Date: Mon, 22 Jan 2007 15:17:10 -0800
From: Rio Mack <badprose@hotmail.com>
Subject: Alien Culture 25 (gay/college)

The Alien Culture Project, part 25
By Rio Mack

DISCLAIMER:  The following contains depictions of gay sex.

Reed awoke to the sight of the face of his sleeping lover.  Warm, serene
bliss oozed over him.  He stayed motionless, not wanting to wake Chance, so
he could drink in that still, potent beauty.  As incredible as Chance's
body was - and it was the most erotic male torso Reed had ever seen -
Chance's face was wonderfully sensual as well.  His head was perfectly
shaped, a fact made tantalizingly evident by the skin-close buzz he wore
lately.  And the face stubble gave a rugged, macho edge to his soulful,
country-boy good looks (Reed's new thrill was the feel of Chance's buzz-cut
and beard-stubble against his thighs and abs as Chance rimmed and sucked
him with athletic abandon).  His cheekbones were perfect; they led to that
slight, sexy hollowness in his cheeks, then down to those full, bee-stung
lips, lips he could feel gliding lusciously up and down on his stiff prick.

That face, on a body that would make the most virulent homophobe get down
on his kness willingly, and Chance was Reed's dream-lover.  He'd had
affairs with some truly gorgeous men in his life, especially in his year
abroad - Gianni, of course, and some of the boys he'd met in Gianni's
circle - but Chance was not only the best-looking of them all, he had a
kind of untutored depth of spirit that had captivated Reed.  Reed had never
believed in love before Chance.  It always seemed like his life would be an
endless series of men - and there was nothing wrong with that; he had a
career, so the thought of 'settling down' made no sense.  But he couldn't
imagine life without Chance now.

Unable to help himself, he slurpily moistened a finger and traced it from
the top of Chance's head, down over his forehead, across one eyebrow, down
a cheek, across a lip, and by that time Chance's mouth broke into that
heart-breaking, shit-eating grin of his.

"Mmmm," the sleepy boy mumbled, "this my wake-up call?"

Reed was on him instantly.  They kissed breathlessly, and Chance
interrupted to croak, in a voice mixed with sleep and lust, "Gonna be able
to wake up like this fer the rest o' our lives.  Too fuckin' much."

Reed couldn't help himself: he shot a hand down to massage Chance's
ass-crack, readying his lover for the fucking he was desperate to give him.

"Wait, horndog," Chance smiled.  "Let's have a quick bite to eat first.  I
got wrestlin' practice in less than two hours, and I wanna get some food in
me now 'fore it gets too much later."

Reed lay back, too lost in love to be disappointed, as that huge, muscular
frame effortlessly sprang over him.  What incredible control Chance had
over that massive body.

"Breakfast first," Chance grinned as he stood up, "then you can pleasure my
ass all you want."

Reed smiled as he lay in bed and watched Chance's ripe musculature as it
moved to the small dorm fridge, bent down, and poked around.

"You like poached eggs?" he asked, without looking up.

"Love 'em, but can you seriously poach an egg in a dorm-room?"

Chance stood up, put his hands on his hips, and shook his head, Reed loving
the sight of that long thick cock sashaying around as he moved.  "Now why
the heck would I ask if ya wanted a poached egg if I couldn't make one?
Sometimes, Reed, I think I'm the brains o' this outfit, not you."

"Me too," Reed laughed.  God, did he want to fuck this impossibly beautiful
boy.  Then suck that gorgeous cock for an hour or so.

Instead, he had to watch in amazement as Chance flipped a switch on a
two-element hot-plate, poured water from a huge jug in the fridge into an
electric kettle, plugged it in, then reached up on a shelf, got down a
small saucepan, filled it with water, and set it to boil on one of the
hot-plate's elements.

"You can poach an egg, dawg?  For real?"

"You grow up on a farm," Chance shrugged, "you learn to make eggs pretty
early in life."

Reed got up, brought his laptop out from his backpack, and put some music
on.  It was a playlist of favorite opera arias and other classical vocal
stuff he loved, which he thought would make nice morning music.

Chance was getting a couple paper plates down and some plastic cups.  He
filled the cups with orange juice and handed one to Reed, saying "God,
Reed.  This is incredible.  Waking up with you.  Bein' naked together.
Breakfast.  Then foolin' around after - that hot fuckin' brand o' sex I'm
so damn addicted to.  Shit, dude."

And then he carressed Reed lovingly, hands exploring all over his
smooth-muscled older love's bodyr.  "Fuck, dawg, I am so used to this
already."

"No fuckin' shit, man.  I am way looking forward to a lifetime of this,"
Reed whispered, hard as fuck for this gorgeous young god.

They put down their juice glasses and kissed hungrily, hands exploring the
bodies they'd grown so used to.  Reed grooved Chance's ass, anxious for a
slow, sensual fuck with his young hunk.  The feel of their steel-hard cocks
pressed tight together as they embraced was rapturous.  Especially since
they both knew how satisfyingly soon they would be able to release their
rock-hard passion.  Overcome with the thought of that sex, Reed's middle
finger began to poke and prod Chance's tight, hairless pucker with a lewd
insistence.  His hips began to make not-so-subtle pistoning movements.

Chance pulled away and said, "Mmmm, just let me finish breakfast.  Don't
worry, dawg - I want that sweet, hard cock o' yours up my ass as much as
you do."

Reed, unwillingly, broke the embrace, moved his orange juice to the
nightstand, setting it down next to the lube and cock-ring - which seemed
to fit perfectly in this setting of the modern college boy's dorm-room -
hopped back into bed, and stroked himself as he watched his young stud fix
breakfast.

Chance filled a teapot with a few scoops of loose tea just as the kettle
whistled.  He poured the water, let it steep, and turned to Reed, who was
sensuously teasing his cock to drive his lover crazy with lust.

"You sure as fuck look hot," Chance leered, "but what I wanna know is, one
egg or two?"

"One, I guess," Reed smiled, then licked his finger and let it circle his
cockhead lewdly.

"Damn, you fucker, you're evil," Chance smiled. "Toast?"

Reed was now lying back in ecstasy, tweaking a tit with one hand, and
letting the other play up and down his ass-crack, which made his rock-hard
cock sway and bobble oh-so-temptingly.  "Mmmmm, yesssss," he moaned, "hot
and drippppping with butter."

"DAMN, that's not fair!  Wait'll it's your turn to cook.  I'm jus' gonna
stand in fronta ya and jack off."

"Shit," Reed said, "then I'll fix lunch."

With a smirk, Chance cracked three eggs into the now-simmering water, then
put two pieces of bread on a skewer and held them over the red-hot element,
turning and toasting them.

Reed hopped out of bed and embraced his young lover from behind, grooving
that hard, muscular ass with his stiff, leaky cock.

"Hurry, you fucker, I am so fucking hot for you.  It's seein' a macho young
stud like you all domestic and shit, I guess.  Fuck, do I want you!"

"Mmmm, and fuck do I want bein' wanted," Chance purred, loving the feel of
Reed's kisses dancing across his neck, as well as the wet, moist hardness
of Reed's cock stroking up and down in his crack.  He floated off in the
thought of that hard wet thickness expoding wave after wave of hot cream
into his eager ass.  Reed's hands were now kneading his pecs, twisting his
nipples.  Chance was rock-hard and moaning.

They stayed that way till the last shred of Chance's conscious mind
realized breakfast was ready.  He drained the eggs, put them on a plate
with the toast, and spread each piece with some preserves.

"Cherry," he grinned, "my favorite."  Then he poured the tea and handed
Reed a plate of food and a cup of steaming mint tea.

Before he took his own, he stared at Reed.  "You know - it's like
. . . well," he stammered, "corny as it sounds, it's like, like I'm not
even really sure I'm not dreaming, you know?  I mean, I realize now
. . . with every shred of nerve in my body . . . that this is like my
definition of exactly what I want.  A hot, incredibly amazing guy, endless
rounds of this love-makin' I crave like a motherfuckin' sex-fiend.  And
then, even when we're not having sex, you're so fuckin' great to hang with.
I feel like . . . I'm not sure how this all happened, you know?  But now
that it has . . . Fuck."

And then Chance was overtaken with a rushing reverie: his father and Bill.
They should have had a life like this: two studs, obviously happy together,
wanting to hang together all the time.  Sexually simpatico, he assumed.  A
whole wide exapnse spread out before them.  Instead, his dad & Bill had to
keep it all on the down-low.  They could have had days and nights, weeks
and months, years like this on the ranch.  He could imagine his dad and
Bill waking up like this, his dad making eggs, both of them naked, Bill
anxious to fuck.  The teasing camaraderie of two lovers.

". . . getting cold, dude!  And it's all really good," he heard Reed
saying.

"Oh, sorry.  I was miles away, dawg."

Before he turned to his food, he embraced Reed again.  "Fuck, what a
fuckin' gift we've been given."

He felt Reed's still-moist hardness pressed tight and wonderful against his
own, both young dicks madly straining with blood and longing.  He just
about inhaled his eggs and toast, gulped down the tea, but before he hopped
into bed, he grabbed the jar of cherry preserves, fished out a huge gob
with his fingers, then sauntered to the bed.  Once there, he crouched so
his smooth, shaved, lusciously muscular ass faced Reed, turned his head to
face Reed, closed his eyes, licked his lips wantonly, and sexily smeared
the jam all up and down his crack, trying his best to look like a
fifty-dollar whore.

"OH FUCK!" Reed cried, and was on it in a second.

The breakfast was just an appetizer.  He dove in for the main course,
lapping and tonguing and munching that tight, slick, jam-slathered hole
with utter relish.  Sex with Chance would never get dull, he realized.  His
hungry hands played all over his lover's muscular ass, flat abs and huge
stiff prick.  Gradually, his sex-hungry mouth cleaned off every speck of
preserves.  In and out his tongue went, a rhythm of eager lust.

Chance was moaning and cooing - he loved a good rim job, his ass was so
sensitive.  His dick was throbbing with an exquisite ache, and his balls
hung low, chock-full of the cum that would feel so glorious when it spurt.

Reed's horniness had him drooling thick waves of saliva all over his
muscle-stud's ass.  He began working a skiled thumb around Chance's
love-ring, then a second, as his boyfriend howled and panted like a bitch
in heat.

"Open me up, you fucker!  I gotta feel that thick juicy prick o' yours in
me!  Stroke it hard and long, dude!  My ass is on fuckin' fire!"

"Fuck, dude, my prick is so hard it's gonna fall off soon if I don't get it
in this hot, tight hole of yours, you hot fucking stud!  Shit, do I wanna
fuck you!  I'm twitchin' and leakin' like crazy!"

He played his tongue around the slightly stretched pucker, darting it in,
savoring the taste of Chance's ass juices, mixing now with the lingering
taste of cherry.  He scooped a gob of precum off his own cock and fed it to
his lover.  Chance licked it off gratefully: the taste of his boyfriend's
clear honey was like elixir to him.  A deep guttural moan bellowed out,
coming all the way up from his loins.

"Oh you sweet, gorgeous slut," Reed mubled, hoarse with pure passion.  "You
want this cock so fuckin' bad, don't you?  You want this sweet little
jock-hole fucked raw as fuck, I can tell!  Here it comes, you hot fuckin'
slut!"

And he oozed his fevered cock up into Chance's moist warmth.  As it slowly
slurped in, the feeling was pure ecstasy for both boys.

"OH SHIT, YEAH!  FILL ME, DUDE!"

"DAMN I LOVE THIS HOLE!"

Reed plunged steadily, forcibly, right to the hilt.  Then he just let his
cock rest for a minute, getting used to the sensation of that hot, muscular
flesh enveloping him, and the wonderful feel of his nutsac nestled tight
and snug.  It was like Chance was embracing his cock and balls with his
ass.

"Aw shit, dawg!  Feels so fucking fine!  Ream this ass with that sweet
fucking cock o' yours!"

Then came the stroking.  Slowly, exquisitely.  Reed steadied himself
against Chance's smooth marble globes and pistoned his own lithe hips in
and out in that glorious rhythm of boy-fucking.  Chance answered back,
working his ass against the dick he craved so much.  Christ, Reed thought,
what a fuck.  So fucking athletic and responsive.  Am I fucking him or is
he fucking me, he laughed?

In and out he glided as Chance's talented hips rode Reed's stiffness with
maddening expertise, wriggling and jostling in a way that made Reed scream
in pleasure.

"AW SHIT!" Reed cried.  "What a great fucking fuck!"

"Aw fuck, Reed, I want that sweet fuckin' dick o' yours in me all fuckin'
day.  My ass feels electric!"

At one point, Chance made a signal with his hips and Reed picked up on it
immediately - so in-tune were they becoming; they flipped from doggystyle
to facing each other without missing a beat.

As they continued their love-dance, drinking in each other's beauty with
their eyes as their bodies enjoyed each wondrous sensation, Reed reached
down to jack his lover and play with that big, silky-smooth ball-pouch.

"OOOHHH YEAAHH!!!" Chance howled.  "Work that big stud-cock o' mine!  I'm
gonna cum all over your fine-ass body!"

"Fuck," said Reed, panting a little now, "I'm gonna shoot half my seed up
this fine, sweet hole o' yours, then I'm gonna fuckin' drench your
muscle-stud body with the rest!  Shoot some over that sexy-ass buzzed skull
o' yours!"

Shit, they sure as hell loved each other.

Wham, wham, wham, wham.  They were like two titans, neither wanted to cum
first, each wanted to hold out, taking the best the other could give.
Chance's ass was twisting, bucking, humping, hitting every one of Reed's
switches.  The older boy's dark caramel ballsac was swaying and slapping
riotously.  And Chance was screaming in bliss as one of Reed's hands
stroked and jacked his cock, madly circled under his foreskin, dug around
in his piss-slit, and the other kept fondling his achingly full ballsac.

Finally, Reed gave.

"AW FUCKKKK!!"

He collapsed on Chance's massive chest, then pumped a few loads into his
hot, tight ass.  Then he rose, pulled his cock out, and let it spray four
or five more vollleys over Chance's chest, abs, and face.  The delightful
creaminess sent Chance over the edge: as Reed kept jacking him, he shot
load after load of thick, sweet cum all over Reed's abs.  Deliriously,
mindlessly, the two boys scooped and fed cum to each other, hearts racing
in total well-fucked bliss.

As they lay there, letting their fingers paint each other's ripply
muscle-mass with fresh, sticky boy-cream, Chance became dimly aware of the
music Reed had playing on his laptop.  He'd never heard music like that.
Just a man's voice and a piano.  He was singing in a language Chance
couldn't make out, but it was like his emotions were comprehending it
perfectly.  It pierced him like no other music had.  He lay back and let it
resonate through him.  Finally he had to speak.

"What the fuck is he singing?  It's like he's pouring out the depths of his
soul in a kind of endless longing."

"That's it," said Reed, "you got it.  These are German art-songs, 'lieder,'
they're called.  This particular one is a German poem set to music.  That
last line, in English is something like, 'I've renounced the worldly
bustle, and live in peace in a quiet place.  I live alone, in this my
heaven, in my love, in my songs.'"

It was the most beautiful, haunting, moving music Chance had ever heard.
It filled him with a profound quietness that almost made him tremble.  Time
stood still and only Reed and his love for Reed and this music were alive
to him.

"Jesus Fuck, what is this?  'Leader,' you said?  It's the most beautiful
thing I've ever heard."

"For real!?" Reed was excited.  "You like it?  Really?  Cause it's about my
favorite piece of music.  It's a song Mahler wrote.  It's lieder.  So sad,
so romantic.  Aw fuck, dude, I'm so glad you dig it, too."

Chance was stunned at the beauty, the way it could be so sad but so
gorgeous at the same time.  If he knew the word, he would call it 'triste.'
The music teased out of him a new facet of his love for Reed.  He tried to
put into words how powerful it hit him.

"Something is being said in this song," he said slowly, "which has been on
the tip of my tongue a long time."

Reed's eyes welled up a little: his boyfriend, who everyone thought was
just a dumb ol' country muscle-stud, was so amazing.  His love for Chance
grew inflamed.  He flipped over and embraced him.  The music was an
aphrodisiac, re-igniting their physical hunger in a blaze; they carressed
feverishly.

They were each hard again by now, so they lay next to each other and
blissfully made out.  As they kissed and stroked, they pressed their hard
young bodies up close together, pressing nipple against nipple, thigh
against thigh, cock against cock.  Their passion grew steadily more urgent;
they kissed breathlessly, then lapped tongues together.

Reed then let his tongue play all over Chance's sexy buzzed skull and
beard-stubble.  The sensation was delicious.  As he tongue-worshiped his
lover's gorgeous head, Chance began to sensuously jack Reed's cock.  Reed
brought 3 fingers to Chance's lips, parted them, then let his young stud's
tongue get his fingers glistening wet.  Chance loved the oral stimulation.
If he couldn't have Reed's cock in his mouth, these fingers were the next
best thing.

When Reed's hand was nice and juicy, he fell into rhythm with Chance, each
boy stroking the other's hardness while they kissed deliriously.  Reed
smiled: he felt wonderfully naughty, like a randy young boy, excited at
having his first j/o session in bed with a young schoolmate.  Damn, he
thought to himself, his sex-life with Chance would be a never-ending series
of impossibly erotic moments like this.

"Fuck, I love you!" he moaned in quiet, breathless passion as he erupted
four or five squirts, his lusty young cream flowing all over Chance's firm
grip.  Chance licked them clean, scraped up more, and fed them to Reed.  As
Reed sensuously licked those fingers, Chance blasted several volleys of his
own all over Reed's abs and thighs.

Deliciously exhausted, and running late, they showered and returned to
their dorm to dress.

As they both pulled jeans up over their naked frames, Chance grew animated.

"You're bringin' a camera to practice today, right?" he asked, excitedly.

"Yeah," Reed said, moussing his hair in the mirror, "I thought some
streaming video would be a cool part of the project."  He turned to face
Chance.  "Why?  It'll be OK, don't ya think?  The guys on the team won't
mind, will they?  Wyatt won't, I bet."

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be fine," Chance said, grinning like a motherfucker, on
the verge of busting a gut.  Reed noticed.

"What the fuck is up, Taylor?  You're acting weird."

"Nothin'," he lied, transparently.  "Well, all right," he said sheepishly,
"I just thought of somethin' last night, before I drifted off, that might
make for some cool-ass footage for yer 'Alien Culture' project."

Reed shook his head.  "You know, you're the goofiest fucking cat I ever
met.  Just what the fuck're you planning?"

"Aw, nothin' really," he lied.  "Well, anyway, you'll see."

They finished dressing and headed out.

"What's up after wrestling?" Reed asked.

"Calc.  Then a long run; I think I'm gonna hook up with CJ, we talked at
Sparta about running together today."

Reed smiled.  He knew what that meant: lots of flirting between Chance and
his jock-friend, then stretching and fucking and showering and more fucking
afterward.  But he didn't begrudge him a minute of it.

"I got to go from practice to a marketing seminar.  Then I'm free for the
rest of the day.  I think I'm gonna move my stuff over to our room."

Chance stopped.  He took Reed in his arms and kissed him passionately.
They were lost in each other, not realizing how many stares they drew.

When they came up for air, Chance whispered, "It's so fuckin' cool to think
about 'our room,' no?  Shit, wish I could help you, but after running, I
got English.  I'll be back around five; if there's any left to do, I can do
it then."

"Don't worry, dawg," Reed said, giving Chance a light kiss.  "I ain't got
much stuff.  I'll be all moved in and have dinner ready for us at five."

Chance just shook his head.  "It's startin," he said.  "Can't believe it.
My first real releationship."

"You're ONLY fuckin' relationship, asshole," Reed laughed, giving Chance's
cock a tight grab.

When they got to the gym, Reed went into the main gym and got his camera
ready while Chance went in to the lockers.  Reed was busy loading
cartridges and practicing to see if he remembered how to use the camera.
But he noticed, as some of the wrestlers filed in and began stretching and
shooting the shit with each other, Chance come in, still dressed.  He
strode over to that very cute goateed skater dude Reed remembered from last
week, the guy stationed in front of a small equipment room.  Reed watched
as he and Chance talked - well, the boy was mostly smiling and nodding
while Chance did all the talking.  Then Chance turned and went back into
the locker room.

Wyatt came in and smiled when he saw Reed.

He sauntered up to his young friend.

"Can't get enough o' me, huh?" he cracked.

"You know it, Daddy."

"Ouch, that fuckin' hurts."

"Lame attempt at humor.  I wanna take some video of the team.  That OK?  I
wanna stream it in my project for Professor Baxter's class."

"OK with me.  I'll ask the guys, but I don't think they'll mind.  They love
showin' off their hot bodies."

"They got a lot to show off."

They both turned to see Chance and about five other boys enter the gym area
bare-foot and bare-chested, wearing just pants.

"Guys!" Wyatt called.  "Come on, get your gym clothes on.  We got work to
do!"

"Uh, Coach," Chance muttered sheepishly, "we got sorta a little problem.  I
took some of the guys' uniforms away end o' last week to launder 'em, and I
totally forgot about 'em.  They're back in my dorm, all stinky."

The rest of the team exploded in laughter, smirks, and cat-calls.  Wyatt
couldn't hide his displeasure.

"Christ, Taylor, that was just a tad bone-headed, wasn't it?  Expected
better of you.  I'm tryin' to coach a championsihip teamj, and I can't do
that if you guys screw up on such petty stuff as this.  So what the hell
are you gonna do today?"

He turned to his equipment manager.  "Cain, we got spare uniforms back
there'd fit these guys?"

Now it was Cain Adler's turn to look sheepish.  "Uh, not really, Coach.  I
thought, with the season starting in a couple weeks, I'd get all the
uniforms and stuff clean.  I sent 'em all over to campus services last
week."

"Aw, fer the love o' . . . so what're ya gonna just work out in jeans?"

Chance looked even more embarrassed as he played his trump card.  "Uh,
actually, Coach.  We thought we'd just . . . uh, I mean . . . if it's OK
with you . . . and the other guys. . . ."

"What?" Wyatt barked.  "Spit it out, Taylor.  We ain't got all day to
listen t' you stammer!  I'm tryina coach a wrestling team."

"Well, we kinda figured we'd just work out and practice nude today."

After a three-second silence, the other wrestlers exploded.

"What?" Wyatt said with quiet ferocity.

Now Chance was all eager salesmen: "Well shit, Coach.  I mean, most all us
guys work out nude or in just a jock on our own.  And I mean, that's what
they used to do in the ancient wrestling academies, right?  Everyone was
naked.  It's no big thing."

"Holy shi - Taylor, you're too much, you know that.  Jesus fuck."  Inside
Wyatt was humming on all cylinders.

"So, can we, Coach?" asked Gar Daniels, one of the other players.  "We all
thought it would be kinda cool.  Like Chance says, kinda classic,
traditional."

He looked at those incredible hunks - so much of their beautifully ripe
bodies shown off already in just their tight jeans, those maddeningly big
bulges he tried so hard not to stare at, so teasingly outlined under the
soft denim.  Can you young bucks work out naked today? he laughed to
himself.  Fuck, everyday.  He would repay Chance for this prize tomorrow,
when they began their private training.  And he knew just how to show the
boy his gratitude, too.

Clearing his throat, he tried hard to sound bored and irritated with this
minor absurdity.  "Shit, awright, sure, just for today.  What the hell.
Get your head in the game from now on, though, Taylor!"

He hated talking rough to Chance, but he didn't want the other boys to
suspect there was anything going on between them.  He tried not to stare -
all the other boys did, too - as the six of them shucked their jeans and
stood there smiling: proud, naked, gorgeous.

Of course the whole thing was a ruse, designed to give Reed incredible
footage of a nude wrestling practice for his project.  Everyone's workout
wear was right in their lockers.  The other boys - and Cain - went along
with it instantly.

The rest of the team - mostly the straight boys - were filled with a tussle
of conflicting emotions.  Their minds just swam in confusion until Tor
called out, "Hey, Coach.  if they get to work out nude, why can't we?  It
sounds like a blast.  We're a team, right?  One for all, and all that jazz.
And anyway, it's hot as fu - I mean, hot as hell in here, Coach."

"Look," Wyatt barked, pretending to be testy as hell, while his cock began
to twitch deliciously at the scene of rarefied eroticism unfolding
arounding him, "I don't care if you work out in your Grannies' paisley
shawls.  Just get busy lifting, ok?  The season starts in a couple weeks,
and if you guys haven't noticed I been busting your asses in the hope of
winning the conference."

Smiling, buzzed, the rest of the team stripped off their shorts, T's, and
jocks, and proudly showed off their well-worked young torsos.  More than
one get was getting blood-gorged with excitement.

Reed, dry-mouthed, stammered, "Uh, Coach.  I guess this means no video?"

"Shit, that's right."  Wyatt faced the boys, trying hard not to lick his
lips at this incredible bevy of gorgeous young beefcake on casual display.
Whatever you do, he tried to tell himself, make eye contact; don't stare at
a kid's dick.  He tried to tell himself that, but he realized he was
lavishing all his attention on Brock Sears incredibly hot uncut cock, set
off so nicely by his shaved pubes.

"Uh," he managed to stammer, "Reed, here - you remember he took pictures of
one of our last practices - was gonna take video today, but - ."

"OK with me," Gar chimed in.  And a chorus of seconds rang out from the
smiling, jazzed group of naked young wrestlers, all eying each other
excitedly.

"Anyone object?" Wyatt asked.  Not a soul.

"OK, Reed, I - uh - guess you can go right ahead."  No way he'd forget to
have Reed burn him a disk of today's pratice; that's gonna be prime j/o
material for years to come.

"Hey, Coach, whyn't you get naked, too?" someone piped up, "It'd be like a
cameraderie thing.  You know, our fearless leader!"

"Yesh," said Brock, in a sly, lascivious sneer, fully aware that Wyatt had
been checking out his dick, "show off that stud Marine physique you got!"

"Cain, too!" another voice piped in.

Wyatt, half-thrilled, half-panicked, turned brusquely to Cain, acting like
he was further bored by the request.

"Cain, whaddya think?  You game?"

"Sure, Coach, why not?  It is kinda steamy in here."

It's about to get a lot steamier, Reed thought, realizing his boyfriend was
an even bigger genius than he'd thought.  Reed set his camera down and
pulled off his own jeans and shirt.  When in Rome, he smiled to himself,
wondering how you keep a camera steady while you're jacking off at the same
time.  How DO those Bel Ami cameramen do it? he wondered.

The sight of Cain's pierced, tatted body and Wyatt's hairy, manly, brawny
perfection at first had the boys speechless.  Then the low whistles
started, as well as a few idle comments like "Damn, Coach, you're a total
stud," and "Fuck, awesome build, Coach."  Meanwhile a handful of boys, both
gay and straight crowded around Cain, marveling at hos hot he looked with
his sexy ink, nipple rings, and his PA.  The straight boys had never seen a
pierced cock before and just gawked in fascination while their brains
started whirring in exciting little fantasies about what it must feel like
for someone - girl or boy - to be fucked by a dick with a big metal ring in
it.

Finally, more amped than they'd ever been for a wrestling practice before,
the nude athletes drfited off, either to stretch or lift.

Spencer Horsowski, one of the straight boys on the team, had been unable to
take his eyes off Chance the minute he'd stepped out of his jeans.
Horsowski, nicknamed 'Horrorshow,' was a sophomore on the squad.  He was a
major stud, wrestling as a heavyweight, two weight classes up from Chance.
He'd had a stellar career in highschool, undefeated in every one of his
bouts.  His high school team won state three straight years, with Horsowski
being name all-state two of those years.  He'd earned his nickname because
he was a nightmarish opponent to face.  He was a major recruiting plum for
Wyatt.  Horsowski's dad had wanted his son to sign with Oklahoma, but the
boy really loved his visit to State.  There was something about Coach, some
vibe or something that really appealed to the young jock.  He hadn't
regretted it for a minute.

Spencer had admired Chance right from the start.  Spencer was a rock-solid
hunk, working constantly on his body, and he respected other dudes who
pushed physical conditioning to the limit, as Chance clearly did.  Now,
with that frosh stud standing there, flexing a little to limber up, in all
his naked glory, Spencer was even more impressed.

"What a fuckin' body," he thought to himself.  He considered himself a
connoisseur of the male form and didn't see anything weird in his ability
to appreciate a truly fine body.  His rooom was filled with fitness mags
and DVDs; there were posters of incredibly built guys on his walls.  'Keep
your eyes on the prize,' his first-year highschool coach once told him, and
he was doing just that.

He decided to see if Chance wanted to buddy up in their workout today.

"Hey," he said, casually falling into some stretching exercises with the
freshman adonis.

"Hey, Spence!" Chance said good-naturedly.  "This is pretty fuckin' wild,
huh?  Damn, we sure are a team of totally buff dudes."

"No fucking shit, Taylor.  Yeah, this is pretty un-fuckin-believable,
pretty goddamn cool.  It's like what it should be, y'know?  Just naked
muscle, raw beef.  Makes me REALLY feel like an elite athlete or somethin',
y'know?"

As they stretched, Spencer's eyes were locked on Chance.  His body got more
and more incredible the more you saw it flex and watched the muscles roll
and pump and ripple.  What a goddamn fuckin' stud, he kept thinking.  This
kid should do fitness videos.  Fuck, a nude workout video of Chance.
That'd be awesome.

"Yeah, but hell, Spence, you'd be an elite athlete no matter what you were
wearing.  Or not wearing.  I've seen you wrestle and train, dude.  I know
your stats.  Don't get more 'elite' than the numbers you've put it."

His eyes raked over Spencer's naked frame.  He looked to Chance like a
young, blonde Charles Bronson, one of Chance's favorite actors - he and his
dad watched Bronsom films together a lot back home.  Spencer had the same
sort of hunk build, and he had those squinty eyes like Bronson's, too -
eyes that made him look like he was always happy, like they were always
twinkling.  And nice fucking cock, too.  Not as long as his own, and cut,
but way thick.  Nice, mouth-watering hunk of Polish sausage, Chance thought
to himself, and felt his own cock begin to stir.

"And your body's pretty fuckin' elite-looking, too, Spence.  Shit, you're
major hot, dude."

"Fuck, bro, look who's talkin'!  Everyone knows you got the most incredible
body on the team.  I was just thinkin' to myself, you should be a fitness
model or somethin'.  Or a personal trainer.  You're like . . . perfect.
Like a statue or something."

This was new for Spencer, this kind of flirty talk and cruising of another
dude's body.  He wasn't gay, of course.  But he had to admit, it was, like,
weirdly exciting.  Dammit, it's like what athletes should do - be naked
around each other, check each other out, study each other, be totally into
the male body.  Like you'd appreciate a fine work of art or something.
Shit, he realized, I can't stop staring at this dude's dick.

Spencer was fascinated by the thick length of uncut man-meat Chance was
packing.  He'd noticed guys' cocks in the shower or when they were
undressing in the locker room, of course - who wouldn't? - but he'd never
really stared at one this closely and for this long before.  Taylor's was
so thick, so long, so firm-looking, even when soft like this.  It was
incredible.  'Tasty-looking,' he thought to himself; you could easily see
why a chick would be totally into sucking a cock like this, just letting
her tongue play all over, lapping up and down, gettin' it hard as hell,
rubbin' it all over her face, jackin' it, playin' with it.  Such a fuckin'
hot cock.

And that sweet hunk of foreskin letting the tip juuuussssttt poke out.
Fuck, did it look awesome.  Chance had shaved away almost all of his pubes,
which looked sexy as shit, and the whole effect - long thick meat hanging
down; big smooth sac drooping low (shit, he must shave his balls, too!),
the whole package set off by his flat, rock-hard lower abs, his Apollo's
belt acting as kind of twin road-signs, pointing to that dick, highlighting
it.  Shit, it was, like, like . . . damn, Spencer thought to himself, it's
like fucking erotic as hell.  Beautiful; no other word for it.

And fuck, he had to admit to himself, only half-ashamed: he wasn't gay or
anything, but he sure as hell would like to get his hands on that cock -
lick it a little, even - see what the hell the whole gay thing was all
about.  He could just imagine foolin' around with a majorly built hottie
like Taylor: feelin' up each other's hot muscles, jerkin' that incredible
cock, bein' jerked by that fine-ass stud, sprayin' huge loads of jock-cream
all over each other's cut abs, then rubbin' it in.  Fuck, he bet it'd be
hot to even kiss a dude like Chance, he was so damn sexy-looking.  Not an
"I love you" kiss or anything, just a hot muscle-stud kiss, one passionate,
amped-up hard-body to another.

Chance could feel Spencer's gaze burning into his groin.  Cool.  He
wondered if the dude was gay.  Or, Chance laughed to himself as he watched
Spencer lick his lips unconsciously, if he knew he was gay yet.  Shit, was
he built.

"You 'bout ready to lift, dawg?" Chance asked casually.

"Guess so," Spence said a little nervously, having been shook out of his
reverie.  That was weird, he thought, smiling kind goofily.  Where the
fuck'd that come from?  "Wanna lift together today, Taylor?"

"Sounds like a plan.  I'm doin' abs first today, that cool with you."

"Definitely.  Cause I wanna see your abs routine.  I gotta see how you get
so fucking cut like that."

"Oh, thanks dude.  Happy to show you.  It ain't much, it's just I do a lot
of it."

"Fuck, you're so damn shredded.  I try and try, but this six-pack is the
best I can manage.  I really want the eight, like you got.  Hands-down,
best set I've ever seen.  Just really awesome definition, so fuckin' ripply
. . . . "

His voice trailed off as he brazenly reached down and stroked his
team-mate's lusciously cut definition.  Not 'brazen,' maybe, more overcome
with the headiness of the scene, all this incredible beefcake on parade
today.

"Mmmm, glad you like my abs, dude.  It's so cool, too, havin' you stroke
'em like that."

"Shit, man, they're amazing."  His eyes were glazed, his voice thick.  "And
shit, Chance, I ain't, like, gay or anything, but fuck, dude, you have an
awesome-looking cock."

"Yeah, I saw you scopin' it out, dawg.  Shit, Spence, take a feel," Chance
said.  "Help yerself."

Spencer looked up nervously, excited.  "For real?"

"Fuck, yeah, dawg.  Maybe you ain't gay, but I sure am, and it'd feel hot
as fuck having such a hot-looking muscle-head like you messin' with my
dick.  You got a fuckin' tasty-looking piece o' meat yer damn self."

And Chance let a sly, seductive finger run up and down Spencer's thick,
hardening shaft.  It began to twitch and rise.

Spencer was so turned on.  So Chance was gay.  Unbelievable.  He's like the
perfect guy to let Spence get a taste of boy-sex, which, if he were honest
with himself, was something he wanted a taste of for a looooonnnnggg time.
His cock was getting wonderfully hard as Chance diddled with it.  Shit, he
wished they could run off and have a romp in the locker room right now,
jack each other off like crazy.  Shit, was this ever hot!

He reached a hand in nervously, almost as if he were sticking it into a
flame, not knowing what would happen, and grasped that incredibly seductive
lure dangling in front of him.

Oh fuck!  he thought to himself, it was so often.  So huge, thick, alive.
A rush of pleasure tingled through him.  He'd been told all his life
messin' with dudes was unnantural, but this felt hot as hell.  He stroked
the long, long length, even daring to pull the foreskin back a little,
which was so fucking hot he could feel his own cock thrust up a little in
excitement.  Oh fuck, he realized, guys are totally meant to get together
for sexy-ass fun like this.  Shit, he wanted to mess around with Chance the
rest of the fuckin' day like this.  Fuck, to take this gorgeous piece of
meat in his mouth - the urge was overwhelming.

"Mmmmm," Chance purred, "so hot," as he stroked Spence up and down and
enjoyed the nervous, excited feel of his team-mate copping his first feel
of dick.

"Fuck yeah!" Spencer said, half-choking on the words his voice was so dry.

"Shit, dawg, we better get to liftin' before Coach comes over and calls us
out.  But fuck," he said, giving Spencer's half-hard thickness a final
squeeze, "sure would like to continue this in the shower later."

"FOR REAL!!??" Spencer asked excitedly, almost too amped to speak, churning
inside with the certitude that the one thing in his life he really wanted
now was awesome dick-play - and who knows what the fuck else - with this
hot fucking muscle-stud standing in front of him.  He looked around the
room at all the hot jock muscle on display.  Fuck, he thought, I'd mess
around with any of these dudes.  Fuck, am I primed for a nice long spate of
some hot fuckin' boy action.  He was hard as a rock.  Chance looked down at
him and gave a good-natured laugh.  The he slapped his ass lightly and
said, "C'mon, dawg!"

The two team-mates went off to the Roman chair where Chance proceeded to
show the brawnier boy how to get his abs more deeply grooved and cut.  As
one boy did a set on the chair, the other did reverse sit-ups.  They
alternated like that until they'd each done 5 sets of a hundred.  Spence
was grunting and straining in sheer pain the last set and a half.  But he
was determined to tough out every last crunch.

They continued their workout in the free-weight area.  Spencer though he
was on his turf now, but almost immediately Chance challenged Spencer to up
the weight on his bicep curl.  The younger hunk, a nice coating of sweat
adding sheen to his nakedness, stood close behind Spence letting his hands
gently ride the barbell, spotting his new work-out partner.  As he did, he
pressed his thick cock, stiffening again from this sexy intimacy, tightly
into Spencer's warm, moist crack.

"Fuck, that feels good," Spencer grunted, straining with the weight.

"What?  The pump or my cock?" Chance asked, his mouth right next to his
partner's ear, the hot breath sending an erotic chill through Spencer.

"Both," the boy grunted.  "Fuck, Chance I am so fucking turned-on by all
this, so fucking hot for you."  Another strained grunt.  "Shit, for all
these dudes.  Never really did more than daydream about it, but damn!
Fuck," he said, then grunted again, "look at fucking Daniels, he's totally
boned up, dude!"

"Like me," Chance whispered, hot moist, in Spencer's ears.  He let his
hands off the weight for long enough to cop a feel of Spence's dick.  "And
like you, dawg," he whispered again.

Another grunt from Spence, and Chance was now subtly pumping his hips back
and forth, up and down.  "Mmmmmmmm, so nice, dude!"  Another rep and
another grunt.  "Damn, look at Tor!  Check it out, that light little puff
of a bush above that sweet, long, up-curving stiff prick, like a little
cotton-tail."  Another grunt.  "God, so fuckin' sexy."

"Fuck," said Chance, "our squad is one hot-looking dude after another."
And then he thought to himself, is that how Wyatt recruits?  Gets wrestlers
who are not only good, but so damn gorgeous?  He laughed as he thought of
what a cool fucker Wyatt was; it was exactly the kind of utterly hot perv
move Chance would do himself if he were coach.

"Come on, man!  Race you up the ropes!" he said, as Spence finished his
last set.

"You're on," the blonde stud smiled, high and mellow from a great workout
and this wonderful new boy-passion.

Wyatt had four thick ropes hanging from the top of the tall ceiling in the
old gym.  The rule was you had to shinny up with just your hands.  It was
an incredible upper body pump.  So tough, in fact, there were a couple boys
on the squad who could only get part way up.

Chance and Spence paced each other, putting hand over hand with dizzying
quickness.  Chance looked over at Spence's upper arms, all cut, pumped, and
sexy as shit.  It was hot to see his nude body jostle as he bolted up, big,
stiff dick waggling like crazy.  Shit, Chance thought, driving himself
harder to pace his hot-looking team-mate, this is how practice whould
always be.

All around the scene was the same: ripe, gorgeous young muscle-studs, hot
bodies sheened with sweat and flushed from the extreme intensity of today's
workout, so anxious they all were to drive themselves harder, pump
themselves bigger, show off their nude, cut frames to each other in the
most glorious relief.

Wyatt strode through the scene with an almost regal bearing.  His stature
among the boys was obvious: He had easily the most awesome-looking body in
the room, a well-worked frame just dripping with erotic, chiseled
perfection.  His muscles were harder, more defined, more jaw-dropping than
any of the youngsters'.  Plus, he had such a sexy coating of man-fur, where
all the boys were smooth.  Everyone stared as he walked through, checking
them out.  Even the straight athletes, who'd all admired their stud coach
since they first laid eyes on him, envying him such a fine-ass body and
hot, manly good looks.  Now, seeing him nude, was just too much.  That
sweet fur dusting that hard round ass - none of them could help but wonder:
how would your tongue feel running all over it?  Those huge calves and
sculpted thighs, no trace of fat, and again so much sexier with that light,
masculine dusting.  Fuck, was he built.  And that cock!  Longer than any of
the boys', and with a much bigger ballsac.  Plus it was obscenely uncut,
that sexy, droopy fold of skin - it had every boy drooling at the sheer raw
sex embodied in it.  It swayed teasingly, temptingly when he sauntered
through the gym, as it bounced on those two egg-sized balls jiggling in his
man-sac; the whole awesome package framed by just the right amount of
man-bush.  Even his big, bony, sexy-ass feet had the boys salivating.

The coach looked around him, in heaven.  His coach's dream had come
gloriously to life.  He was in charge of a classic Greek gymnasium now, a
private, heady temple of young, male beauty, an athlete's refuge of pure
body, cut muscle.  Any other kind of gym seemed now like a perverse variant
of this, the real thing.

He strolled around, checking out guys' routines and progress (hell, he
laughed to himself, mostly checking out guys).  He felt like a randy old
satyr, wandering around a field of beautiful young male nymphs, trying to
decide on his pleasure from all the sexy, boyish perfection on display.  Or
like a beefy young lecherous pascha, wandering through his male harem,
trying to make up his mind which boy (or boys) he wanted for the evening.

He watched Gar Daniels doing raises.  Shit that kid looks hot, he thought.
Short blonde hair, that cute little beard thing on the bottom of his chin,
and what a body.  Massive, well-defined, almost ivory-pale skin.  Nice
round, tight ballsac and a tasty-lookin' seven inches or so of thick cut
meat.  Wyatt's cock was semi-erect by now.

He noticed Gar's grip on the barbell was all wrong, it was screwing up his
lift, so Wyatt did what he always liked to do when a young dude was messing
up: get in close behind him and show him how (wink-wink).

"Daniels," he barked, "how the hell're you holdin' that?  It's hittin' your
muscle all wrong!"

"Sorry, Coach," Gar looked up, startled - he had been drinking in the sight
of Brock Sears' bench pressing - that lean, shredded body, nice thick cock
flopping down along his thigh, it was soooo fuckin' sexy - and wasn't even
concentrating on his own routine.  "I - ."

"Here," Wyatt said, getting in close behind Gar and reaching his huge,
bulky arms around, embracing Gar tightly, pressing his fur-covered,
hard-nippled pecs right up against the boy's smooth, pale, nicely defined
back, and wedging his all-but-hard cock firmly in the crack of the boy's
scrumptious-looking ass.  Whenever he did this before with his young
athletes, there was always the false modesty of a jock, sweatpants, and T
to serve as a barrier between his own raw, physical passion and the cut
young boys on his squad.  But now, all barriers were down; desire was
nakedly apparent.  As he showed Gar the proper hand position and pump, he
lewdly thrust and wriggled his hips, massaging his huge member against the
boy's smooth, luscious ass.  He smiled to hear the quiet panting of
flustered, excited arousal from Gar, as well as feel the pressure his dick
was receiving from Gar pushing back on it, massaging his cock invitingly.
He brought his arms in even tighter, spending way too long demonstrating
the right grip and lift.  Christ, he could fuck this boy right here.  He
could feel his pre-cum strat to ooze out the tip of his rock-solid shaft.
His thrusts - and Gar's ass-pushing - were falling into that beautifully
sweet rhythm of male sex.

Finally, he came to his senses and released his willing young captive.

"Got that?" he said, voice trying to be gruff, but shaking a little from
the wake of erotic charge rippling through his body.  Gar just nodded, he
was too overcome with lust and confusion to speak.  Wyatt wandered away,
his slick-tipped dick jutting out proudly.

At this point, Reed, reluctantly, had to leave for his semniar.  He kissed
Chance good-bye, winked at Wyatt, and dressed, packing up his camera, which
now contained one of the hottest pieces of video footage imaginable.  Shit,
he thought, Baxter will wank like crazy when he sees this.

A few minutes after Reed's departure, the weights gave way to scrimmage
matches.  Again, there was a fire in the boys' eyes, a fury in their
performance, that was new.  While they grappled with each other, the
atmosphere in the room became charged with an irresistible odor: the
pungent, heady smell of young, athletic sweat, cut through with powerful
hormonal release.  It streamed from naked pits, groins, and asses and
wafted thickly through the room.  The hot, thick moistness of aroused boys
in the air made the gym a terrarium of young male lust, a medium in which
the full, exotic flower of young gay passion could sprout wildly.  It was
so powerful an aphrodisiac, even boys who'd previously only been mildly
curious about a same-sex encounter were now ravenously hell-bent for their
first taste of dick.

As the practice went on, everyone in the room realized the deep, bodily
logic of what muscular young men should do together in an athletic setting
like this.  They'd gorged on the primal need for nudity; it had prompted in
them a desire to work their bodies hard, proudly displaying them to each
other as they stretched or pumped iron or just posed teasingly; they'd
spent the session studying and learning from each other's muscular
development, and then they'd become lusciously aroused by the dizzying
display of cut jock bulk, only emphasized by grappling each other's sexy
perfection on the mats; now, young, horny, unchecked desire overflowed in
them with burbling passion, getting muscles and cocks full, plump,
luscious, straining for release.  Presiding over it all, like their guiding
spirit, the awesomely cut physique and huge, mouth-watering man-cock of
their coach, so much bigger, hairier, sexier than any of them, serving as
the homoerotic ideal and inspiration to these randy young acolytes.

After that incredible practice, Wyatt addressed his excited boys.  There
was a buzz in the air you could see and feel.  Beautiful nude boys were
lying lazily against each other, recovering from their hard practice, or
arm in arm, eyes looking lustily at each other's pumped, sweaty, chiseled
bodies; loving the feel of young male juice coursing through their
well-worked bodies; utterly amped at having spent the session together nude
and aroused, immersed in this steamy oasis of hot young naked muscle.
Wyatt didn't even bother to hide his stiffening prick.  What was on his
mind was on the mind of every single boy in the room - hot, raw gay sex,
immediately.

For the young gays on the team, the session had been a fantasy sprung
straight from their waking daydreams.  For the heretofore straight boys, it
was a now fully-formed desire that had liberated itself wondrously from the
fear and shame and guilt and repression that had kept their natural urge
for same-sex pleasure clamped down.  But now that the genie had been let
out of the bottle, these boys fully understand the primal truth about male
sexuality; a truth that cut across labels like 'straight' and 'gay'; a
truth rooted deep in a virile young boy's muscles, brain, cock, ass.  A
truth, they realized, that was wired indelibly into the male psyche, the
male body.  It was useless to deny, too compelling to resist.  Every boy in
the room wanted each other - and Wyatt, definitely - with every fiber in
their young, well-worked bodies.  They wanted to act on this desire,
realize it, celebrate, nurse it, develop it through the rest of the season.
Their wrestling room, they all knew, had now become an oasis of
homoeroticism.  They would never go back to the way things were before
today.

The formerly straight Jason spoke for every boy in the room, trying his
best to couch his raw lust in rational terms: "Coach, uh, I vote we have
wrestling practice nude like this from now on.  This was incredible!  I've
NEVER felt more centered, more energized, more into working out my body
that today.  Stretching was awesome, and lifting.  I mean, being able to
see everyone else's muscles made it so much easier to visualize my own."

"No shit, Coach.  It was totally awesome," echoed Gar.  "I vote same as
Jason.  It made me feel like a real wrestler."

"And, damn," Jason added, "for a guy who was pretty damn sure he was
straight, I gotta say, it is off the fuckin' hook being around all you hot
fucking studs!  Shit, you guys are fucking hot!!"  He was shyly stroking
his cock, getting primed for the sex he was ready to demand.

"WORD!" bellowed Horrorshow, happy to learn he wasn't the only previously
straight dude amped up for his first taste of male/male action.  "Man, I
totally get the gay thing now and, like, want a major piece of it!"

"No doubt, Spence!" Jason continued. "Shit, do you dudes ever look awesome
sweatin' and strainin' on the mat, or gettin' pumped with weights.  Sure as
hell got me in touch with my inner gay dude, or whatever," he laughed.

He licked his lip suggestively, letting his tongue slowly play across his
goatee-framed mouth.  It looked sexy as hell.  He added, voice husky now,
"All this fine-ass jock cock!  Shit, does it ever look luscious.  Never
thought I'd be sayin' somethin' like that before, but, damn, this sure as
fuck's been a day to remember."  He started to stroke his hard, young dick
brazenly now, as if offering it to whoever wanted a taste.

"Yeah, Coach," Alex, one of the gay wrestlers smiled.  "I'm uually always
horny as hell leaving practice.  But today, damn.  I feel like my nuts'll
explode if I don't cum soon.  OK, if whoever wants to is able to, you
know," he smiled shyly, "fool around and all?"

There was a loud, lusty chorus of assent.  Wyatt looked around at fifteen
rock-hard cocks - his own included - jutting and straining from the wet
dream that was this bevy of nude wrestlers.  He drew in a big breath.

"OK, OK.  Obviously we had an innarestin' practice today," he shot a sly
look at Chance, "thanks to you, Taylor."

The other boys crowded around him, patting, rubbing, carressing him all
over.

"So," he continued, "we gotta decide.  I have no problem with you guys
havin' all the sex you want after pratice, providing it's consensual.  I'm
a gay man myself, and so I understand how you all feel.  I mean, what can I
say?" Here he laughed and gestured to his own raging hard-on, which drew
lots of excited whoo-whoo's.

"Lemme add somethin' else," he continued.  "I'm serious about this squad.
Best I ever coached, hands down.  We should be a cinch for the conference
and competitive as hell at nationals.  The harder we train, the stronger we
get, the more that's gonna be true."

Now he strode the room, his cut musculature ripling and his stiff,
straining cock bobbing seductively.

"You guys wanna fuck like rabbits after pratice.  Go for it.  That's
testosterone, and that's gonna be our secret to a championship season.
Testosterone is an amazing hormone.  Bulds muscle mass and strength,
improves memory and emotional stability, boosts your energy level, even
helps in body fat loss cause it speeds up metabolism.  And of course," and
here he took one of his big paws and jacked his huge, dripping cock,
causing a mixture of laughter and lust from the boys, "it increases sexual
potency."  More laughter.  "It may," and he slowly drew a seductive finger
all up and down the length of his massive prick, "even stimulate penis
development.  Even erection frequency."  Then he looked around at the hard,
straining cocks of his hot, muscular team and added, "Not that anya you
boys need that."  A wink and more laughter.  Every boy in the room,
including Cain, loved where they saw this heading.

Wyatt continued, loving the looks of raw desire glazing over every boy, the
almost droooling appreciation of his body they were manifesting.  "Now, you
can take testosterone supplements, and we might think about whether we
wanna do that.  You can also eat a lot of nuts, one of the best foods to
help a dude increase his manliness.  And," and now he was right behind
Cain, pressing his massive member into the young boy's ass-crack and
feigning a truly hot fuck, while jacking Cain from behind.  Cain
immediately moaned in ecstasy, "you can fuck.  Or jerk off, or blow each
other.  Whatever it takes to spill seed.  Best way to increse testosterone
is to increse sex."

He came away from Cain, who let out a sad sigh.

"So, you boys want sex after pratice?  Shit, way I see it, it's a key part
of pratice.  From now on.  But I wanna be sure.  Anyone here opposed to
idea of this becoming the fuck-buddy wresling squad of all time?"

All grins and flashing eyes, no dissent.

"Gentlemen, knock yourselves out.  And lemme add, to you straight guys on
the team - your girls don't give you enough from now on, you just call your
buds on the wrestling squad!"

The boys commenced to stroking, sucking, jerking.  All of them, gay and
straight, fell into a lush, delicious rhythm of male desire as naturally as
could be.  Soon the room was filled with slurping and moaning.

Cain turned back to Wyatt and aksed, "Fuck, Coach.  You wanna put that hot
fuckin' man-meat in me for real?"

They kissed, groping each other in sheer male pleasure.  Wyatt began
stroking the slim, sexy skater-boy.  They were both single-minded in their
need for release, as everyone rolling together in passion on the mats was.
Wyatt laid Cain down gently on his stomach and got to work on his ass.  He
licked, spit, poked, and stretched - over and over again - until the boy
was as ready as Wyatt could wait for.  His dick was coated with pre-cum.
Cain half-cried, half-gasped as Wyatt drove home.  God, he needed to fuck.
He looked around him at the beautiful bacchanalia of writhing muscular
boy-flesh.  Don't wake me up, is all he thought, before proceeding to fuck
the shit of his most willing equipment manager.

After he pumped about seven or eight incredibly satisfying loads into
Cain's ass, having also made sure he stroked his young partner off to a
very creamy climax, they kissed, and Wyatt headed to the shower.  He
noticed only three boys were left in the gym: Gar was sucking off Danny,
who was being fucked by Tre.  "Awesome practice today, Coach!" Tre yelled
as Wyatt strode by, still trying to figure out just what the fuck happened
today.

He walked to his office to grab a towel, striding through a locker room
dotted with pockets of boys here and there kissing or jacking or fucking.
He got his towel and walked to the showers. He never showered with the boys
in the past, but he expected now he'd do it after every practice.  Fuck, he
thought, I'm going to have the greatest year of my life as a coach.  As a
man.  It's Taylor, he knew.  The kid is magic.  He thought about their
first private practice coming up tomorrow.  Fuck, was that ever gonna be
hot.  Then pratice with the team again next day - the new-style pratice.
His cock was huge and full again with longing.

He rounded the corner, his hot, hairy muscle-stud body primed for more
action, ready to continue this glorious realization of a gay coach's
deepest fantasy.  What he saw when he stepped into the shower room brought
an immediate, knowing smile to his face: four boys were pressed against the
tile wall, in a row next to each other, while an equal number of team-mates
stood in back of them, hitting those asses from behind.  It was like a
scene out of a porn flick.  Shower room as orgy room.  But, Wyatt realized,
the boys' gym shower room always had that element, that potential.  Its
status as a scene for a wild gay sex-spree was present in every boy's
fantasy as they showered, joked, and stared at each other's provocative
nakedness.  Now, his team has simply made that subtext the main text.

His mouth grew dry with lust; his prick oozed precum.  He licked his dry
lips and stroked his wet cock as he drank in the scene: a row of hungry
young asses being fucked by thick-dicked, boy-crazed young studs.  He
stared as full, floppy ballsacs swayed and slapped those hot, wet asses.
The buzz of new-found pleasure and licentious freedom in the room was
almost deafening.  He watched with a mixture of lust, excitement, and
pride.  Finally, he was coaching a team he could call his own, one that had
his total stamp on it.  He felt like a Spartan commander in the barracks,
pleased at the lusty, hard-core intensity of his troops.

His balls felt fuller than ever, his cock longer and harder than he could
remember.  He walked up to Brock, who was jacking off to the scene as well,
grabbed him by the shoulders and planted a starved, insistent kiss on his
lips.  Brock responded with wild delight.  Wyatt began quick, rough
fingering of that tight, muscular, teasing little ass.

"Mmmm, oh fuck yeah, Coach.  My ass has craved that stud-cock of yours for
three years," the hot boy mumbled hoarsely, not wanting to take his lips
off his Coach's raw, manly mouth.

Wyatt pulled his face away and stared at Brock, that lean, cocky beauty, as
if from a far-away height he'd just gotten the nerve to jump into, then
whispered roughly, "That's about as long as I been wantin' to drill this
fine, tight ass o' yours, son."

He turned the boy around, and let the fingers of one hand play over Brock's
grateful, lapping, tongue-fevered mouth, as, with the other hand, he soaped
up his long, thick, achingly hard dick.  When it was nice and slick, he
pried Brock's hole a little more open with soapy fingers, then rammed his
hungry cock home.  Oh fuck, he thought, what a rush, this tight young jock
ass.  His slick moist cock found a pleasurable rhythm immediately.  He
smiled to himself as he felt Brock's muscular athletic ass began to wriggle
and rock as it eagerly, excitedly rode the incredibly long, thick stiffness
pleasuring it.  His hands played over the hot, shredded musculature of this
young athlete's abs, that 8-pack which he'd ogled so often in the past.
Then one hand moved up to play with the tits on those ripe, cut pecs.

Brock was squealing and panting as Wyatt rammed nine hard, thick, uncut
inches home again and again.  He took pity on the boy, soaped up a hand,
and jacked a young straining cock as he plowed that tight young ass.
Turning to get more soap, he smiled to notice that the row of fuckers and
fuckees were all staring in drooling, open-mouthed lust as their stud coach
fucked the senior hottie on the team.  It's dream-time on this team from
now on, Wyatt realized.  This would be a season to remember.  He could feel
the exquisite pleasure of an on-coming orgasm build in his man-sized balls.

"I'm cummin' soon, stud," he leaned in and whispered to the semi-delirious
boy he was fucking.  "You want it in this sweet ass?"

"No," Brock panted, "tell me when you're ready.  I want every drop in my
mouth."

"Too fuckin' hot," Wyatt grunted.

More and more thrusts, during which Brock himself came.  The pressure from
those ass muscles clamping down again and again, with each volley of
boy-juice, on his huge cock was too much for Wyatt.

"Open up, stud," he panted hoarsely, pulling out.  Brock flippped around,
got to his knees, and put his hot mouth over the most luscious prick he'd
ever seen.  He gurgled and snorted and swallowed and almost choked, but he
got every drop of muscle-god nectar.  Eight, nine, ten volleys-fuck, he
thought, Coach is a real man.

He looked up at Wyatt, whose head was thrown back in the sweet ecstasy of
male release.  He felt Wyatt's grateful hand stroking his head.  Then Brock
held that cum-slick cock out in front of him.  It was still almost fully
hard.  What a fucking stud, Brock thought.  His Coach's cock was
incredible.  So full, so long, so thick, so powerful.  It was the most
mouth-watering piece of jock-meat he'd ever seen.  The foreskin was still
hiding the mighty head in its fleshy hood.  He had even more foreskin than
Chance, Brock marvelled.  He took it tenderly by the huge ballsac and
brought his mouth to it.  His tongue lapped any remaining cum off as Wyatt
groaned hoarsely.  Then Brock teasingly traced his tongue under the
foreskin, around the head, digging into the piss-slit, all the while
tickling Coach's full, manly balls.

"Mmmmmn," sighed Wyatt, in utter bliss at the sheer sensuality of the
scene: young studs to his right, either in post-coital kissing and
fondling, or stroking off while they watched Brock suck him off, or still
fucking themselves; the hard steamy shower sprays, gushing erotically,
providing the driving rhythm soundtrack of male lust; and the indescribable
pleasure this hot boy was giving his stud-cock, ministering to it like one
of those young male whores he and Jesse had paid for on their trip to
Bangcock.

"You keep doin' that," he groaned, "and yer gonna get me so damn hard and
horny, I'm gonna have no choice but to hit that ass up again."

Brock looked up and grinned with young, leering boyishness, ""That's the
idea, Coach!"

And so, this amazing first day of new-style wrestling pratice ended.  The
formerly straight guys on the squad were the most buzzed.  Two of them
floated out of the gym that day thinking of their incredibly hot-looking
room-mates, who'd always sort of given off a gay vibe; these two were now
planning the moves they'd put on their roomies tonight.  Others were
thinking of hot-looking friends they had, and how they would go about
initiating those dudes into this awesome brand of boy-sex as soon as
possible.  The rest hung around the gym, in a crowd with some of the out
gay wrestlers on the team, stroking each other's deliciously well-worked
cocks and making plans to hang out later that evening.  These once-straight
boys were thrilled that the low level of flirting they'd been engaging in
with other dudes over the years - sometimes unconsciously - could now
become frank, explicit, and lead to such gloriously fulfilling release.

For it was always guys, these boys could now admit, from almost as far as
they could remember.  All throughout their sports career, working their
bodies to a homoerotic ideal of masculine beauty, watching other boys
intently as they did the same, delighting in the physicality of sport, as
well as the athletic horseplay and rough-housing with other fit boys,
looking for any occasion to preen their buff bodies and slyly eye the other
boys who delighted in displaying theirs, poring over fitness mags (and
sneaking peak after peak of gay muscle porn sites, trying to convince
themselves it was just to see some awesomely built dudes), and watching any
live or televised sporting event that featured good-looking guys wearing as
little as possible.  The realization of their true desire - shit, it was
the reason they'd all chose wrestling for their sport, wasn't it? -
engulfed them with a warm exciting confidence; any previous, tamped-down
guilt over their newly discovered gayness had been rapidly dissolved in the
explosive power of the most satisfying sex imagineable.

Comments welcome
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