
fantasy - the hottest boy, hands-down, on his very sexy squad - here, in a
gay club, with a hot young lover.

"He sure is.  And wait'll you see him.  He looks hot as fuck tonight.  New
haircut, new clothes.  Fuck, you'll be wantin' to wrestle me for him.  But
you gotta watch it, cause I fight dirty, strictly below the belt.  My
name's Reed, by the way," he said, extending his just-dried hand.

Coach shook it with firm, hard, masculine force.  "I'm Wyatt.  Wyatt
Wilson.  Pleased to meet you, Reed."  Wyatt was very taken with Reed.  He
reminded him of a younger version of his own boyfriend: blonde, beautiful,
and - as he could tell from that see-through shirt and leather pants -
nicely built.  In fact, there was something awfully familiar looking about
this boy, Wyatt noticed it in the gym the other day.  How did he know this
young hottie?  He clasped Reed's hand harder as he shook it, wanting to
connect with this hot young boy.

Wyatt's touch electrified Reed.  His hand was big, strong, hairy, and
throbbing with life.  The touch almost made Reed swoon.  He could just
picture that hand jacking his dick.  Fuck, would that be hot: him, Chance,
and me in a three-way.  Reed's libido indulged in that delicious reverie as
they left the john and headed for Wyatt's table.

Pounding fiercely, acting as the club's heartbeat, the loud, inescapable
music Tou was spinning throbbed like the rhythm of steamy male sex; it was
pure, hard pulsion.  Reed's mind was stuck in a horny groove as his
followed Wyatt through the club, eyes glued to the older stud's hard,
sculpted ass shifting sexily in tight jeans as he walked.  He could just
see it: he'd 69 Wyatt's and Chance's big dicks, while the two muscle-hunks
pleasured his, Chance lapping at his balls, tickling his thighs with his
sexy buzzed head, while Wyatt deep-throated him.  Then he'd had to have
this older bear's ass.  Maybe he and Chance could double-dick him.  Fuck,
yeah! Reed was dripping by the time he reached Wyatt's table.

Meanwhile, at the bar, as Chance waited to order drinks, a very cute older
boy, looking a lot like Reed, only a few years older, caught his eye.  The
dude was paler-skinned than Reed and had a sexy little strip of beard
running under his lip to the bottom of his chin, an 'el Diablo,' a high
school friend of Chance's called the style.  This boy was standing a few
spaces down from Chance.  Chance could tell he was pretty built under the
wife-beater he wore, lean and sinewy, again like Reed.  Suddenly, this
older boy made eye-contact with Chance.  Chance wasn't even slightly
embarrassed at being caught staring; he loved being able to cruise guys so
frankly now: he wanted to steep his mind in his new sexuality, checking out
faces, hair styles, abs, chests, arms, asses, thighs, calves, cocks, even
bare feet - all the ingredients in the mix of male beauty.  The boy arched
one eyebrow mischievously and mouthed "hello!"  Chance cocked a finger at
him, then watched as the boy headed over.

"Service always gets slow here about this time.  Poor Larson.  My name's
Jesse, by the way," and he offered his hand.  It was a beautiful hand,
Chance noticed: long, elegant, well-manicured fingers, almost feminine
looking, but strong and sensuous.  An image of that hand wrapped around his
own dick, working it, the other hand playing with his big, floppy nutsac,
blossomed in Chance's mind.

"Hi, name's Chance.  Cool club, huh?"

"Very cool," Jesse agreed, and Chance could see Jesse was studying him,
checking out every inch of him, like he was sizing him up for something.

"This your first time here?" Jesse asked coolly.

"Yeah," Chance smiled, "my boyfriend brought me."

"My boyfriend and I come here all the time.  We live right around the
corner, on the river.  Can I ask you something?" Jesse said sharply,
suddenly shifting gears from small-talk to a definite agenda.

"Sure, shoot," Chance said, keeping one eye out for Larson.

"Ever consider modeling?"

"Me!!??" Chance guffawed.  "Yer kiddin', right?  I ain't exactly the
'pretty boy' type."

"No, you're not pretty.  You're gorgeous, stunning, breath-takingly
sexy. You're one of the best-looking boys in here.  This is going to sound
like a pick-up line, but it's not."  Jesse was fishing in his back pocket
for something, then pulled out a business card.  "I'm a professional
photographer.  I do art photography; I show here and in New York, plus I do
a male calendar series.  My stuff is basically male nudes and semi-nudes,
of incredibly sexy, incredibly built young guys like yourself.  I would
love to do a photo shoot with you.  I'll pay you $300 for the shoot, and
another $500 if it turns out I use your photo for the upcoming calendar."

Chance stared at the card.  It looked legit.

Jesse saw Chance staring at the card and knew what was going through his
mind.  All the boys he got for models this way - in bars or gyms - had
virtually the same response: total suspicion.

"It's on the level, Chance.  You don't have to worry about that part."

Suddenly Larson appeared.

"Sorry, guys, place is packed.  What can I get ya."

Jesse said quickly, "Larson, can you get me that calendar hanging by the
register?"

"Sure, Jess, what's up?  You two trying to set a date?  Wyatt know about
this?"

"Larson, what a dirty mind you have.  I'm trying to convince Chance here
that I'm on the level when I ask him to pose for me."

Larson looked at Chance lustily, "Oh dude, you should, definitely.  You're
a natural, Chance; so fucking hot."  He fetched the calendar and, handing
it to Jesse, said, "You do any nudes of this boy, Jess, and I must get a
copy!"

Chance laughed, they both gave Larson their drink order, and then Chance
studied the calendar.  He'd never seen anything like it.  This is the kind
of thing he would have snuck peaks at if he'd ever seen it in a bookstore
back home, guiltily leering at the gorgeous homoerotic images he responded
to so deeply, the way he'd sneak peeks at the Playgirl magazines at the
Barnes & Noble in the Ashton County Mall.  This was exactly the kind of
thing - like the poster Reed gave him - he knew he had to have hanging in
his dorm room.  The pictures were incredible: Jesse was a poet of male
musculature.  He eroticized biceps, torsos, abs, asses; the images were
exactly what turned Chance on, it was like they'd bubbled up from the deep
recesses of his unconscious.  A few pages had very frank photos: a dick
flopping across a thigh of a guy lounging in bed, or curving proudly over
the ballsac of some sweaty stud.  The others were more soft-core - sensual
poems of male beauty.  Chance was getting hard as hell looking at them.
Imagine, he thought, me as a pin-up guy.  Well, why not, he thought: he
loved looking at himself in the mirror, maybe other guys would, too.  He
flipped back to the cover for a second, just to be certain: sure enough,
right there was the byline, "Photos by Jesse Stone," the same name on the
business card he'd been handed.

"Damn, dude, these photos are incredible, breath-taking.  You think you
could get me to look like this?"

"You already do, Chance.  I don't even need to see you naked - though, I
admit, I REALLY want to."  They both laughed.

"Look, here's why you're incredible," Jesse explained, and began tracing
both of Chance's hip-bones.  "There aren't too many guys who have the bulk
you have, along with the incredible definition, plus such fine skeletal
articulation.  Look at these hip-bones, and this nice, deep groove you have
under them.  There's maybe 4 -5 % of guys that have that."

Chance was right about the touch of those delicate hands.  The tingly play
of those soft, strong hands over his body was like an aphrodisiac.  The
calendar photos had started him stirring, now he was getting full and hard.

"Excellent pecs, obviously," Jesse added, working his hands under Chance's
taut T-shirt to trace sexy circles around Chance's hard nipples, "but your
thighs, I bet they're cut as hell," and his hands stroked down there.
"Your ass is all glutes, no fat," he said, stroking it sensually.  "And,
damn, this doesn't hurt, either," he laughed, as he traced very firmly up
and down on the steel pipe in Chance's jeans.  "I can tell just by looking
at you, you're perfectly proportioned."  He kept rubbing Chance's hardness.

Larson came back with their drinks.  "Jesus, you two, get a fucking room!
May I remind you, you both have boyfriends!"  All of them laughed as they
paid for their drinks.

"Come on over to my table for a minute," Jesse said, "and let me go over
the deal again.  I just know you'd be perfect.  I'd love to do athe shoot
tonight, if possible, cause the final proofs for next year's calendar are
due next week."  Chance's head was spinning, not just from the ego-stroking
opportunity to be a model, but from the cock-stroking this hot older stud
had been doing.  He knew he'd say yes, if only for more of that.

At their table, Reed and Wyatt had got along very well.  Wyatt was turned
on by such a breathtakingly beautiful young blonde stud, and Reed couldn't
take his eyes off the virile older jock, the epitome of raw, rugged
manliness.

"So, Wyatt," Reed asked, loving the erotic wave he was riding, "must be
great to be a wrestling coach, gettin' all that fine young wrestler ass?
When I left practice the other day, I knew I'd made the wrong career
choice."

"The gay wrestling coach hitting on his students is a little too much of a
porn clichˇ for me, I'm afraid, Reed.  Don't get me wrong, I LOVE young
guys; my boys get me hard as hell.  And if they ever wanna hit on me, and
my boyfriend doesn't mind, fine.  But not the other way."

"So you never made a play for a student?"

"Never.  I admit, I get so damned horny, I send off signals to a few.  But
not one of them made the first move, so fine by me.  I tell you, though,
Chance has tempted me more than any other young wrestler I've coached in 8
years.  You saw the other day in practice, when you took pictures of me
helping him perfect his form as he lifted, how hard it is for me to keep my
hands off him."

"Fuck," Reed laughed, "you just about had that gorgeous fuck-stick o' yours
half-way up his ass!  That what you mean by sending off 'signals'?"

Wyatt laughed.  "OK, I'm busted, I know.  But, Jesus, Reed, he's a fucking
walking wet dream!  You should know that better 'n anyone."

"Tell me about it."

"Hell, first time I saw him naked in the shower - fuck, I musta beat off
three times in my office.  Shit, that memory still fuels jack-off sessions.
Plus, he's a genuine sweetheart.  My advice: don't let him get away, if you
can at all help it.  You found one o' the golden ones, Reed."

"Thanks, Wyatt," Reed said, touched.  Now he really wanted a three-way with
Wyatt, Chance, and him: someone like Wyatt, who appreciated the beauty of
Chance's body and spirit, deserved to know the full, utter delight of the
boy, the deep, overwhelming pleasure of sex with him.

"Hey," Reed added, "is your boyfriend here?  I'd like to meet him."

"Yeah," Wyatt started craning his neck, looking around, "he was gonna get
us a coupla - Holy shit, I shoulda known."

"What?" Reed asked, looking around, then seeing what Wyatt was smiling at:
Chance and someone he assumed was Wyatt's boyfriend being very playful with
each other at the bar; Chance was laughing as this gorgeous blonde lover of
Wyatt's was playing with his nipples, hands under Chance's tight T-shirt.

"Look at those two young fuckers flirting with each other," Wyatt grinned.
He knew what was happening - his lover was finding a hot-looking boy to
come home and pose nude for him.  Little did he know who this boy was.
Jesse was always on the look-out for models in places like this - gay
clubs, gyms, the beach, anywhere gorgeous men congregated.  9 times out of
10, there'd be incredible sex after the shoot.  Maybe that was another
reason Wyatt didn't need to hit on his wrestlers: between his lover and the
models he brought home, he got all the dick and ass he needed.  It was a
wonderful life, indeed.

Wyatt smiled, sure that Chance - a total exhibitionist, he knew, from
practice - would want to have his picture taken.  And on this shoot, there
would be the bonus of Chance's very hot lover to spice things up further.
He had to chuckle at Chance's surprise when he found out who this hot young
photographer's partner was.  Fuck, thought Wyatt, the four of them would be
all up in each other's asses tonight.  That wet-dream jock-stud, to do with
what he wanted, and then to do to him whatever the boy wanted.  Shit, he
was hard as fuck.

"Ordinarily I'd be jealous," Wyatt said, as he casually placed his big,
rugged hand over Reed's and stroked it gently, adding, "but something tells
me we're all gonna get to know each other a lot better tonight."

"Damn, that suits me fine, Wyatt," Reed smiled, stretching his other arm
out, just as casually, to let it rest on one of Wyatt's chiseled quads,
which he proceeded to rub sensuously.  "I could see back there in the john
you were a person well worth getting to know."  Reed's hand was now
circling sensually over Wyatt's jean-covered crotch, rubbing the hard,
thick dick he was so anxious to get another look at.  Both men - the young
one and the older one - were very pleased: utterly horned-up, they were
each happy the other was on their wave-length, ready to cut to the chase
and get to some serious fucking.

Wyatt grunted softly, "Fuck, that feels good, boy.  Reach under and tickle
my balls, too."

Reed scooted his fingers under and felt two huge egg-sized nuts.

"Damn, dude, I'd love to feel these babies slapping against my ass.  Fuck,
are you hung.  Tell you what else I'd love to feel," Reed added, as he
moved his hand down towards Wyatt's hole, "my dick in that hard jock ass of
yours.  I bet you've got an incredible muscle-bear bottom.  Fuck, I want a
piece of that."

Wyatt, luxuriating in the boy's sensuous touch, smiled and traced a rough
finger down the boy's jaw.  "That's so damn nice, man.  So fucking nice.
Mmmm, here come our fellas; I s'pose we better stop."

Chance had no idea which table was Jesse's, but he broke into a huge grin
when he suddenly saw Reed at a table talking with someone he couldn't
recognize from the back.

"Jesse, wait up.  Stop here for a minute.  There's my boyfriend!  Reed!"
Chance called, "Guess wha - Coach!  Holy shit, no way!  This is so cool!"

The young, hot-looking guy with Chance smiled, "Chance, I see you know my
boyfriend.  Wyatt, I met this extraordinarily beautiful boy at the bar.  I
gather he's one of your wrestlers.  We're going back to our place for a
shoot later, I hope, if you'll help me talk him into it."  The two lovers
exchanged subtly excited looks.  "And who's this?" he asked, turning to the
hot fucking blonde sitting with his lover.

"Oh," said Chance, still mind-boggled at seeing Coach here, and Reed with
him.  "Uh, Reed, I'd like to introduce Jesse Stone, Coach - uh, I mean,
Wyatt's boyfriend, I guess.  Damn!"

"'Jesse Stone?'" Reed gave a pleased but puzzled look, and he shook this
older stud's hand.  "How do I know that name?  It sounds really familiar."

"I'm a photographer.  I'm inviting Chance - and you, of course - back to
our place later tonight so I can take some pictures of Chance for a
calendar I'm working on."

"Oh, hell yeah!  Jesse Stone!  You're incredible, man!  A date took me to
one of your gallery shows last year.  Shit, those were the hottest, most
beautiful pictures I've ever seen.  No one captures the beauty of the male
body like you do.  Fuck, that show was incredible, erotic as hell!  And
calendars, yeah; my date told me you do those 'American Adonis' calendars
every year.  I can't believe I'm meeting you!"

"Well, I'm very flattered.  Surprised you've heard of me."

"Are you kidding?  Your calendars must sell through the roof.  Shit, that
calendar has become one of the hottest conversation topics on so many gay
blogs, not to mention the male model web sites, and hip young women's
blogs, too, I heard.  It's like the male version of the Sports Illustrated
swimsuit issue!  You're a legend, dude!  Chance, you definitely want to
pose for this guy!  You guys were made for each other!  You're the perfect
model/photgrapher fit."

Jesse laughed, embarrassed, but loving the attention, and loving that Reed
was going to seal the deal.  He had carefully worked those blogs Reed spoke
of, doling out many of his sexiest photos for free, to establish his
reputation as quickly as possible.  "I really want Chance as one of the men
for next year's 'Adonis' calendar.  The theme is 'jeans,' so when I saw him
at the bar in this outfit, well, it was a no-brainer."

"OK, sold.  I'm in!" Chance said, excitedly.

"Excellent!"  They toasted Chance's new career.

"So, nyah-nyah-the-boo-boo," Chance said, wiping the foam off his lips,
"you won't be the only male model in the family now, Mr. 8-by-10 Glossy
Boy."

"You model?" Jesse asked.  "I'm not at all surprised.  You're gorgeous."

"Thanks.  Yeah, actually, I get a fair number of gigs.  OK, this sounds
cheesy, but here's something I did you might I have seen: did you happen to
catch the latest fall catalog for that big department chain, Bierman's?  I
did a lot of the underwear pages.  Some were pretty hot, I thought.  Didn't
pay so well, but I got a lot of cool, free underwear."

Wyatt suddenly realized where he'd seen this boy before.  As if reading his
mind, Jesse laughed, "Yes, we're actually very familiar with those photos.
Wyatt's had them taped up in the john for the past month."

Reed turned to the older stud, excited as hell, and smiled, "I'm flattered,
Wyatt!"

Wyatt was not a little embarrassed, "What can I say, those were hot photos.
You're very good-looking."

"Ever beat off to my picture?" Reed asked slyly, coolly sipping the scotch
Chance had brought him.

"I take the fifth," Wyatt answered, totally turned on that two of his most
recurrent fantasies were sitting right here at his table, and later might
be sharing his bed.  Aw fuck, he thought, dick pulsing deep and hard under
his jock.

"Well, all I know, Reed," Jesse said coyly, "is: that one full-page ad, you
know, where you're lying in bed, pulling up your briefs, and your abs look
so hot and your cock is VERY clearly outlined, and you still haven't pulled
the briefs up over that firm, gorgeous ass of yours?  Beautiful lighting,
you know which one I mean?"

"That one's the best!" Reed cried.  "That one could make a dead man cum!"

"Shit, why haven't I seen this?" Chance asked hotly.

Wyatt turned red and looked down, knowing what was coming.

"Well, anyway, oddest thing.  Each week - each day, in fact - there seems
to be more of these strange droplet stains all over it, like dried paste or
something."

He and Reed cracked up, each grabbed the other in delight.

"Shit, Wyatt, don't feel bad," Chance commiserated.  "I'd beat off to
soft-core photos of Reed all I could, too, if the creep would just give me
some.  Damn!"

"OK, next subject, please," Wyatt said, pretending to be pissed, but loving
all the sexy talk, loving that his ravenous sexual appetite was on full
display.

"I'm so glad you like my work, Reed," Jesse said smoothly, starting in to
some light flirting with this very beautiful blonde boyfriend of Chance's.
He knew how this evening would go: Wyatt was dying to get into Chance's
pants, that was obvious; he loved the muscle boys Jesse brought home for
photo shoots.  And that was just fine with Jesse, cause Reed was sexy as
hell.  And then, later, Wyatt would turn his attention to his favorite
underwear model, leaving Chance and Jesse to get to know each other more
intimately.  What an evening was in store for them.  "I'd love to show you
my work tonight.  You can pick out the one you like best, and I'll make you
a print."

"That would be amazing, to see your stuff, I'd love that.  And to think
about having one of your pictures hanging on my wall . . . damn!  I can't
believe this."

"Hey, Jesse," Chance suddenly got an idea, "you're a photographer.  Would
you mind taking pictures the rest of the night with this camera of Reed's?
I'm doing a sort of report on my experience tonight for a class project.  I
sure would like a few really nice photos of some of the sexy boys in here
done by a professional like yourself, to kinda record my eveing here."

"Glad to, Chance," Jesse said, and immediately took a few sexy shots of his
three table-mates, then he turned his eye to the rest of the club to get a
few steamy pics of some of the hotter-looking, barely-dressed boys, who
were only too happy to vogue for him.

While Jesse took a few snaps, Reed looked at Wyatt and his lover.  Factor
out the ages, he realized, and physically he and Chance were a perfect
rhyme of this couple: the hard, massive stud and his gorgeous blonde trophy
boyfriend. But that's OK, cause he was sure Jesse felt the same as he did:
you could also frame it a different way, flip the script - the gorgeous,
sexy-ass hottie and his big, bulky boy-toy.

Wyatt was horny as hell, he could hardly wait to move this wonderfully
unexpected party into a more intimate setting. "Should we mosey on over to
our place now?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Mind if we stay here just a bit longer?" Chance begged.  "I'd like to do a
little dancin' with my boyfriend before we book."

"Excellent idea," Jesse said, deliciously savoring what lay ahead of them
all tonight, knowing the routine with his models so well.  "Wyatt, when was
the last time you danced with me?"

Wyatt smiled; as long as he had to kill time, being out on the dance floor
with his lover and watching these two sexy young hotties was about the best
way to do it.

Before they headed out to the dance floor, the two couples each removed
their shirts.  At this hour of the evening, everyone on the dance floor was
naked from the waist up (many were pretty much unclad from the waist down,
too).  When Chance lifted his shirt over his head, Wyatt and Jesse did what
every boy within eyesight of Chance did: they gasped involuntarily and just
stared.  Chance's torso was homoerotic perfection: every well-worked muscle
stood out lusciously.  He was big and beefy, yet svelte and sexy.  His
nipples stood out hard and perky against those ripe, smooth, college-jock
pecs.  Shirtless, his Apollo's belt was revealed in all its powerful erotic
glory.  His long, lean, luscious abs were about the most droolingly X-rated
set in the club tonight.  Utter perfection.  The crowd seemed to part in a
kind of stunned, lustful daze and he walked blithely through.

On the dance floor, Chance caught Tou's groove immediately.  He started
gyrating his thin, muscled waist, doing a kind of "Matrix" move: twisting
and turning his chiseled torso this way and that, as if he were dodging
bullets.  As he did so, his cut, rippling abs, toally exposed by the
ultra-low cut of his jeans, riveted the gaze of almost every dancer.  The
only ones not staring at this live sex show were those behind him, who were
glued to the hard, lickably-perfect globes of his butt.  It looked like he
had two perfect melons stuffed under his jeans; as he did his hip-shake,
his ass-cleavage made the most amazingly tempting undulations, causing
everyone lucky enough to see it to gaze longingly and lick their lips.

Chance loved dancing with Reed, and vice versa; where Reed had smooth,
well-practiced moves, Chance simply had boundless energy, a natural rhythm,
and an eye-popping physique.  Chance got into it even further, letting the
funkified techno beat carry him away.  He raised his muscular biceps,
crooking them so his balled-up fists were near his head, and as he got into
his body-rocking groove, every arm-pit fetishist on the dance floor (and,
really, who isn't?) got weak-kneed.  One brave young boy dancing next to
him was so turned on, he couldn't resist: he swooped next to Chance and
sensuously licked a trail from his ribcage up to his pit, swirling his
tongue giddily around in that smooth, muscular nook, that crevice of
jock-boy paradise.  Chance laughed, Reed shook a finger, and the boy,
smiling serenely, danced away.

Wyatt and Jesse, dancing near them, were just as overcome.  Jesse had
already snapped a few pictures of Chance dancing, with the digital camera
of Reed's he'd tucked into his back pocket.  Now, the older couple glided
over, sandwiching Reed and Chance as they danced.  It looked hot as hell: a
kind of mini-orgy on the floor.  Jesse wedged his cock firmly into Reed's
ass, a signal - as if Reed needed any - of how badly the handsome young
photographer wanted to fuck the gorgeous, half-Brazilian young stud.  And
Wyatt, the restraints on his lust for his gorgeous young wrestler now
dissolved, let his fevered passion overwhelm him.  He pressed his
jock-and-jean-covered hardness tightly against Chance's mouth-watering ass,
wedging his steely bulge deep into his exposed ass-crack, then used his
dick to push down the waist even further.  He wanted to see as much of this
boy's gorgeous ass as possible.  He wished he could fuck him hard and deep
right now.  He reached in to pull the boy close to him, his hands trembling
with excitement at being finally freed to live out their dream.  He played
all over Chance's hard, sweaty musculature: one hand working over those
thick, firm pecs and eraser-hard nipples, while the other rubbed Chance's
abs up and down, going further, on each downward stroke, under the
waistband of his jeans, to get at the cock he'd lusted after from the first
time he saw Chance nude.

Wyatt's uncaged lust, given its head at last, quickly grew bolder and more
bestial.  Not giving a fuck, single-minded now in his need to consummate
desire, he unsnapped Chance's jeans, then unzipped them, so he could work
that too-tempting dick in earnest.  He pulled it put excitedly, marveling
in the long, hard thickness.  Chance was in heaven, in the hot arms of his
hunky coach at last.  Wyatt's hard, rough hands worked his dick with a
mixture of awed worship and bold desire.

Reed, meanwhile, was swooning against Jesse's passionate dry-humping, the
photographer having reached round to work his boy-toy's dick and pecs.
With Reed occupied, Wyatt delighted in the full freedom to jack his
gorgeous young muscle-stud, and jack he did.  The music and crowd throbbed
and swirled around them, further intoxicating this already-heady moment.
Still pumping hard against the boy's fully exposed ass, he had one hand on
the boy's long hard shaft, and the other ran riot over his big, sweaty
ballsac.  Everyone near them wasn't so much dancing anymore as swaying in a
circle, mesmerized by this hot scene.  Wyatt worked Chance's foreskin as if
it were the first dick he'd touched in months.  His other hand, big, meaty,
callused, dug under Chance's balls to brazenly finger the boy's hole.

Finally Chance shouted, "Whoa!  Stop, man!  Stop!"

He turned around, his long thick shaft jutting straight out, a glistening
cord of pre-cum dangling off the tip.

He kissed Wyatt sensuously, then pulled back and said, "I gotta collect a
bet from my boyfriend, Wyatt, and damn if this don't seem like the perfect
time!"

"Reed!" he shouted over to his lover, who was lost in Jesse's arousing
dick-play.

"REED!!" he called louder, so he could be heard through the music, the
crowd, and the lust that was fogging his lover's mind.

Reed finally heard; he looked over to see Chance with his dick sticking out
alluringly, jeans gathered around his ankles.  Wyatt's hand slowly rubbed
the young stud's ass-crack up and down, then round and round on his
ass-globes, sort of like an engine on low idle, while he waited to see what
this bet was.

Reed laughed and called out, "I know what you want!  OK, stud, I'll pay
up."

He sashayed his leather-clad hips sexily across the floor, took Chance's
big dripping cock in his hand, and gave his lover a deep, tender kiss.
"God, I love you," he whispered.  "What a hot fucking life we have!"

Chance stroked his face longingly, silently mouthed "You, man, you," and
put his head back, reveling in his boyfriend's touch.

Reed kissed his way down Chance's gleaming cut torso, stopping to suck
those hard, perfect nipples while he kept up his dick-play.  Then, reaching
his abs, he licked the rest of the way, savoring the feel of his tongue
rubbing over the closely-groomed stubble of Chance's pubic patch.  When he
got to that hard, thick shaft, he took it in both hands and rubbed it all
over his face, letting it play over and over across his lips.  God, he
loved this young sex-angel.  'A golden one,' was that what Wyatt called
him?  No fuckin' doubt.

Reed was lost in his worship of Chance's dick.  He couldn't see that the
crowd on the dance floor had formed a circle around them.  He didn't even
hear the music that Tou, digging on this hot scene from up in his booth,
had switched to: while a deep, blisteringly erotic house beat played, Tou
mixed in a scratched sample of a Ying Yang Twins' song.  Over and over,
above the deep beat, the lyrics repeated, "you ain't never had nothin' like
this, just wait till you see my dick . . ."  Reed licked the shaft up and
down; then, holding it tenderly, he worked over the honey-glazed tip,
digging around in the piss-slit to get every drop of Chance's nectar.
Having cleaned it dry, and loving the feel of that huge tool throbbing in
his hands, his tongue danced down one of Chance's veins and across his
hefty set of low-hangers.  The salty coating of sweat that sheened them was
like a heady cocktail for Reed, and so he bathed them harder, getting every
drop off them, lifting them up to get at more juicy sweat secreted away on
his perineum.  Chance's hands stroked his head in lust-gorged gratitude.

Reed pulled up off his balls and gazed at the long, thick, rock-hard shaft
twitching in front of his face.  The bulging veins traced a pattern of male
eroticism all up and down the shaft.  Reed traced his fingers along them.
The top of his pink cock-tip poked out from the foreskin encasing it.  The
tip was thickly glazed with pre-cum again.  Fuck, Reed thought tenderly, he
must be ready to shoot.  Again his tongue delicately licked off every drop,
then he dug his tongue all around under the foreskin to get whatever else
there was down there, cleaning the head and driving Chance wild.  Then his
tongue swirled lusciously all over the top and up and down the sides.  Then
he moved in for some serious cock-sucking.  His head bobbed up and down on
his lover's cock, as the boys around him cheered approvingly.  Several
other young sexed-up dancers had, by this time, gone down on their
partners.  But most spectators were all glued to Reed and Chance, as Reed's
buzzed and spiked blonde head rose and fell in a steady, savory rhythm on
Chance's gorgeous, spit-slick fuckstick.

Jesse and Wyatt, meanwhile, were swept away by the strong rush of boy-lust.
Jesse got down next to Reed and added his lips and tongue to the pleasuring
of Chance.  And while Reed and Jesse sucked him off - or rather, as they
madly kissed and tongued each other in fevered desire, with Chance's stiff
prick between them, the happy recipient of their oral lust - Wyatt stood
behind Chance, free to resume his own sex-play.  He began by grinding his
hard, dripping, cock deep between those ripe, muscular ass-cheeks some
more, manhandling those two suckable tits with his rough fingers, and
kissing and licking all over his neck and collar-bone, while whispering hot
and wet in his ear how hot this young Adonis looked.  Soon, he could stand
it no longer; he bent down, spread the cheeks of Chance's hard, sensational
ass, and dove in.  His tongue sent ecstatic waves through Chance's core as
he lapped that smooth, hard, boy-jock's ass-crack.  Wyatt loved few things
better than rimming a hot muscle-stud's ass.  His tongue was a finely-tuned
erogenous engine, and Chance's ass was top choice.  His hands rubbed the
smooth, rich skin covering those hard glutes, while his tongue made a
disgustingly raunchy mess, saliva drooling everywhere.  He began to tongue
just the rosebud, lightly at first; then, as the groans of boyish pleasure
erupted out of Chance, he went at it harder, in a fever of desire.  His
strong tongue poked and darted, demanding entrance past the young stud's
nether-gate.

Finally he was in, the rose-petals parted, and he started to trace around
the hole.  His saliva was a thick ooze of lube as he worked the hole open
with his long, hard tongue alone.  Further and further in he went, circling
the velvety walls of this young boy's pleasure-chute, tasting the tangy mix
of sweat and funk.  He was snorting and moaning and drooling, honking like
the horny pig he was, but loving every minute of it.  His hands kept
kneading those firm, ripe melons as his tongue-fucking got hard and
regular.  This is what I want, he was trying to tell the boy; I want this
fine, young ass.  I want to bury every inch of my thick, hard man-dick up
this sweet hole, and just fuck and fuck till we both explode.

Chance was in a zone he had never before known.  While his dick, so close
to shooting, was being worked over by two hungry mouths, each trying to
outdo the other in pleasuring him, his ass was getting the most glorious
rim job of his life.  He started working his muscular hips back on Wyatt's
thick, stiff tongue, grinding away, clenching on it when it was all the way
in.  This drove Wyatt crazy.  Soon he brought his thumbs in, to open Chance
wider.  He, too, was in the zone, and planned, in a few seconds more, to
whip his own aching cock out and fuck this boy silly.

Jesse was taking first one ball, then another in his mouth, sucking,
swirling his tongue over them, licking up a full load of whipped, frothy
cream.  Reed was lapping all up and down the straining shaft of his
beautiful lover, then giving him the most sensuous head he could, pistoning
up and down while his tongue swirled everywhere.  Chance was the lust
object of not only these three oral worshippers, but every boy in the club
who stood and watched, stroking their own cocks or their lovers'.

Chance could hold out no longer.  He felt the wave engulf him, coming on
swift and strong.  His ass clenched Wyatt's tongue and thumbs in a vice
grip, his loud young voice whooped, and Wyatt knew the boy had cum.  Reed
and Jesse were covered by one of Chance's biggest, thickest loads; they
could just feel the cream soaking through their pores.  The dance floor had
erupted into cheers, screams, and applause; and Tou had switched on Queen's
"We Are the Champions."  Jesse and Reed tongue-cleaned each other's faces,
Chance slowly pulled up his jeans.  Then the two couples made their exits,
amid continued cheers and back-slaps.

As they gathered their things and snaked their way out of the crowded,
pulsating club, Chance relished the scene.  He had to come back here, soon
and often.  Suddenly, he thought about his dad again: were there any gay
bars up in Yellow Branch?  Or even any in the whole of Ashton County?  Or
were his hunting and fishing trips, along with his barn-dates and wife-away
sleep-overs, a sort of virtual Sparta for him and Bill - small, floating
islands where they could indulge their true selves and desires, an
archipelago of exclusively gay society?  Chance really wanted to see his
dad.  They needed to have one of the most intimate conversations of their
lives. The fresh outside air, and the sight of the three gorgeous men he
was with, illuminated by the street lights, chased these deeply personal
thoughts out of Chance's mind.

The two couples walked through the still-mild fall air, towards the
warehouse loft of Wyatt and Jesse.  Those two lovers were arm in arm,
whispering and laughing excitedly about the evening ahead of them. Most
weekends, even if Jesse hadn't found some stud who would pose first and
then be up for a three-way, he and Wyatt had guys over for sex parties.
They felt it domesticated any impulse toward infidelity, kept it nicely
confined in the expansive bonds of their own relationship.  Neither of
them, however, had ever been as excited to fool around with two other guys
as they were tonight.

A few paces back, Chance, hugging his lover close, was excited, too, about
his first experience at a gay club.  His boyish enthusiasm delighted Reed.

"Dude, we have to come here like every fucking weekend!  What a high!  I
have never felt so dick-tinglingly alive, so totally myself, as here.  Not
even playing sports - which, I now agree with you, are just a
not-so-thinly-veiled metaphor for what went on in there tonight: guys in
total celebration of the beauty of the male body and - what do I wanna say?
- the sexual possibilities of that body.  A club like Sparta is, like, such
a cool, frank admission of masculinity, of what it feels like to be a
hot-blooded, fully-alive male."

"Damn, Taylor, I do believe hanging out with me brings out the philosopher
in this here country boy," and Reed reached over to give his boyfriend's
cock, so deliciously outlined in his jeans, a loving squeeze.  Fuck is he
hard, Reed moaned to himself.  He wanted to pull Chance into a darkened
parking lot and take him right there.

Chance's mind, though, was turning on what might lie ahead; his dick was
full and thick with the bone-deep lust he felt for Wyatt, the rugged older
Coach, who was such a jerk-off fantasy of his.  There had to be sex
tonight, lots of it, with all of them.  But how to work it, he wondered?
He pulled Reed close to him and whispered giddily, like a child on
Christmas Eve: "Tell me if I'm nuts, man, but the way my mind is workin',
and maybe I'm just too fuckin' horned up from the 100 proof sex in that
club, and from how fucking hot Wyatt and Jesse look - but, well, wouldn't
it be incredible if we could somehow kind of work it so we could get a
totally nasty kinda 4-way thing goin' with those 2 dudes?  You know, after
this photo shoot thing we're gonna have?  I mean, you'd be up for it, no?
You think these guys might?  I mean, that scene on the dance floor with the
4 of us was mighty hot.  Would they be up for more, d'you think?  Or am I
just goofy with lust?"

"Chance, it's kind of sweet to see that there's a few aspects left to this
whole thing that are still 'alien culture' to you.  Take my word for it,
stud, we've got about 3 or 4 hours of the most heavy-duty sex you can
handle ahead of us tonight.  Every fucking permutation the 4 of us can
think of.  Oh yeah, Chance, you'll be fucking, don't worry.  That's why
they invited us over, you big dope.  I mean, sure he wants your picture.
Fuck, he should, and I bet he's gonna use your photo in the calendar.  But
I know the sexual mindset of dudes.  We'll be fucking about 1 second after
Jess takes those pictures.  Fuck, I'm as horned up as you.  Jesse is such a
turn-on for me, and I bet you can't wait to get all steamy with your coach.
Fuck am I psyched."

Chance cupped his lover's ass, then rubbed up and down the crack longingly.
"Fuck, man, me too.  I been fein'in' for Wyatt since before I even knew I
was gay.  God, I useta just stare at how good-lookin' he was.  Fuck, I bet
I got his body memorized.  Shit, Reed, my dick is so fucking hard right
now," and Reed reached over to cop a feel, "I might just shoot off before
we get there."

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