Date: Thu, 8 Jan 2009 10:50:41 -0800
From: Rio Mack <badprose@hotmail.com>
Subject: Alien Culture 28 (gay/college)

The Alien Culture Project, part 28
By Rio Mack

DISCLAIMER: The following contains depictions of gay sex.

When Chance got back to the dorm from his late afternoon English class, a
little after five, he was at first so struck by Reed's new buzz-cut (not to
mention how steamy his lover looked wearing just a necklace and a pair of
clingy black mesh shorts - that long, thick, loosely lolling dick of Reed's
showing oh-so-nicely through the soft, thin fabric), that he hadn't even
realized Reed had spent the day giving their dorm room a very hip makeover.
Reed's buzz, emphasizing the beautiful features of his face and the
gorgeous curves of his head and neck, seemed an invitation to sensuality.

"Fuck," Chance purred, voice instantly thick with longing, one hand rubbing
Reed's sexy shaved scalp, the other almost instinctually tracing a trail up
and down, from smooth pecs to plump cock, "makes you look younger."

"Gotta keep up with that hot young cowboy of mine," Reed smiled, thrilling
at the touch of his strong young stud of a lover.  "But, hey, enough about
me. . . . ."

He pulled out of Chance's embrace and waved his arm around the room with a
flourish.  "So?  Whaddya think of the place?  Took me most of the day to
fix it up.  Tommy helped me.  We - . . ."

"HOLY FUCKING FUCK!" Chance cried, when he began to take in the
unbelievable transformation Reed had worked on their dorm room.  He
wandered around from one part of the room to the other, oohing and aahing
at every little change Reed proudly showed off, commenting on how hot the
new art was, sizzling photos and drawings of muscle, cock, and ass covering
most of the walls now; loving the cool curtains Reed had hung around their
bed, as well as the plush new linens (making it a kind of love-tent, he
thought excitedly, imagining all the fucking that was going to go on in
their own private little Casbah); going nuts over the newly redone living
room area, now with flatscreen TV, couch, and big soft throw pillows
scattered around a new shag carpet, inviting all sorts of boy-play; he
noted, too, the stacks of porn mags, gay comic books, and DVD cases
scattered across the TV cabinet, each one showing a very hot, muscular dude
(Chance had become way into porn, thanks to Reed); and he definitely
appreciated the private space Reed had carved out for them to use as a
dressing area, with a big mirror (Chance loved posing, meticulously
checking out every millimeter of muscle development).

He was just knock-down, head-shakingly overwhelmed.  Reed had given him
(them, of course) a perfect gift: this remodeled room was a pure embodiment
of this recent fantasy he'd been toying with, which had been playing
through his mind over and over the past few days, his dream of the kind of
lifestyle he wanted to share with Reed, a mounting obsession that had first
taken hold of him that evening with Wyatt & Jesse, at Sparta and then back
at their loft, and that had grown and flourished the night of the dance
performance and dinner date with Reed, both those nights on the town among
a hip gay community Chance now felt so comfortable in and wanted so much to
be a part of.  Seeing strong, sexy, intelligent men, talking art and food
and culture - it dazzled Chance, opened his eyes to a lifestyle of cool,
masculine stylishness, which in his farm-boy days he'd never even realized
existed, but which now felt as much a part of him as his newly realized gay
desire.

As Chance stood there in their new dressing area, too stunned even to voice
thanks, Reed embraced him with an achingly powerful desire.  Their mouths
met and devoured each other, their smoldering passion building, starting to
shudder in them.  All they could do was moan hungrily as their mouths
seemed to inhale each other's lips, cheeks, chins, necks.

Reed, remembering his celebration plan, regrettably pulled himself out of
his lover's arms, popped the cork on the champagne he had chilling in the
fridge, filled two of the jelly jars Chance used for glasses (a habit from
back home), and brought them over on a tray, which also held his bong.
They toasted each other, their new life, their new room.  Another kiss,
then a few hits on the bong.  Reed loved preparing bowls of dope for him
and his boy, knowing how horny they'd both get and how much more
exquisitely sensual it would make exploring each other's finely-tuned
bodies.

Then, instantly buzzed from the pot and starting on a second glass of
sparkling wine, a leering, hungry Reed slowly undressed his ripped young
lover.  As he sexily snaked off Chance's T-shirt and jeans, he
tongue-worshipped every muscle in his young lover's beautifully ripped
body, stroking and teasing as he went.  The two boys were in that timeless
sort of dope time, their cocks wonderfully hard and throbbing.

Once his boy-toy was undressed, Reed reached over for the black leather
jock he'd set out earlier for Chance to try on, one of the free samples
he'd be given at a recent modeling session.  He knew how much Chance loved
leather, and, indeed, his young stud luxuriated in the feel of it, stroking
his big cock through the tight pouch.  Reed knelt down and inhaled that
incredible scent of man-musk and animal hide.  Delicious.

Chance couldn't help posing and preening in his hot new leather-gear.  With
his sexy buzz, days-old stubble, and deeply-carved bulk, he looked nasty,
porn-star hot.  He wished he had that X-shaped leather harness of Wyatt's
to put on - damn, would he love fucking Reed while wearing that.  Reed
wriggled out of his mesh shorts and got behind his lover, nuzzling his ass
with his cock and stroking his hands up and down that awesome frame.  More
kissing, more fevered stroking and rubbing.  Then Reed fixed another small
bowl of pot, a quick hit for each, and carried the tray of champagne and
glasses to their bed.  Chance watched his naked lover pad across the room
to their bed, the beautifully flexing muscles of Reed's ass drawing him
along like a magnet.

In bed, with the curtains drawn and all the candles on the end tables lit,
Chance, in his leather jock, was Reed's raw, young barbarian lover.  He
took Reed wantonly, feverishly; his normally athletic lust inflamed by the
heady pot and wine, as well as the gorgeous body in bed with him.  Their
bodies and mouths seemed to explode against each other; their hands
couldn't cover enough of each other's erotically ripe curves and bulges.
Reed felt that huge hard log of Chance's cock strain through the tight
leather pouch, pressing against his own stiff, throbbing prick.  He decided
not to unsheathe that massive tool yet, knowing how exquisitely tortured it
would feel, straining in its leather hold.

Chance's lust was screaming in hard, grunting gaps.  His huge fingers were
pawing, deep and insistent, into Reed's wriggling ass.  His mouth, playing
across Reed's face, ears, and neck, felt like a furnace.  His crotch began
to pummel and rock against Reed's body, determined to have its way.

Reed wanted it as badly as his lover.  He quickly slipped out from under
Chance's strong frame and turned to face one of the end tables.  He scooped
up what he wanted, but before he turned back around, he just twisted his
neck to look at his lover.  Chance was kneeling on the bed now, the body of
a fevered, hard-carved stud and the stubbled face of a soulful, cowboy
adonis; he was about the most gorgeous thing Reed had ever seen.  Reed
wriggled and writhed his beautiful backside, like a whorish young harem
boy, teasing his master with the promise of untold ecstasy.  Chance threw
his now-sweaty head back and smiled dreamily.

Reed was on Chance in a moment, pushing the muscle-god back, whipping off
the tight leather jock, then quickly cinching a black leather cock-ring
around that humungous cock and ballsac.  Then he bent down to minister to
that luscious, majestic length.

He lapped and licked shamelessly at it, tongue-bathing it to a hard,
glistening sheen, all the while teasing the large, smooth eggs nestled in
Chance's low-hanging nutsac.  Reed lavished such passionate attention on
that massive shaft that, combined with the steady ball-play, Chance's
slathered-up rod began to drip long, thick ropes of drool-drenched precum.
Reed's exquisite genital-worship was a kind of erotic torture, causing his
roguish young lover to cry out in the most deliriously mind-bending mix of
pleasure and pain.  Chance half-wanted the oral teasing to end, so he could
fuck that wonderful ass, but what Reed was doing to his ring-tightened cock
and balls was so freaking awesome, he was loathe to make him stop.
Finally, the burning, twitchy hunger pulsating deep in Reed's ass made the
decision, and he lay back amid those luxurious sheets, tweaking his nipples
with one hand. and with the other, fingering his hole, then licking his
finger, then fingering it more - a picture of slutty boy-lust that only
served to further engorge Chance's huge, throbbing fuckstick.

The young muscle-hunk dove for that ass, tearing into it like a starving
man given a cut of prime beef.  He snorted in wet, sloppy passion.  The
prickly feel of Chance's close-buzzed head and scratchy beard-stubble on
Reed's thighs and ass was the ultimate in eroticism.  He clamped his legs
around Chance's head and wriggled them around to heighten that
sandpaper-rough sensation.  Chance began fingering and poking, pulling and
prodding, opening that tunnel he was desperate to plow into.  Finally, he
could stand it no longer; his lust-swollen cock, straining beyond belief,
made any further foreplay impossible, so he roughly plunged into that
sweetly enveloping ass.  Reed looked adoringly up at the unreal perfection
that was Chance's beautifully sculpted shoulders, arms, chest, and abs.
His own cock was rock-hard, hurting from the need to pump out a churning
load of ball-juice.  His ass swallowed up that huge cock and rode it,
wriggling and twisting, so that it hit every hot nerve in his guts.  It
felt like he was rubbing his prostate back and forth on a huge rod of solid
steel; it was indescribably wonderful, and he felt his own stiff prick
throb even harder and his balls jostle and pulsate more deeply.

Chance watched, afire in the glow of sheer desire, as Reed, eyes closed,
pleasured himself.  The sight of his older lover's body, squirming
shamelessly on his massive cock, abs crunching and bulging, cock bouncing
and bobbing, head tossing and turning back and forth, only goaded him on to
fiercer love-making.  Sweat dripping off him, he rammed harder and harder,
wanting to fuck the cum right out of that excited cock jiggling around in
front of him as he fucked Reed like a rag doll.

The sounds that filled the air were monosyllabic hymns to the other's
beauty and passion, the only grateful prayers their lust-drenched minds
could come up with, just a litany of "FUCK's" and "GOD's" and "SHIT's" and
"OOOHHHH's."

Reed luxuriated in every tantalizing micro-sensation - not just the huge
hard thickness pounding away at the fiery yearning in his ass; but that
ripe, pendulous ballsac slapping against his cheeks; the feel of Chance's
huge strong hands holding and kneading away at his waist, abs, ass, and
tits; the drops of sweat raining on him, landing like cool pearls on his
hot skin; the expression of sheer straining desire painted across Chance's
face, burnishing its beauty into even higher relief; and the cum roiling
and churning in his nuts.  Chance was pummeling him so hard, the bed was
moving, rattling against the wall.  Oh fuck, he thought, in a kind of giddy
abandon, to be taken like this, ravished so completely by such a strong
young perfect man - there was no greater pleasure on earth.  His body felt
like it would scream out from every pore as it was pounded, pounded,
pounded, each thrust more ridiculously wonderful than before.  Reed gave a
hiccupping half-cry, half-laugh at both Chance's insane fury and the
unbelievably wonderful pleasure being fucked through his body.  His head
knocked up against the headboard, which only made him more giddy; it felt
like he might even black out.  He wondered if Chance could keep this up for
an hour, maybe even all night.  He didn't care - fuck, he could die this
way, it felt so wonderful.  His cock was suffused with what felt like an
ocean of cum building inside it.

Suddenly, needing to spell himself, Chance slowed a little.  Instead of
that ramrod pistoning, he put one had under Reed's lower back, holding him
up at an angle that made the fulsome thickness of his cock feel even more
exquisitely delicious in Reed's ass.  The older boy helped out by locking
his strong legs around Chance's shoulders and neck.  Now their sex had the
elegant, masculine beauty of some virile, athletic ballet.  Chance began to
fuck Reed with short, controlled strokes, and now that Reed was supporting
his own weight, the young cocksman used both his hands to jack the fleshy
sleeve of Reed's dick and roll his juicy balls through his big fingers.
Reed drifted further into ecstasy.  He reached one of his own hands under
him and played with Chance's own big sac, letting his fingers dance lightly
across those huge velvety smooth eggs, then tracing up and down his shaved
crack.  He decided to dwell on Chance's crack, when he saw the expression
of pleasure flood across the boy's face.  They kept that up, moaning and
grunting, until first Reed then Chance came with a gut-wrenching,
balls-deep ferocity.

They collapsed.  Minutes later they stirred gingerly, gulping laughter in a
kind of stunned, embarrassed surprise at the animalistic fury that had
possessed them, marveling at the sheer force of their passion for each
other.  Kissing, stroking, tonguing cum off themselves, they purred and
cooed, until Reed finally rose, poured Chance the last of the champagne,
and went to finish cooking dinner.

Chance delighted in every bite - curried rice, steamed thin-cut carrots in
some kind of very light, tangy sauce, and poached fish; not only delicious
but just the kind of food Chance wanted to serve as the bulk of his diet,
in order to keep his muscles big, hard, and lean - and he was amazed Reed
could whip up such an elegant meal in what was, after all, a college dorm
room.

"You gotta teach me how to do this!" he implored Reed, with obvious
sincerity.  "I gotta learn so's I can make cool stuff like this for us!"

Reed just shrugged coolly, glad inside he could please this magical boy so
much.

After eating, they changed into jeans and did their homework, which was
mainly putting the finishing touches on their 'Alien Culture' projects for
Baxter's class.  Chance fine-tuned his essay, then went through the
slideshow of photos he was using from his night at Sparta.  He made a
hyperlink in his electronic essay to the slideshow, and even added another
link to a smaller set of pictures he wanted to add in: the very hot photos
that Jesse had taken of him, clad in Wyatt's leather harness.  He also
tweaked the narrative of his life before college, which he had written over
the weekend, and which he'd hoped would provide some background context for
what a truly life-altering journey this assignment had been for him.  He
gave a wistful laugh at the high school photos of him he'd taken off his
hometown newspaper's website, which he'd embedded in the essay.  Damn, had
he ever changed.

Doing this final prep on the assignment was an emotionally charged
experience.  Chance couldn't help but think of that first night, just last
week (but it seemed a lifetime ago), dropping by the dorm room of the
senior he'd been assigned as a project partner, a handsome, older boy who
came to the door in underwear, with a thick hard-on raging in his shorts,
complete with tell-tale precum stain.  Then a few beers while they planned
their project, the natural, subconscious flirting between two good-looking
boys (at least 'subconscious' on my part, Chance smiled to himself; Reed
probably knew just what he was doing, shamelessly seducing an innocent
young virgin like myself).  Then his finding the gay stroke-books in Reed's
john, which brought a really charged sexual frankness to their
conversation, then more beers and - Christ, Chance laughed to himself, did
I really do a strip-tease?  Jeez, I musta been horny as hell!  My dick
clearly musta got tired o' waitin' for me to realize how fuckin' gay I was,
I guess.  And now that dude is my boyfriend, my life-partner, I hope.

Looking up from his laptop and around their incredibly remodeled dorm, he
could only think: and now this cool new space - the perfect threshold for
our life together.  Fuckin' destiny, Chance thought, misty-eyed, as he
finished burning his project to a disc to give his professor in class
tomorrow.

Reed, working across from Chance, spent the time making sure the links to
all the wrestling practice pictures worked, then he quickly edited the
video from this morning's practice and embedded that - that awesome nude
practice!  The video was hot as fuck.  Reed found himself stroking to a
hefty thickness as he streamed it.

Suddenly he thought better and looked across the desk at Chance.

"Fuck, man, this is outrageously hot stuff.  You don't think we might get
in trouble for including this X-rated shit in our assignment, do you?"

Chance jumped up and looked at the practice video playing on Reed's laptop.
He smiled lustily remembered what a hot morning it was.  But then he turned
reflective.

"It's crossed my mind, definitely, about including so much bare-assed sexy
stuff.  Shit yeah, I guess we could get busted.  Baxter could haul our
asses in to the Dean of Students.  I guess this IS pretty freakin' much the
definition of pornographic.  But it just feels so RIGHT to me to include
the whole damn story, every friggin' detail.  Plus, these pictures are so
damn amazing; they capture such an exciting part of life.  And he is a damn
sociologist or anthropologist or whatever the fuck he is.  Something just
keeps telling me he's gonna really love our project - like, the BOLDNESS of
it, you know?"

Reed laughed: "Course, if Baxter's gay - and he could be; you know,
closeted academic type, pretty damn common social stereotype - we get A's
for sure, and probably he'll call us into his office and beg to suck us
both off."

Chance snorted, "You got a warped imagination, dawg.  He's a fuckin'
sociologist!  I tell ya, he's gonna look at this as, like, the ideal result
to his assignment - two students totally engage cultures previously alien
to them - and he's gonna be amped on what a powerful effect it had, on me
especially.  This is like DATA to him, dude, not PORN.  He's a fuckin'
SCHOLAR, not a voyeur."

"Oh you innocent dope," Reed smiled.  "He's a dude, he's got a dick.  That
means he's gonna get HELLA off on your pix and my vid.  This shit is so
hot, you could fry bacon with it!"

Their homework done, the boys decided to chill in front of the new
flatscreen, on the new couch.  They clicked through the channels, Reed
voting for Anderson Cooper, but Chance whooping loudly when he saw Monday
Night Football was on.

"Aw, c'mon, Reed, please!  It's Browns/Niners!  From the fuckin' Dawg
Pound!  Plus, I never seen a football game on a TV this cool before!"

Reed gave in immediately - on one condition: that Chance would watch the
game in another pair of the sexy underwear he'd brought home from his
modeling job the other day.  Chance agreed, of course.  Reed's own dick
started stirring as he watched Chance shuck his jeans and pull on the sexy
underwear he chose: a pair of very low-cut red-and-white bandana-print
briefs he thought would look great on his cowpoke stud.  And they did:
Chance's thick, meaty snake of a cock was deliciously visible in front and
the beautiful globes of his muscle-ass were sensually outlined in back.
And since they were cut so low, every inch of those seriously shredded abs
and sexy hipbones were achingly exposed.  Chance marveled at the fit,
turning this way and that in front of that big, full-length, gilt-framed
mirror Reed had scored for them to get dressed in front of.

"Damn, dawg, I sure look pretty tight in these undies, huh?"

Reed could only give his best, boned-up dog growl in response.

Still turning and posing in front of the mirror, drinking in his sexy body
set off in those wild bandana-print skivvies, Chance laughed, "I bet these
are what all the gay ranch-hands in the bunkhouse wear, huh?"

Then the young country hunk was inspired.  He walked over and reached down
to open the bottom drawer of his dresser.  Reed's eyes never left that
beautifully fluid musculature; watching Chance move, gorgeous muscles
rippling and flexing in smooth harmony, was like witnessing a
perfectly-orchestrated rhythmic composition.  With the drawer open, Chance
pulled out a beat-up old black leather Stetson cowboy hat, its well-worn
brim curled up tight against the crown.  It was a small, close-fitting hat,
broken in to the point of looking like it had been through about a hundred
cattle drives.  Naturally, it looked sexy as hell on Chance.

"Fuck, dawg," Reed pouted, "are you shitting me?  Can you, like, get me any
harder?"

Chance preened this way and that in front of the mirror, hat cocked back on
his brutally handsome head, jutting his tightly packed crotch out as he
posed this way and that.

"Used to live in this hat back home junior and senior year," he muttered
staring at a reflection even he had to admit was hot as fuck.  "Thought it
made me look like such a macho stud.  Shit, I guess it does at that.
Funny, never wore it once since I been here at college.  Whaddya you think,
Reed?"

Instead of answering, Reed went to his own dresser and pulled out a red
bandana.  He folded it, twirled it a few times, then tied it around
Chance's neck.

"OH SHIT!  You gotta get Jesse to take your picture in this outfit!  Fuck,
are you ever hot!  Best fuckin' cowboy porn I've ever seen.  I'm definitely
buying you some leather chaps."

Chance felt his cock thickening as he posed.  Damn, he DID look hot.  Shit,
was he ever sculpting his body now.  He traced his deeply grooved Apollo's
belt, up and down his nicely tapered waist, across his perfectly ripped
eight-pack, then rubbed his square-cut pecs, tweaking the hard nubby nips
standing out in luscious, excited relief.  He turned to see his back - his
ass was two solid globes of muscle, sitting atop strong, shredded thighs
and nice, full, stone-hard calves.  He flexed his chest and biceps - there
was so much more size and definition in his arms now, they seemed bursting
with power and quickness; but not huge, puffy bulk, rather it was that
lean, coiled, quick-strike, big-cat sort of muscle.  Fuck, he laughed to
himself, you're like a damn tiger or panther, all bone and muscle and
strength.  Yup, Taylor, very nice.  Svelte as hell.  Keep it up, dawg.  And
tomorrow, his private workouts with Wyatt started.  Shit, was he ever gonna
be awesome-looking come spring.

Not to be outdone, Reed shucked his own jeans and wriggled into a very sexy
army-green camouflage-print low-rise jock that he knew fit him very nicely
indeed.  Chance watched him change, smiling as Reed worked his big thick
cock into that tight, stretchy pouch.  They kissed, hugging each other's
asses and grinding straining cocks together, then Chance whooped, "Are you
ready for some football!!!" and he plopped himself down in front of the
television.

Reed took two beers out of their fridge, then filled his one-hitter with a
good-sized bowl.  He put the beers, his pipe, a lighter, and the rest of
the pot on a tray and carried it over to the television.  Damn, did he ever
like keeping house with Chance, all these nice little domestic touches, and
both of them padding around the place in next to nothing (oftentimes just
nothing), mind-blowing sex whenever they got the notion (which was pretty
much all the time), and a steady stream of hot boys to play around with.
He wondered if any of them would drop by tonight.

Setting down his tray, Reed snuggled in next to his hunky cowboy's ripped,
muscular frame, draped sexily over the couch.  But before Reed got too
comfortable, he lit his pipe, and they each took a quick puff.  Then Reed
knocked out the ash and filled it again, so it would be ready when someone
wanted another hit during the game.  Then they both sat back, pleasantly
buzzed.

Even though he wasn't that into football, Reed was very into Chance.  As
the excited fan got drawn into the hard-hitting action onscreen, Reed found
devilish pleasure in stroking and teasing his young muscle-stud - lightly
tracing those deeply grooved abs and massaging that thick, beefy cock until
it bulged out in mouth-watering relief across the front of his briefs.  He
worked that enormous rod out of those skimpy briefs and indulged a nice
leisurely lick up and down his lover's long, meaty shaft.

"Mmmmm, dawg, that feels fine as fuck!" Chance murmured as he watched a
third-and-long near the goal line, his hand resting on the back of Reed's
newly buzzed head, in gentle encouragement.  Reed pulled the band down
under Chance's hefty ballsac and let his tongue slowly swirl all over
Chance's big ripe ballsac.  He reached up, untied the bandana, and cinched
it tightly around the cock-root, making his young stud's balls bulge out in
tight relief, then he slobbered on them more as his fingers traced up and
down the shaft of Chance's huge, hard cock, then down under the ballsac to
play across his taint and finger his hole.  Chance sat back in delight, his
own fingers playing idly across Reed's buzzed head while he watched the
Browns kick off after their field goal.

Every once in a while Chance would draw Reed's attention to some guy
onscreen, someone either really built or with an awesome ass or thighs or
really handsome; his lover would look up, mumble approvingly, then get back
to teasing his dude's cock and balls.  Damn, Reed thought, he could sure as
fuck get used to watching football with Chance.  Weren't there
double-headers on Sundays?  No wait, THREE games, all day long!  Hell yes!
Having Chance as his own personal sex-toy for something like nine straight
hours, with lots of beefy football-jock wallpaper floating by on the
screen.  How many times, and how many ways, could two boys cum in nine
hours, he wondered?

But Reed's pigskin/foreskin reverie was suddenly interrupted by Tommy's
voice.

"Dude, you got the game on!  Cool!  Just got home from practice.  Kyle'll
be over in a minute!  He's lookin' for his pot."

They both glanced over to find Tommy looking sexy as hell, dressed only in
a backwards baseball cap and a jockstrap, which was wonderfully damp,
clingy, and almost see-through from a hard, sweaty practice, making it look
like little more than a thin sheet of plastic wrap was encasing his huge
meat.

Chance was fixated on his former roommate's long, luscious, jockstrapped
bulge, all ripe and pungent, drenched in jock-sweat.

"Hey stud, c'mere a minute!"

When Tommy drew up to Chance, the young wrestler grabbed him by the ass and
pressed his crotch into his nose, inhaling the jock's heady boy-musk.
Chance had become addicted to that scent, from years of young athleticism;
it sent a crackling jolt through his brain.  He nuzzled his nose piggishly
against the moist mesh, rooting into it, savoring not only the smell but
also the delicious feel of that firmly packed pouch, the tight, skin-thin
casing for the thick, meaty plumpness of Tommy's huge sausage.  He sucked
whatever he could out of the mesh, licking up and down the rapidly
stiffening length of jock cock.  Tommy purred appreciatively; he'd been
hoping all through hockey practice that his evening back at the dorm would
take just such a turn.  His hands played over Chance's sexy buzz as he
savored the delights of that hungry face buried in his crotch.  He looked
down at Reed, satisfying his oral hunger on Chance's hard meat.  Fuckin'
tight-ass dorm, he thought dreamily.

Then Tommy remembered something he wanted to tell these dudes, about how
he'd made the hook-up earlier, before practice, with Chance's tailor,
taking a bunch of his jeans and T's and thermal shirts in to get them cut
so they'd fit tight against his body.  He wanted that sexy gay muscle-stud
look that Chance had been sporting lately.

"Hey, I dropped almost all my clothes off earlier at Mai's," he said, as
Chance nuzzled away at his engorged dick, "so I ain't got much to wear.
You're gonna have to borrow me some jeans to wear tomorrow, Chance, if
you're cool with that."

Chance just grunted his approval, his face still full of a deliciously
sweaty jock-pouch.  Tommy turned toward the TV.

"Browns/Niners - this'll be a cool game!  The fuckin' Dawg Pound!"

Reluctantly, he pushed Chance's face away from his crotch.  "OK, stop yer
sniffin', horndog.  I gotta gets me a beer.  Anyone else need one?"

"Damn, Chance," Tommy added, returning to the couch with three cold one,
"your cock looks fuckin' delicious.  I'd sure as hell take a taste when
Reed's done!"

This frank, casual, matter-of-factness regarding sex between them all would
never get old to these friends.  Reed, who'd been actively gay for years,
knew the feeling well, of course, but for Tommy and Chance, their dicks had
never felt so wonderfully sated, so pulsating with life.

A few minutes later Kyle drifted in, wearing a very sexy Bike jock, his
plump cock making a tempting bulge in the tight mesh pouch and the straps
of the jock nice and taut against his firm soccer-boy ass.  These dudes all
loved dressing as intimately revealing as possible now, and as young
college jocks, even though previously straight, they seemed to catch on
immediately as to how jockstraps, a staple forever in their lives as young
athletes, could be wonderfully repurposed from common sports gear to the
sexiest of male lingerie.

They did a few bowls of Kyle's pot, which he assured them wasn't very
trippy, just good body-dope, "the kind that makes dudes horny as hell!" he
grinned.  Then Mick and Jordy, hearing the game and smelling the pot,
drifted in from across the hall, excited to catch some football with the
other naked or near-naked studs on their floor, knowing with
dick-stiffening certainty where it would lead.  Jordy and his roommate were
both nude, their preferred way for lounging in their dorm.  Jordy had loved
chilling naked even before he'd gotten into gay sex; it just felt so much
more comfortable, made him feel so damn alive and into his body, plus he
just loved showing off that hard-packed tight end's body of his.

After a few hits, savoring his buzz, Mick (really 'Miklos'), the young
European basketball player, smiled and said, "Is like back home, when
soccer or basketball clubs have games; there's lounge where visiting team
gets together afterwards.  Everyone ends up nude.  Much fun, much fucking."

"Damn," said Tommy, the pot and beer and boy-flesh hitting him wonderfully
hard, "you mean gay shit is that common over in Europe?"

"Oh fuck yes," Mick scoffed.  "Boys not uptight there like here.  All over.
Hungary, is my home, the Czechs and Slavs, French, German boys, English,
really everywhere.  Eastern Europe the best, I think.  Mmmmm," he said,
taking another hit, "all those smooth bodies and thick cocks."

"What about Greece?" Chance asked, since he was becoming fascinated by
early Greek culture, the athleticism and the frankness about homosexuality.

"In Greece and Turkey," Mick laughed, "the only time you fuck a woman is to
make a baby.  Otherwise, men and boys only fuck each other."

"Damn!" Tommy repeated, he was in the zone now.  His cock was hard as shit;
screw football, he was ready to start fucking.

"Really?" asked Chance.  It was cool to think that part of the ancient
culture was still such a part of modern life.

"Trust me," said Mick, confidently.  "I spent summer in Greece playing in
youth league when I was sixteen.  I know.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Every guy,
every age."

"Fuck, Chance," Tommy said, rubbing his boy's tits and biceps, "we gotta
get our asses to Europe this summer, no doubt!"

"You got that right," Chance laughed.  Shit, he thought, why couldn't
America be as cool about sex as Europe seemed to be?  Must be really cool
to be a dude there.

Mick's eyes lit up: "If hot American boys like you come to my country
. . . !"  And then he spouted out a long string of excited Hungarian.

"What's that mean, Mick?" Tommy asked.

"I think I can translate," Reed deadpanned.  "It means, 'much fun, much
fucking'!"

They all cracked up.  More cold ones were popped and they settled back to
enjoy the game and each other.

A few minutes later, Tag and David swung by. Tag was in one of his sexiest
swimmer's jocks; now that he'd been so wonderfully caught up in the gay
tide sweeping through the dorm, he thrilled in the ability to parade around
in just a jock, knowing how good it made his huge cock look and feel, as
well as how flirty it made him, showing off his smooth round swimmer's
butt.  His boyfriend David, like Chance, had on a very low-cut pair of
briefs.  Tag loved how the dudes who'd been out for years, like Reed and
David, had such a cool, sexy style sense and such a hot wardrobe; like
Chance, he was trying very hard to play catch-up and was glad he had a
boyfriend that was such a patient teacher.  On his shoulder, Tag hoisted a
twelve-pack.  The sight of his swim-lean body clad in just a skimpy pouch
with the thinnest of straps, abs flexing as he carried the beer, brought
wolf-whistles from the other guys.

"Pin-up Boy!" Tommy hooted, referring to the very sexy photo of Tag that
had appeared in the campus paper to promote the upcoming swim team season.

"Saw you dudes had the game on when I got back from class," Tag smiled
shyly, "so I dragged David over."

David laughed.  "No dragging necessary!  Been horny as fuck for you dudes
all day!"

The young dancer immediately began feeling up Jordy's beautifully beefy
body, grabbing that thick cut cock in a kind of secret handshake, and the
two fell into a smoldering kiss, with Jordy stroking David's plump young
manhood through his sexy underwear.

"Shit!" David said, breathless, pulling out of their clinch, dick nice and
thickening, "do I ever love college life!  Funny, they don't tell you about
this kind of stuff in the brochures.  They should - you'd think it'd be,
like, major selling point!"

Reed loved it.  This was one of the things he'd wanted his dorm room
makeover to accomplish: besides just being a cool space for Chance and him,
he was hoping it'd become the hang-out for all these sexy young horndogs on
their floor.  Mission Fucking Accomplished, he thought slyly, ogling all
these luscious young muscle-studs and wondering where to start.

After the second or third round of beers, along with a couple more joints
making their way around the room, Tommy, sprawled next to Chance, an arm
around each other's shoulders, their hands idly fisting each other's cocks,
voiced what they all felt: "Fuck, dudes, we GOTTA do this for the rest of
the Monday Night games this semester!"

Jordy heard his cell phone go off in his room across the hall.  He hurried
over to answer it. David, Tag, and Mick watched that delicious firm round
muscle-ass flex and dimple as he moved; when he was out of sight the three
looked at each other, cocked their eyebrows and grinned, David licking his
lips.  All the boys were so amped for the rest of the evening's
festivities.  Being able to dally with such a bevy of gorgeous jock-boys
was paradise.

Jordy's call turned out to be from a football teammate who lived
downstairs; the message: a few of the guys from the team were watching the
game downstairs, did Jordy want to join them?

"Hang on a sec," Jordy said, setting his phone on the desk.  He strode
quickly back across the hall, dick swinging with excitement, to ask Chance
and Reed if he couldn't just invite those dudes up here.  Teddy, the middle
linebacker who called, was such a fucking stud, and playing across Jordy's
mind (and up and down the length of his horned-up dick) was the thought of
how awesome it'd be to recruit a few of the hotter studs from his team into
this floating orgy they had goin' on up here.

His mind was riotously awhirl with the mental images he'd stored of Teddy,
naked, in the locker room and the showers.  He was a big boy, but all
ripped, lean muscle; a dude who, Jordy felt, though he'd probably never had
sex with a guy before, just might be up for a scene like this.  There was
something about that dude, the way his gaze always seemed to linger just a
bit too long on the other dudes in the locker room, especially their long
dangling cocks, and the way he always seemed to take the longest getting
dressed and undressed - was it, Jordy now wondered, so he could spend as
long as possible soaking up all that hot naked jock muscle?  In any event,
Jordy really wanted to ask him up to see what might happen when he and some
of the other boys from the team found themselves in the midst of this gay
college-jock wonderland.  Jordy, he could now excitedly admit to himself,
was in total lust with so many of the beefy studs on his team, had been for
a while, he now realized sheepishly, and now that the boy-sex ice had been
broken for him and he was totally addicted to dick, he was anxious as hell
to start getting with the dudes on his team he felt were hot.

"Hey," Jordy asked when he stepped in the room, "I just got a call from
another dude on the team, this fucking stud of a linebacker who lives down
on the second floor.  He's got some of his boys down there.  They're
watching the game, too, and they asked me to come down, but I'm thinkin' it
might be cool to have THEM up HERE instead.  See if maybe we can work 'em
into the rotation!"

"Shit yeah!" Chance whooped, he and Tommy still playing with each other's
meat.  "The more the merrier, right?  You other dudes OK with it?"

An excitedly agreeable chorus sounded all around.

"He hot?" Tommy asked, with that sly smirk of his.

"Very," Jordy nodded.  "Blond, good-looking as shit, and really built -
nice V torso, total washboard, ripped thighs, big calves, huge biceps, plus
utterly scrumptious cock.  Man, I love watchin' that shit in the showers.
Dude spends such a long time soapin' it up and rinsin' it off.  Damn!  Be
so hot to get me a nice taste of it."

Jordy was way into being able to voice his sexed-up desire for hot guys
now.  Now that all his repression had melted away, 'jock slut' was a role
he felt born to play, giddily carried away on a rushing tide of raw, nasty
boy-lust.

The stocky, hard-cut, young tight end hurried back to his dorm-room, picked
up his phone eagerly, and spoke, trying to hide the excitement in his
voice, "Dude, you know, there's a bunch of us cats up here already watchin'
the game.  It's a pretty tight scene.  We got beers and pot and shit.
Big-ass flatscreen.  Some real cool dudes - wrestling, swim team, hockey,
soccer, even dance.  You and your boys wanna just head up here and join our
little Monday Night party?"

Jordy could hear Teddy asking the other dudes.  There were lots of 'fuck
yeah!'s and 'hell yes!'s bellowed as soon as Teddy mentioned the beers and
pot.  When his teammate got back on his phone, Jordy asked, trying to seem
cool and detached, who else was down there.

As Teddy reeled off the names, Jordy's cock twitched and pulsed: there was
Mark Samuels, an outrageously, perfectly muscled, lithe safety with the
sweetest ass and a great set of abs; this real good-looking beefy lineman
named Donny Laine, a kind of boyishly handsome cornfed Midwestern hunk;
another linebacker, Brewster Murphy, very attractive, ripped build like
Teddy's, maybe a tad bigger even, stringly blonde hair and soul patch,
giving him a cool surfer vibe, plus he had an ass that looked like two
bowling balls (Jordy loved to watch him soap it up and wash it; he smiled
to remember that whenever Brewster thought no one else was looking, he'd
really get down and dirty working his sudsy crack); a really hot,
hip-looking wide receiver named Ricky McHouston (called 'Ricky Mac'), a
white dude from Michigan who spoke hip hop slang all the time, always had a
pair of headphones around his neck, and who wore a blonde buzz as
scalp-close as Chance's, had zero body hair except a very small blonde
patch of pubes that sat atop a long, plump, tasty-looking, uncut dangler,
and whose incredibly defined muscles were cut so perfect they looked like
they'd been shrink-wrapped; and finally Teddy's room-mate, also a freshman
wide receiver, named Rinaldo Sanchez, 'Naldo,' as everyone called him, a
smolderingly handsome Latin hunk with piercing dark eyes, beautifully
muscled tatted-up body (Queen of Spades on one well-worked bicep, a pair of
dice on the other, and his last name in gothic script across his chest),
and an awesome uncut cock - a big thick lightish brown beauty with a very
fleshy foreskin sleeve that allowed a nice pink tip to juuuusssst barely
peek out.  Fuck, Jordy thought, all stiff and horned-up as he stroked
himself dreamily, if it turned out these dudes were up for some hard-core
boy-sex . . . DAMN! he was all drippy just thinking about it!!

After running down the guest list, Teddy added that they'd bring some more
beers up.

"Uh," Jordy added, a little nervously, "I should probably tell you, us
dudes are - hmmm, I don't know how to put it - sorta casual when it comes
to clothes and shit.  We're all kinda just chillin' up here, you know,
underwear, coupla dudes in jockstraps, you know, just bein' comfortable and
shit.  Hope that's cool with you.  I mean, it's a dorm room, right?  Who
wears shit around the dorm?"

"Oh, we down here on two know all about that nudist colony you boys on the
third floor are running," Teddy laughed, having heard the recent rumors
about the dudes upstairs prancing around naked all the time, in the halls
and their rooms.  Some guys on his floor thought it seemed gay as fuck, but
to Teddy it seemed kinda cool that a dorm-floor of jocks felt comfortable
enough with their bodies to hang out like they would in a locker room.
Shit, truth to tell, he loved being naked or just in a jock around his room
back home, and he always liked it when he and other guys in the locker room
would take a long time getting dressed, just hangin' around bare-assed,
standin' around talkin' or laughin' and shit, or horsin' around, showin'
off their sexy-ass bodies.

He was still a little shy to be as nude as he wanted in his own dorm room,
afraid of freaking out his roomie, so he'd been kind of working up to it
this term, throwing his towel aside as soon as he got back to the room
after a shower, then taking his sweet time getting underwear on (sometimes
even chatting with Naldo for twenty minutes or so while still nude), plus
getting up in the morning, still nude, which was the way he always slept,
then going through his thirty-minute set of morning stretches.  His roomie
seemed cool with it, and, Teddy had noticed, proudly, Naldo didn't seem shy
at all about checking out Teddy's fine-ass build.  Being nude like that in
the dorm, not to mention the kind of harmless low-level flirting he was
doing with that Latin stud, felt kinda sexy, actually, for some weird
reason.  Not that he wanted things to get seriously gay or anything, but it
was just kinda sweet showing off your ripped physique to another hard-body.
Felt like what college jocks were supposed to do.  He'd have to start
teasing Naldo more, get him to show off more of that fine-ass body of his,
try to take it to the next level.

As it was, he and his boys had already stripped down to almost nothing
there in his room.  Maybe it was the still-warm early fall temperatures,
but whatever it was, when the dudes drifted in for the game that evening,
they were almost all shirtless (Ricky had a wife-beater on) and wearing
just sweats or mesh shorts.  Teddy loved being able to show off his
well-worked guns, smooth, hard pecs, and very ripped slab to the other
dudes.  Even more, he loved checking out what they were packin'.  Just to
be kinda wild, he had a jock on under his long mesh basketball shorts.  It
wasn't that he was afraid he'd bone up around the other studs (though that
was always a problem for him for some reason), it was just that he thought
it looked cool.  He'd spent a few minutes, before the other dudes came
over, while Naldo was working on his laptop, fixing the strap in the back
just right, so it was plastered across his ripped lower back about an inch
above the low-riding waistband of his shorts, exposing what Teddy thought
was a hot little band of flesh.  And he had on a pair of shorts that hung
just right over his perfect bubble butt.  He'd even adjusted the waist so
about a quarter-inch or so of the crack in his rock-hard glutes seemed to
'accidentally' show.

Damn, he loved flaunting his body, teasing dudes with it.  It wasn't gay or
anything, it was just showing you were a hot young stud.  So hell yeah,
this thing downstairs tonight could be tight as hell.  He wondered just how
much skin those dudes would be showin'.  Shit, did Jordy say some guys were
just chillin' in jocks!!??  That would be awesome!

Jordy, meanwhile, flipped his phone shut, amped as hell.  He figured he
should at least put on some underwear, until he could be sure the boys
downstairs were cool with flauntin' dick, but he had none of that really
hot underwear (note to self: get yourself some sexy-ass jocks and briefs
ASAP!).  So he scooted across the hall to tell the other boys what a fine
group of studs was headed their way and to ask Chance or Reed to lend him
something hot to wear.

"I think we oughta play it cool for a while," Jordy said, after he told
them who all were on their way.  "Not totally sure how into it these boys
might be."

"All dudes are into it," Tommy stated confidently, "specially college
jocks.  Hell, we're all sure living proof o' that!"  He held up his hand so
Chance could high-five it.

"Word," Tag added, "but Jordy's right, Tommy.  Won't hurt to kind of play
it by ear, see what sort of vibe we pick up from these dudes, before we up
the ante.  Shit, Jordy, you sure you and Mick should be nude like this?  I
mean, jocks might even be pushing it, 'cept if a couple of us are wearin'
'em like this, it might not seem too unusual.  And Tommy, for sure you
should stuff that elephant dick of Chance's back in his shorts!"

Jordy turned to Chance, who was adjusting his cock back into the pouch of
his skimpy drawers: "Yeah, dude, I was hopin' you or Reed could borrow us a
pair of somethin' cool.  Kinda cut low and sexy like you got on, Chance."

"I'll take jock, if you got one, for sure" Mick smiled.  "Skimpier is
better for me."

Reed immediately got up and fished out a very sexy pair of low-rise
trunk-style briefs for Jordy - that short, squared-off cut he thought would
look great stretched over his massive, hard-carved thighs and round,
melon-firm ass.  Jordy pulled them up, and Reed just nodded: the waist rode
very low and the bottoms stopped dead-even with his cock tip, so it looked,
in effect, like a thin band of charcoal-grey cotton, as wide as his dick
was long, was shrunk-wrapped around his crotch.  Too hot!  There was a
contrasting logo label that gave them a chic, high-style touch.

Jordy drank in his reflection.  "Damn, these are hot!  I don't think I ever
had underwear this cool in my life!"

"Keep 'em," Reed offered, "they look like they were made for you."

Jordy gave him a hug in thanks.  Reed reached down and stroked the boy's
thickness teasingly, "But, lemme just check this fit here for a sec. . . ."

Chance had gotten up, too.  He decided to add a little mystery to his
wardrobe, slipping into his now-favorite T, the Mai-altered 'COLT' studios
promotional shirt Reed gave him (Chance laughed as he put it on, realizing
that a few days ago he had no ideas what COLT studios even was), which his
tailor had turned into a very tight, sexy, torso-hugging T, deeply scooped
low at the neck and taken up so a sexy inch or so so his cut lower abs
showed (now, though, with these low-cut briefs, it was more like three or
four inches).  He put his hat back on and checked himself out in the
mirror.  It was so cool, he thought, guys tryin' on sexy undies together,
scopin' themselves out in the mirror like this.  This was a level of
college dorm intimacy he loved.  It was the kind of thing he always
imagined young girls did at sleepovers, playin' sexy dress-up, and here he
was doin' it with all these hard-ass sexy studs.

Meanwhile, to Mick Reed threw a brand new black 'street jock' - very little
pouch, and rode even lower than a swimmer's jock: the band in back came
maybe two-thirds of the way up Mick's ass, and in front it barely made it
over the base of his cock (fortunately, Mick was a shaved-smooth Eurostud,
so all that showed was a ripped expanse of lower abs).  And, like Jordy's,
the band on the jock was about an inch-wide with cool, bold logo.  The lean
Hungarian looked delicious, that huge, uncut tosser of his bulging
obscenely through the thin mesh.

Almost as soon as Mick had finished adjusting his jock, they heard noises
from the stairwell outside.  Seconds later, in walked the parade of
football muscle from the second floor. And what a parade: Teddy in his
white basketball shorts, jockstrap underneath pulled up teasingly, with his
blonde hair worn in a Howie Long crewcut; Mark wore nothing more than a
thin pair of cotton sweats, commando, pulled very low, showing off not only
his hard-carved body - especially that amazing Apollo's belt and succulent
washboard - but also revealing the outline of a very impressive cock
dangling thick and long, and he had a close-fitting, grey-and-black-striped
skully pulled low, covering his ears; Rinaldo, like Teddy, wore low-riding
mesh shorts, but no jock, showing off a beautifully ripe package in front
and a faint wisp of ass-crack and two succulently round ass-globes in back,
as well as lean, tight, carved pecs and abs, and all his sexy ink; Brewster
looked outrageously hot in just a pair of very tight long underwear, his
enormous schlong obscenely visible, not to mention the lean bulk of his
beautifully defined, linebacker-strong upper body; Donny's 250 pounds of
solid beef were clothed in just a pair of well-worn sweats; Ricky had on
what looked like very expensive grey sweats, slouching fairly low to let
about an inch and a half of his boxer briefs show, his ripe musculature
beautifully traceable through a small, tight wife beater.  The whole show
was Fashion by Testosterone.

The football players all greeted their teammate Jordy warmly, with pounds
and hugs, then all the boys exchanged waves or nods as introductions were
made all round, but it was evident they were just going through the motions
- really, the two camps were immediately busy checking each other out.  For
Chance and his friends, the game plan was set - have a blast with these
young football gods, flirt your ass off, and see what happens.  The
footballers, though, had been kind of caught off guard by the sexy,
scantily dressed studs, as well as what sure as fuck looked like a lot of
gay art on the walls.  If this were a game, it would be one of those
situations where it was time to audible at the line of scrimmage, seeing
this unexpected formation the defense was throwing at them.

Teddy, of course, was absolutely enraptured at how much naked college beef
was on display down here - five of the eight dudes were in jockstraps! -
and no matter what was covering their packages, these boys were sportin'
major meat!  Teddy laughed to think how he was 'gettin' his gay on,' as he
called it when he indulged his obsession for hot male flesh, either in the
locker room, the shower, or on the gay porn sites he checked regularly.
Nothin' harmful 'bout it, he felt; surely all dudes must sneak peeks, no?
Besides, helps a guy know what looks sexy.  But, damn, he thought to
himself after just a few more minutes, dry-mouthed: he'd never gotten his
gay on this intensely before.

A change was happening in him that seemed almost chemical.  He could feel
his whole body start to simmer with lust, and he was immediately struck
with a lightning-bolt conviction that should have been obvious to him years
ago: he desperately wanted to get with a dude sexually.  Shit, he'd been
fantasizing about it enough over the years, but now - in the midst of all
this luscious jock flesh - he knew it went beyond just his constant
jack-off fantasy; this was a real need.  Dudes, he saw now, were the only
real draw for him, and dick was the sign under which his sex, his identity,
could express itself most fully, most honestly.  If that expression didn't
begin to happen tonight, he'd make sure it happened soon.  But he was
really REALLY thinking it would happen tonight.  He was sure as hell
picking up the vibe that all these dudes down here were into dudes.  And
that was A-OK with him!  Fuck, he thought giddily, he was probably going to
suck his first cock tonight!  How awesome would that be!?  And damn, any of
the smoking hot, big-dicked studs in this room would do.  Or all of them.
Damn, he was sure glad he had his jock on cause he could feel himself
boning up something fierce, and he wasn't keen on the other dudes seeing
him throw major wood just yet.

Rinaldo, trying to maintain his cool veneer, looked around this room as if
he had finally found the place on campus he'd been frustratingly searching
for ever since he'd arrived in August. The art on the walls, and these
sexy-assed studs in such sexy-assed jocks and briefs, had his gaydar
blasting off the hook.  His sexual history made him feel right at home in
this scene: growing up on the South Side of Chicago, in a very macho,
Latino culture, he'd been sexually precocious with girls, but then early in
high school, was initiated into gay sex by some older dudes who lusted
after his ripe young physique and darkly handsome features.  And once he'd
experienced the sheer rush of erotic passion found in sex with other dudes,
he'd realized his true desire; he'd been gay on the down-low all through
high school.  He still fooled around half-heartedly with girls, to keep up
appearances (his was not a neighborhood in which one could risk looking
soft), but he became focused on establishing a ready network of like-minded
dudes, which was not hard at all.  But since he'd arrived here at college,
out of his element, he'd found it difficult plugging into any kind of gay
scene.  And there was the added trick of being non-white on a predominantly
white campus.  He intuitively felt there must be others on the team who
were gay, but he sure as fuck didn't want to make the first move.  He was
especially going crazy rooming with Teddy, who was constantly showing off
his incredibly hot body, but the thought of making a pass and not only
having that huge fucker beat the shit out of him, but then be ostracized by
his teammates, and probably kicked off the team, was enough to keep his
desire in check.  So he'd settled for using that sexy fucker as jack-off
fodder: the nights he'd spent stroking loads to mental snapshots of Teddy's
body and fantasies of what they'd do together had been way too many to
count.  But here, tonight, in this gay dude's fantasy-room, surrounded by
guys obviously as into dick as he was, that long thick uncut cock of his
was getting nice and juicy, realizing his frustrating search for a hot
hook-up was officially over.

Donny and Brewster were just coolly taking it all in.  Of course they felt
the sexual vibe in the air - everyone could - but the novelty of this scene
had them not a little unnerved.  Neither of them had fooled around with
guys before, but both had sure enough thought about it - what fit,
body-conscious dude hadn't?  Their initial thought: they were both really
looking forward to the game, that was the plan for now.  But both of them
couldn't help stealing glance after glance at exposed asses, barely
concealed cocks, and some of the best young muscle they'd ever seen.  Soon,
though, it became a sort of losing battle to follow the game as there was
just too much incredibly hot jock-flesh that could wear down even the most
rabid football fan.

Mark, too, hung back, aloof.  He'd been in scenes like this before, where
it was obvious that guys were attracted to him, but he'd never known what
to do, really.  He'd always been nervous - terrified, actually.  He'd
either ignore a pass some hot dude made at him, or he'd leave the scene
before one was thrown.  It's not that he thought the idea of gay sex was
disgusting or anything - far from it, he thought it sounded hot as hell.
In fact, when he would avoid the cruise of some total stud, he'd find
himself jerking off to the guy for days and days.  It's just . . . well, he
didn't even know what it was, exactly.  Afraid if he tried it once, there'd
be no going back?  Maybe.  Fuck, it was all a little fucked up.  So he just
hung back, checking out the scene.

He knew when he was invited over to Teddy's room the vibe would be in the
air - it always seemed to happen in close quarters with a bunch of hot
jocks.  But he was willing to put up with it because he loved to hang with
his team, and besides, he thought sheepishly, these boys were hot as fuck.
Now, down here, with these other studs added into the mix, it was even
hotter.  Fuck, would he ever dare to prance around in just a jockstrap in
front of other dudes?  Actually, he might now, since he saw how hot these
studs looked.

One thing, though, gave him confidence and took a little of the edge off
his sexual panic - that was the knowledge he could hold his own,
looks-wise, with the rest of these hot boys.  He knew he must look pretty
friggin' handsome with that lean, carved body he'd worked on religiously
over the years.  And he'd kept his hair short, nicely trimmed, covered now
by the skully he wore, which he thought looked pretty hot on him (at least,
a lot of girls told him it did; the guys he hung with weren't that into
complimenting each other, which Mark thought was kind of weird - he'd often
wanted to tell another guy how hot he looked, but he guessed it just wasn't
done).  Plus, he had a sexy little well trimmed soul-patch under his lip
and another cool patch on the edge of his chin, which he thought gave him a
pretty roguish air.  And of course, there were his trademark sideburns:
there was maybe one guy in a hundred who looked smoking hot in sideburns,
and Mark Samuels knew he was that guy.  So Mark knew he was the equal of
these other wet-dream boys; shit, he thought to himself, I've sure as hell
jacked off to this hot-ass body of mine in front of the mirror often enough
to know what a fuckin' turn-on it is!

A flurried round of pot and beers helped ease amped-up tensions, and almost
immediately the two groups coalesced into a bevy of jock camaraderie: hot,
horny, flirty boys into beer, herb, football, muscle, and - most of all -
sex.  The exact parameters of that last item remained to be seen.

Chance, more than his other friends, sat back and took it all in.  He'd
noticed right at the start the new boys' eyes widen and rake across the
room, seeing so many hot-looking studs wearing so little.  He also caught
them casting curious glances at all the frankly gay wall-hangings; he could
just hear the wheels of wonderment turning in their heads.  His boys had
said 'play it cool,' and so he would.  But Chance was willing to bet that
things would start coming to a head almost immediately.  College jocks are
sexual animals almost by definition, all that raging testosterone, and he
sure as hell got the sense that none of the dudes from downstairs would
have any problem at all with the kind of hot-ass sex Chance and his boys
were into.  He could just sense it, an almost electric charge in the
atmosphere, generated by all the young, pumped, male desire filling this
room like a heavy steam.

The thick tension he sensed made him think back on a memory from home:
several times a year, his mom would ask to be taken to this big greenhouse
about five miles out of town, up in the hills.  Chance always loved going
there with his family.  Being in the greenhouse was amazing: wandering amid
all those unusual plants, surrounded on all sides by huge sheets of glass,
as if he were under huge lenses magnifying the sun's rays - the whole
experience felt like he was in a giant terrarium.  His mom would buy,
maybe, orchids or narcissus or ferns or holly, depending on the season.
While she was busy making her selections, Chance would wander around the
various rooms, looking at table after table full of all kinds of flowers
and plants.  The strongest memory he had of those trips was the actual
atmosphere inside the place, the indoor climate - it was always so hot, so
humid, just this side of stifling.  Chance particularly remembered the
times they were there in early winter, on his mom's annual trip to buy
Christmas cactus and poinsettia; Chance would be all bundled up in clothes
meant to ward off the harshness of Yellow Branch in late November, and
almost immediately setting foot in the place, he'd want to strip down to
his underwear - or less - because the air was so unbearably warm and thick
and steamy.

Chance smiled, remembering that place, figuring it to be just about the
perfect metaphor for his dorm room that night: hot, steamy air so thick you
started to get breathless; surrounded by all these gorgeous, exotic blooms;
the heat getting under your skin so bad that you felt you just wanted to
strip down naked.

Soon, sure enough, Chance smiled to see first the one dude's wife-beater
shucked.  Then that very hot-looking linebacker, Teddy, casually shucked
his basketball shorts, so he, too, could lounge in just a jock, joining
Reed, Tag, Mick, Tommy, and Kyle.  The studs in sweatpants and longjohns,
he noticed, had pulled up the legs to the knees, showing off beautifully
worked, bulging calves.  Chance tossed his cowboy hat aside and stripped
off his T - which, he noted proudly, immediately drew the riveted stares of
all the boys from downstairs.  He got up and flexed a little, making it
look like the most natural thing in the world, to give those dudes a little
more to look at.  When he finished stretching, he bent over slowly, took a
few beats longer than he should have to pick up his hat, then rose slowly;
he sashayed over to his dresser and placed his hat on top of it, then went
to grab another beer.  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed he hadn't
lost his audience.

Sitting back down, sipping his beer and trying to focus on the game, Chance
reflected on the gorgeous builds these football studs had.  It was no
surprise how pleased they were to show off their bodies.  In that, Chance
knew, they were just like him and his friends - the kind of young,
physically prime jocks who loved being in the locker room, proudly showing
off their own hard bodies and loving the heady sight of others'.  They were
the kind of athletes - like the rest of the young jock studs in the dorm
room - who, with every straining workout, had carved their deepest sexual
desire all across their bodies, into every beautifully buff muscle.  That
kind of physical perfection, Chance had recently come to realize, went
beyond mere sport readiness; it was into the hyper-realm of lust-driven
aestheticism.  Every one of the gorgeous studs in this room had worked
beyond what was needed for sheer performance on the field, in order to make
their bodies a kind of living testament to male eroticism.  But Chance knew
these new boys were probably blind to just what sort of desires were
written boldly across their bodies, into every lusciously delineated
muscle; they probably had no clue, or only a deeply unconscious knowledge,
as to why they had spent so many years painstakingly forming themselves
into gay icons.

It's like the way us young muscle-studs dress, Chance thought, that sexy
jock style worn by every dude in this room.  I bet half of us don't have a
clue about it: we're not just baring our bodies, we're baring our souls,
our sex.  We sure as hell aren't dressing for the ladies, we're dressing
for each other.  This kind of almost-bare look is called 'revealing,' he
knew, and it was - in at least two senses: we're letting our incredibly
well-worked bodies be revealed, but we're also revealing our true sexual
longing, whether we're aware of it or not.  Our skimpy, sexy, form-fitting
styles telegraph a very strong signal to each other, Chance understood now,
a kind of barely coded message ('no pun intended,' as his mom would say)
which, when decoded, revealed the primal truth of our sexual preference.

It didn't take but a quarter's worth of football - along with many more
beers and joints - for these horny studs to start all sorts of horseplay -
wrestling, mock ass-humping, dick-flashing, and crotch-grabbing - the kind
of horseplay designed to get themselves as physically intimate as possible.
Tag traced Rinaldo's tats; Reed felt Brewster's ass, asking innocently if
he wasn't too hot in his long underwear; Teddy felt the buzzcuts of every
dude in the room; Donny had to trace the waistband on Mick's jock,
wondering aloud how the fuck something like that could stay up ("Maybe it
fall," Mick smiled, "you like that?"); David started a trend - he pulled
Tommy's jock down in the back so his gorgeous ass showed strapless - and
then, whenever you passed someone whose sweats or briefs or jock was still
up over their ass, you pulled it, it never failed to get a hoot and lots of
leering stares.

They could barely sit still, so desperate were they to begin stripping
totally and seeing what would happen.  When they did sit, it was as close
together as possible, arms around each other's shoulder or on each other's
lap, casually placing their hand as close to - sometimes even on - another
dude's dick as possible; saying nothing, just soaking up the thrill.  It
took very little time, then, for the football teammates from downstairs to
appreciate the audacious homoeroticism of the boys on Chance's floor.

The second-floor boys loved that here they were able to indulge in one of a
young college-jock's favorite pastimes - scoping out a really built,
good-looking guy - absolutely guilt-free.  All around them were a
boy-watcher's dream: cut muscles rippling beautifully as they made even the
slightest movement; long, thick cocks - either dangling full and low behind
sweats or mesh, or bulging fat and juicy in tight, thin pouches; smooth
asses on luxurious display; and brutally handsome, athletic, beard-stubbled
faces with piercing eyes and oh-so-kissable lips.  And here, where it
became only too apparent that every boy was on the same wavelength, devoted
to the exceptionally fine art of checking out other hot dudes, there was no
need to furtively suppress that natural urge, no need to rush your
pleasure, to quickly look away, shamefully, lest you be found out.  In
Chance and Reed's room, a boy's leering gaze could linger over each and
every ripped ab, cut pec, hard nipple, chiseled bicep, bulging crotch, and
handsome face. And should one's frank stare be caught by another's eyes,
what you got was not a smirk or shaming look, but rather a grin or wink.
The boys were free to enjoy, then, that very particular male pleasure of
scopophilia - where intense sexual enjoyment was derived through the gaze
alone, a pleasure unique to men, which is why women could never understand
the male passion for pornography.

As that third quarter came to a close, each young satyr savored the
distinctive feelings of male lust suffusing their bodies: the deep throb as
their nutsacs churned up massive loads, the pulsating fullness as their
already full, randy cocks grew even fuller, hornier.  The combination of
beer, pot, football, and the awesome beefcake on display was working its
inevitable chemistry, causing testosterone to boil up to highly potent
levels.  Soon, the excitement of the game and even the subliminally sexual
rough-housing gave way to the slow, deep, insistence of a young athlete's
lust-drive.  It started with naked muscle hot to compare itself, so biceps
and pecs were hand-measured (a transparent excuse to grope each other),
then calves, thighs, and asses were fingered, inspected, compared.

The homoerotic tension in the room was now in the red zone.  There hadn't
been any outright stroking or sucking or fucking, but the third-floor boys
didn't see how the lid could stay on much longer.  Indeed, the one,
screamingly constant, heart-beat steady thought, pounding over and over in
each dude's brain, echoing in their chests and down in their groin, was:
how far was this all gonna go?

The piles of Reed's gay-themed media scattered about the TV cabinet - the
stack of glossy stroke mags, several hot gay comics featuring beautifully
rendered muscle-studs with outrageously huge cocks dangling or hard and
squirting on every page, a couple Abercrombie catalogs (Reed saved the ones
with the most nude guys), and all the gay DVD covers - proved the last
desperate sublimation.  Guys began pawing through them, commenting on some
of the more noteworthy physiques and cocks, everyone champing for someone
to take things to the final level.  This was an incredible thrill for the
previously closeted football players who'd heretofore satisfied their
primal need for gay porn through quick, guilty peaks of nude male calendars
and magazines in bookstores, or nervous, fervid, late-night sessions, when
their roomies were gone, visiting the gay sites they'd all had bookmarked
in secret files on their laptops.  Now their most secret, intense, shared
obsession had exploded into the social.

Suddenly Teddy, inspired by all the beautifully manscaped models on the DVD
covers, and only half-knowing what or why he was saying it, blurted out,
"Who here shaves their pubes?"  It proved the icebreaker.  Everyone
exposed, either pulling down or stepping out of jocks and briefs, or
lowering the waistband on sweats and shorts.  Then the burning eyes,
leering grins, all the low, thick-voiced mutters of 'damn!' or 'fuck!' as
the luscious array of beautifully groomed and naturally furred dicks in the
room was finally unveiled.

The second-floor studs were emboldened to feel the shaved-smooth crotches
of Reed, Mick, and Tommy; they traced Kyle's neatly manicured pubes; and
they daringly, almost reverently, let their fingers graze over Chance's
buzzed-close shadow-patch, their mouths watering at the awesome length and
girth of that luscious, veiny splendor dangling majestically between the
wrestling stud's ripped quads.

Then, to let them know it wasn't just pubic hair they shaved, Reed turned
and spread his firm, ripe cheeks.  There was an almost immediate drool
response in the boys downstairs as he showed off that utterly desirable,
deliciously smooth ass-crack, punctuated with its tight, tantalizing
pucker.  The four gay virgins from the second-floor could only stare
hypnotically at Reed's luscious ass, especially that brownish-pink rosebud;
it seemed to hold all sorts of mysterious secrets that seemed thrilling to
explore.

Chance and Tommy followed suit, Tommy even lewdly tracing his long middle
finger slowly up and down his crack, then teasing his tight jock-hole a
little, sucking his finger slurpily, then poking around in his hole more.
And then, in rapturous relief, it began: the stroking, the hardening, the
jacking, the fingering, the moaning, and finally they all knew just how far
things would go that evening - as far as they'd always wanted them to go.

In a few minutes, everyone was nude, relaxed, languorous; nervous
preliminaries over, the young studs, deeply stoned now on beer, pot, and
ripely-muscled boy-flesh, hunkered down to enjoy the much anticipated main
event.  Those big, bulky, V-shaped torsos, thin lean waists, and big upper
and lower bodies were now sprawled across the couch or floor; heads rested
on each other's shoulders, chests, slabs, or quads; mouth-wateringly thick,
hefty cocks splayed down along thighs or up across lower abs; and big plump
nutsacs seemed to melt into tantalizing ass-cracks.  Hands began exploring,
fondling, groping; wet, hungry lips sought out their counterparts or else
licked up and down firm, hard muscle.  Cocks, thickening and stiffening,
started oozing out their tasty sheen of precum, becoming worshipful objects
of need and desire.  For some, this desire was wonderfully familiar, for
others it was finally being consummated.

First one, then another, then another of those hungry mouths become happily
cock-stuffed.  The sucking and panting and moaning of these fit, horny
muscle-jocks grew, drowning out the long-forgotten nattering of the
play-by-play onscreen.  Reed, in one rational moment before he sank down
into the orgiastic sea of writhing testosterone and muscle, flipped the
remote control switch from the game to the porn DVD still left in the
machine from his earlier tryst with Tommy that afternoon.  He muted the
volume and clicked on his iTunes , choosing some deep, rhythmic, funk -
music that spoke to a guy's dick: with the bass throbbing like a
blood-pulse, a scratchy, percussive guitar you could feel in your balls,
and drums beating with a hard, muscular insistence; music that got a dude's
hips and ass loose and made his cock rock-hard; music made from the kind of
timeless rhythms you might have heard eons ago, during the orgiastic rites
of some primitive phallic cult, to spur on the worshippers' frenzied
coupling.

After about twenty minutes of sucking and stroking and kissing, in
ever-shifting permutations, fingers began to probe tight, aroused holes.
Soon lust-fevered young jocks were writhing throughout the room, fucking or
being fucked, sucking or being sucked, to a chorus of lusty, college-boy
whoops and hollers.  One of the great things about a college-jock orgy, not
only was it hot as hell sucking and fucking and stroking so many built
dudes (and getting sucked and fucked and stroked), but all around you was
the hottest live sex-show ever, awesome X-rated eye-candy to stoke your
lust even higher.

At some level, while their gay cherries were gratefully taken, the
footballer players understood they had crossed a threshold out of their
former, sexually unsatisfied lives, into the true realm of male intimacy,
the burning-hot inner circle of male eroticism.  This magic dorm room had
provided the ideal climate to allow even the most thwarted of natural
desires to flourish and blossom beautifully.  The boys from downstairs
thrilled with the realization that there was a place like this, where one's
wildest sexual fantasies could come true - the really primal desires, the
ones which could only be satisfied by boys who fully understood them
because they lived them themselves, especially that hard, deep, physical
need that's so tightly coiled in a young athlete's well-worked muscularity.
And they found out during the course of the evening - those that hadn't
known before - all the wonderful variations there were on those fantasies.
And finally, they came to the obvious but exciting conclusion that ANY room
could become a sexual fantasy playground like this, a secret sexual garden
for boys - all it took was two or more hot dudes with similar needs and
desires.

At one point, Chance needed a break.  He'd just shot a huge, thick,
creamy-rich load, his third of the evening, this one a result of Donny and
Brewster double-teaming his huge cock.  Chance had sat back on the couch,
while the two studs nursed and licked and sucked and kissed and stroked his
cock and ballsac, as well as each other's mouths, excited as hell to share
such a massive piece of jock-meat together.

He walked over to cool out with a brew.  All around him were hot dudes
rapturously enjoying themselves, in kaleidoscopic variations on young male
pleasure.  There were four boys on the bed he and Reed shared: Tommy lay
back, his body looked hot as hell, and Teddy was fucking him hard, while
Kyle and Mick were kneeling up near his face.  Chance watched dreamily as
Tommy turned his head and sucked one off for a while, while stroking the
other, then alternated.  Kyle and Mick, meanwhile, were kissing ravenously
while tweaking each other's eraser-hard nips.

On one end of the couch Brewster was now standing up, his massive arms
pressed against the wall; Tag was behind him, face buried in those
beautifully sculpted, light-blonde furred, linebacker glutes.  Chance
sipped his beer coolly as he watched Tag reach under and pull Brewster's
huge horse-cock back through his legs and tongue-slurp all the way down,
from ass-crack, over taint and balls, down that meaty shaft, stopping to
tease the big head and piss-slit; then slowly all the way back up, all the
while squeezing and fondling his meaty prize.  Brewster was just about
crying in ecstasy.

On the other end of the couch, David and Donny were sixty-nining each other
with abandon.  Donny was on his back, and Chance watched excitedly,
stroking himself, as the lithe dancer face-fucked the beefy lineman for a
while, then shifted his hips up so he could press his ass in the boy's
face, having Donny give his first rim job.  Meanwhile he was sucking Donny
meaty-thick dick with sensual relish while fingering open the boy's
wriggling ass.  Chance watched, riveted, as David settled his hole right
over Donny's hungry tongue for a while, then let his ballsac brush those
luscious lips, then his shaft, up and down, then back to his ass.  He was
giving Donny a crash-course on how to pleasure a dude.  The David
concentrated on just ass-play: he settled his haunches so the beautifully
smooth, ripe globes of his ass flanked Donny's moist, glistening mouth,
letting the excited boy rim away; meanwhile, he poised his head over the
lineman's huge stocky muscle-ass and spit a huge thick gob right on the
pucker, then delicately, teasingly worked it in with sexy little tongue
dabs.  Chance smiled to see Donny's ass wriggle and squirm in ecstasy, his
huge stiff prick and floppy egg-sized balls jostling joyously.  David
grabbed that stiff shaft and traced the wet tip around first one, then
another of his own hard little nipples.  Then, back to working the boy's
virgin ass - no doubt getting ready to throw that big stud his first fuck,
Chance figured.

About a foot away, Ricky and Naldo were standing by the TV, kissing and
fondling each other with deep, amorous abandon while Jordy knelt below
them, feasting on their uncut cocks.  Hot fucking scene, Chance thought, as
he finished his beer, dick stiffening for another go-round.

Out of the corner of his eye, though, Chance spotted another boy, alone.
It was that maddeningly sexy d-back, Mark.  He was standing by the wall,
examining some of the art Reed had hung there - pictures Chance found way
hot, various drawings of leather-clad guys and motorcycle cops and sailors
and college-age dudes, all with enormous cocks and great builds, doing all
sorts of wild shit to each other.

Fuck, that boy is way good-looking, Chance thought.  In many respects the
best-looking of the guys from downstairs.  Perfectly carved body - not as
big as the others, for sure, cause his position didn't call for beef, but
what it lacked in bulk, it sure as fuck made up for in definition.  Shit,
was he ever shredded.  And those hot sideburns, that sexy little patch on
his chin, his cool-looking cap . . . the whole package was gorgeous.  But
there was something more about him, Chance realized, some other quality
that really set his beauty off.  A phrase popped into Chance's mind as he
gazed hungrily on that awesome body, and especially on that incredibly
handsome face - beautiful, finely featured, almost cruel-looking; it was a
line from a writer named Charles Baudelaire, which he'd read earlier that
day, leafing through one of his library books on the male nude while
waiting for his English class to start.  There was a photo he came across
of a similarly drop-dead handsome, imperial-looking guy, with the same sort
of lean, chiseled body, and underneath the picture was this quote by this
Baudelaire guy about how "the most perfect type of masculine Beauty is
Satan - as Milton conceived him."  Chance didn't really understand the line
at the time, but he sure did now: there was a kind of bad-boy, dark-sider
vibe to Mark, which made him all the hotter-looking.  That sparse
almost-beard he had growing on his chin added to the outlaw vibe.  Chance
wondered what that little beard would feel like, scratching his thighs, as
this football stud hungrily devoured his cock.  Groin stirring, Chance
sauntered over to the sexy loner.

"Like the art?"

The hot stud turned, and Chance saw at once the fiery glare of need glowing
in the boy's eyes.

"It's awesome!" the stud said, a voice at once muffled but loud.  The cool
dude went back to studying the prints.  Chance was horny as fuck now, and
wanted to get back to sex-play.  He was too boned-up for small talk, so he
just eased in close behind this hot young fucker, pressed his long, hard
cock into the tight crack of the boy's muscular buttocks, and began rubbing
the stud's impressive shoulders.

The cornerback moaned softly, voice husky with passion.  "Mmmmmm, damn that
feels good, dude."

"What?" Chance laughed.  "My cock or my hands?"

The football gave a short, quiet laugh.

"Both, I guess."

Chance kept up the massage, letting his hands drift down, to work those
incredible pecs and finger the boy's nipples with a rough, hungry passion.
Meanwhile, his now-dripping cock, jutting straight up, pressed into the
boy's virgin crack with frank urgency.  He began to rock his hips
insistently, mashing his stiff prick and big balls into the boy's ass,
which immediately began pressing back into him.  The boy's moans were
deeper now, rawer.

Chance brought his head in close to breathe heavy and hot into the boy's
ear, while licking and kissing that ear.

"Damn," he half-whispered, half tongue-teased, "you're fuckin' built, dude.
I been diggin' on this fine-ass body o' yours all fuckin' night."

"Back atcha, stud," the football player coughed in a low, hoarse,
lust-choked voice.  He turned.  Chance continued rubbing the boy's pecs and
twisting his nipples with obscene relish.  Their now-stiff pricks, Mark's
still hidden behind his tenting sweatpants, were pressed close.  Chance let
one hand drop to push down the waist on those sweats so he could slowly
jack their hard cocks together in his huge hand, eliciting the deepest moan
yet from the cornerback.

Mark's head fell back, his eyes closed.  He was just luxuriating in the
timelessness, the awesomely powerful truth of what was easily the
singularly most exciting moment of sex in his life until now, loving every
single feeling coursing through his nerves.  With his eyes closed and body
relaxed with pleasure, Chance saw all that sneery sort of vibe had melted
off the kid's face, and he now looked positively angelic, radiantly
beautiful.  That hard pose musta been some sort of defense mechanism or
something, he figured.  Chance was mad to fuck this stud.

"So," he said in a smooth, low, seductive drawl, still jacking their now
precum-glazed cocks with lecherous relish, "why you all here alone?
Why'n't you joinin' in the festivities?"

The boy opened his eyes.  Chance saw that passion-flame again, stoked even
higher; his eyes were positively glittering, dancing with light.

"Aw shit, dude.  What can I say?  This is like the hottest fucking sex
scene I've ever been in.  But dude, I - I'm nervous as FUCK!"

"'Nervous'? Your dick don't seem too nervous.  It looks like it's having a
fan-fuckin'-tastic time."

Chance loved the feel of his hand gliding over their two huge, stiff
pricks, now sticky-slick with steadily oozing jock-honey.

"Cause shit, dude, I ain't never BEEN with a dude before.  I mean, fuck, I
sure as hell think about it often enough.  'Often'?  Fuck, I can't front,
it's like my CONSTANT daydream.  I mean, this scene here now, in your dorm?
This is what I hope EVERY fuckin' party I'm at will turn into.  What I hope
every fuckin' locker room scene will break out in.  I can't fuckin' believe
it - it's finally happenin' and I'm like paralyzed!"

"Shit, son, you mind if I just hang here with you while you're paralyzed?
Sort of worship this hot fucking body o' yours?  Just kinda fool around
with you, see what happens?"

"Fuck no, dawg," the boy could barely stammer, his body trembling with the
deepest thrill of his life so far.

Chance could feel that tremble in his voice, but he knew that just a little
more sex-play and the boy's pent-up passion would explode.  The shouts and
gasps and cries from the other cock-hungry jocks in the room roared around
them like the steady whoosh of the surf.

Chance kept sensuously jacking their two stuff pricks in unison, smiling to
hear Mark's wordless grunts and moans, that guttural song of young male
lust, crooned for the first time by this prime jock hunk.  It was so hot
being there when a young stud experienced the delights of gay lust for the
first time.

Both their dicks were now steel-hard; the boy's lust-song became a gasping,
high-pitched staccato cry.  Chance fisted both their cocks in his huge
hand, then let a long, thick trail of saliva drip from his drool-drenched
mouth, watching it ooze slowly over both their stiff young pricks.  That,
and the precum flowing from both their excited young cocks, made a very
sexy lube.  The d-back gave a sharp, almost wounded cry, coming from a
desire-zone he didn't even know he had; then his hands were all over
Chance's gorgeous cut bulk.

"OH FUCK, man!  This is hotter'n shit!  Fuck, dawg, jack my fucking cock!
This is so fucking hot, dude!"

He grabbed the back of Chance's sexy, buzzed head, and pulled him close for
a hot, impetuous kiss.  He'd never kissed a dude before, but there was
nothing else he could do.  His body was on a kind of erotic auto-pilot;
Mark's desire was finally liberated, finally able to follow the path it had
always longed to.

The kiss was amazing, Mark thought thrillingly - raw, fevered, full of
moist hunger.  It wasn't at all like kissing a girl, where you did all the
work.  This was like two passionate, desperate animals, each trying to suck
the breath out of the other, stoked with a kind of furnace-fire, a kiss
that was a way of screaming 'more, more!'  A man's mouth is so fucking
erotic, so damn sexual.  Their tongues began to lick and dance in sheer
sensuality.  Mark stroked the boy's firm, beautifully stubbled jaw as their
two breathless tongues dueled.

Chance saw a space on the couch had opened up - Brewster was now on his
back, on the shag carpet, writhing in ecstasy, his huge calf muscles
resting on Tag's shoulders as the swim-stud long-dicked him.  So Chance
guided Mark over, pushed him down on the couch, then got to work on the
boy's hard, long cock.

After several minutes of tongue-worshipping the boy's impressive rod,
Chance quickly slicked up two of his own fingers with the thick lust-drool
coating his mouth, then plunged them wantonly in the muscle-stud's virgin
ass.  He didn't want to waste time with one finger, he was on fire to fuck
this boy.  He pulled and stretched and poked and prodded, driven on by the
deep throb pulsating through his cock.

The deep, guttural pleasure-moan that burst from the boy's lungs told
Chance all he needed to know.  His fingers kept toying with that ass like
he owned it.  As he pleasured that hole open, he let his big thumbs graze
over the boy's big, floppy ballsac.  Then he went back to work on that
gorgeous cock.

Mark was beside himself: every erogenous sensation his body had craved for
so long - cock-sucking, ball-play, and ass-fingering - was happening all at
once, orchestrated into such an overwhelming symphony of eroticism by this
awesome stud.  Any single one of these sexual pleasures by itself would
have been enough for Mark - any one from the retinue of deep masculine
desires that in the past he'd always hoped the girls he dated would be
aware of and treat him to.  And now this amazingly skilled muscle-god was
doing them all.

Chance wanted to make Mark's first time as hot as possible, so he swallowed
the boy's whole long shaft, then kept his nose mashed against Mark's ripped
lower abs, working the boy's long thick hardness with his throat muscles,
while pulling and fondling his big drooping ball-pouch.  Mark cried out in
stunned, disbelieving wonder that sex like this could actually occur in
real life.

He felt weak, helpless, enraptured; a slave, now, to boy-on-boy desire - so
strong was this experience of knowing true sexual pleasure for the first
time in his life.  The closest he'd come to this kind of sheer
body-pleasure in the past had been those times, alone in his room, when his
fingers explored all the most sensitive parts of his body, the ones that
got him hardest.  But that had been just a weak approximation - a kind of
thin, solo melody - of the rich, swelling chorus of masculine ecstasy that
was now overtaking him.  Chance was playing all the chords, a virtuoso
performance, pulling out every stop, pushing every button.  Mark's body
writhed in sheer slavish delight under the hands of a maestro.  His cock
was thrumming exquisitely as Chance's tongue and mouth and stubbled cheek
played wantonly over it; then the steady, soul-deep, body-rushing
counter-rhythm of that maddeningly wonderful ass-play, working through his
core like a heavy bass track added to an already sweet, haunting,
mind-bending tune; and finally, that hypnotic, cum-building ball-teasing,
overlaying the whole composition like a sweet grace note.

A stabbing rush coursed through Mark's brain - it was all too unbearable,
all too wonderful. He tensed every muscle, kept crying out hoarsely the
same refrain - "AWWW FUCKKKK!!! - and relished the rushing warmth as spurt
after spurt of thick, hot cream erupted from his cock.

"Fuck," Mark panted, trying to catch his breath, "I want to suck that
amazing cock of yours now, dude!"

"Do it, dawg," Chance growled low, "get this hard thick jock-cock o' mine
all wet and slick so I can plow that sweet round muscle-ass o' yours!"

"OH FUCK YESSSSS!" Mark moaned, scarcely believing he was about to have one
of his most secret, persistent fantasies come true.

The perfect soundtrack for the young d-back's deflowering swelled vibrantly
around him: the hoarse boyish cries and deep body-grunts of truly satisfied
desire.

"I think yer ready, dude," Chance whispered hoarsely, and Mark squealed in
rapture as that huge thick meat oozed into his tight, hungry hole,
initiating him into this unique brand of male passion.

Towards the end of the evening, a cum-covered Tommy, grinning broadly, gave
his former roomie a fist bump.  Then he turned to Reed, beaming, and said,
"I knew, as soon as we fixed this place up this afternoon, that your guys's
room would become the headquarters of the Cock Club!  We'll be holdin'
these sausage parties here all the time now, dawgs!  No fuckin' doubt!"

Then, as the boys finally, regretfully, started drifting out - Tag and
David, Kyle and Tommy, Mick and Jordy each back to their owns rooms, for a
private fuck before bed; Donny and Brewster, very fucked out, heading down
to drift off to sleep amid the wild memories of this night; and Teddy and
Rinaldo taking Ricky back to their room for a three-way.

Mark was the last to leave, lingering helplessly, not wanting to leave this
world he'd been hungering for for so long, loathe to let it go now that
he'd gotten his first wonderful taste, and just wanting to stay around
these two beautiful, sexy boys.

"You guys up for another beer . . . or somethin'?" he asked shyly,
hopefully.

Reed knew what he really wanted, so he filled another bowl - if there was
going to be more fucking, he wanted to get a nice edge on for it.  Chance
grabbed a handful of beers from the fridge.  Mark just stood there,
grooving on the wonderful sight of fine-assed young jocks hanging out
naked, in such achingly perfect muscular splendor.  This is how he wanted
to roll from now on.  Shit, he sure hoped he could start hangin' with these
dudes on the regular.

As they sat close on the couch, passing the pipe, sipping brews, and
stroking each other's thick cocks and ripped abs, another porn DVD playing
soundlessly, Mark sighed.

"Fuck, it's so cool what you two have.  Each other - you're such a hot
fucking couple - those fine-ass, good-looking friends, all into such
awesome sex, plus this totally cool room.  Damn, I envy you dudes."

"Well shit," said Reed, stroking the boy's hardening cock more intently
now, nuzzling in to lick those sideburns up to his ear, then whispering
softly, "don't be a stranger, now that you know where we live."  He let his
fingers drift under the boy's hefty ballsac to tease the sensitive flesh
under there.  "And now that you know what we like," he added, voice hot and
heavy.

Chance was rubbing the boy's gorgeous abs, kissing him lightly, getting
steamed up for another shot at that sweet, smooth, almost-virgin ass.

"Man," Mark sighed, his passion stoking wonderfully, "I sure as fuck want
what you guys have.  I tried a couple long-term things with chicks in high
school.  I really wanted a relationship, but damn, crash and burn each
time.  Now I see what it is.  I DO want a relationship, just not with a
chick.  Fuck, is this ever hot, bein' with dudes like this.  Shit, where
the FUCK I been?"

"Hell," Chance said, burnishing Mark's pecs and tits and abs, feeling his
own cock harden, "I'm sure I can fix you up with another hot jock.  I know
lots of studs into dudes who don't have a steady boy."

Mark looked at Reed, then looked around the room.  He loved this space, all
the art, all the beautiful furnishings.  This was part of what he thought
of as 'gay,' part of what had always secretly attracted him to the
lifestyle, besides just how fucking hot dudes were.

"Shit, Chance, I see now the kinda hot action jocks are into, and I'm sure
I could find a stud to hang with on one o' the teams.  But truth to tell, I
been around jocks all my life, from Pop Warner on.  I know how we think,
feel, act, eat, drink.  I know everything about us."

He turned to them and smiled shyly, "OK, I admit I didn't QUITE know how we
fucked.  But anyway, I want somethin' different than that.  I want, like,
another kind of dude, one who's not just another me.  Does that make any
sense?"

"Damn," Chance reached across and stroked his boyfriend's face; Reed took
his fingers and kissed them, "I know EXACTLY what you mean.  I found my
perfect 'opposites attract' by sheer accident, cause of some kooky school
assignment where we had to seek out a world we'd never been to.  And it
turned out to be a world - and a guy - I can't live without now.  So yeah,
you're like me, Mark.  And my coach with Jesse.  Or Tag with David.  We're
a certain kind of jock, I guess; we're like yangs who need our yins."

Reed broke the sentimental spell with laughter.  He was still stroking
Mark's dick wantonly, but now he reached over and grabbed Chance's in his
other hand.

"And I gots to say, you dudes have about the nicest damn yangs I ever
seen."

"Oh ha-ha, very fuckin' funny, Mr. Jay Fucking Leno.  But seriously, Mark.
I mean, shit," voice drifting off to muse on the kind of dude he knew Mark
meant, "there oughta be a bunch of cool, non-jock dudes you could hook up
with."

Another Jesse or Reed or David, he thought.  Who the fuck do I know like
that?  Then it came to him.  He could still see that beautiful finger
tracing up and down over the huge black cock on the Mapplethorpe model in
his photography book, could still see all those sexy silver bracelets
dangling from his wrists, feel the electric touch of the boy's hand on his,
hear his soft sexy voice; shit, he could still smell that boy's heady
cologne.

"Fuck!" he said, excitedly.  "Shit, I met a dude today you might really dig
on."

And he explained all about Devon Lester, the photographer, and their chat
together in the library, and how Devon was the one who had taken that
really sexy picture of Tag.

"Shit, so THAT'S who that one dude was!" Mark said, "I thought he looked
familiar.  Fuck, I sure as hell stroked off to that picture enough times,
lemme tell you."

"You and every other dude I've talked to who's seen it.  Shit, I gotta get
a copy of that!"

"Anyway, you know the boy who took that?"

"Yeah, he's real cool and REALLY good looking.  I gave him my number; we're
planning to hook up."

"AHEM!" Reed interrupted.

"Chill, Othello, chill!  I told him I posed for Jesse, and he, like,
idolizes Jesse's work or something.  It was funny to see how stunned he was
that a hick jock like me knew Jesse Stone!  He wants to see the photos of
me Jesse took, and he's gonna show me all the ones he took of Tag on that
shoot."  He shot a sly, conspiratorial glance at Mark: "There's supposed to
be lots of way hotter ones of Tag, with like a massive hard-on and shit!"

Mark and Chance cracked up, doing the jock hand-slap, fist-bump.  Shit,
Mark thought, do I ever like hangin' with these gay studs.  Prob'ly cause I
AM a gay stud, he laughed to himself.

But Reed wasn't through.

"Hmm," he clucked, "'I'll show you mine if you show me yours'?  Damn,
that's like the oldest line in the book, Chance!"

"Fuck, Reed, don't be jealous. I was GONNA tell you!  I thought all three
of us could have fun together, lookin' at sexy pictures and shit."

Then Chance turned to Mark: "And maybe, like, you could come over, too,
sorta just be like hangin' out here with us when Devon drops by.  And then,
you could see if you guys hit it off and shit.  Word, dude, he's very
smart, very sexy, and very hot.  Cool kind of arty-punk sort of look.  You
guys'd make a hot couple.  And I gotta say, I think he really has a thing
for jock muscle."

"Shit, who doesn't?" Reed harrumphed, still a little mock-pissed.

"Hell YEAH!" Mark enthused.  "Awesome plan, Chance!  You are too fucking
much, dude!  So when you think this hook-up might happen?"

He was horny as fuck already for more hard-core boy-action.

"Well, not 'til like Wednesday at the earliest.  Reed & I got somethin'
goin' on tomorrow night."

"Damn, gonna be a long fucking wait," Mark sighed, unable to hide how
crestfallen he was to hear that.

"Hey," he added, again shyly but too horny to keep silent, "don't suppose
either o' you dudes - or both 'o you - wanna hook up for some fun tomorrow
in the day some time?  Shit, I can't lie, I'm already fien'in' for more
cock.  I'm gonna be rock-hard all day tomorrow, thinkin' 'bout how hot
tonight was.  Shit, you boys know how to have SEX!"

"Hmmmm," said Reed, hatching an idea, "I'm not sure what our schedule is
tomorrow.  Why'n't you grab us each another beer, Mark, and Chance and I'll
compare calendars?"

"Sure," Mark said, spirits instantly raised, "besides I gotta pee.  Be back
in a flash."

He hopped up off the couch, like an eager, excited puppy, hoping he might
return to some good news.  His erect cock bobbed friskily as he trotted
down the hall.  Jordy and Mick had their door open; it was so cool peeking
in and watching Jordy take Mick's glistening cock up his eager ass.

He poked his head in and growled, "HEY!  Get a room you two!  Oh wait, this
IS your room."

Then he was back down the hall to the sound of the boys' laughter.  Mark
was in fucking heaven up here on 3.  No doubt about it, he thought, as he
hit the bathroom and saw Kyle and Tommy kissing in the shower and soaping
each other's hard cocks, best Monday Night Football game ever.  No other
game else even CLOSE!

With Mark gone, Chance turned to his lover: "Hey, you ain't still mad at me
about Devon, are you?"

Reed took his sexy young hunk in his arms and kissed him ravenously.
"Never was," he cooed.  "We made our agreement, remember - you do whatever
you want on your own time.  I know what a fucking sex-machine you are.
Just keep in mind who owns this ass in the end!"

"How can I forget, dude?"

"OK," Reed said, businesslike now, "look, Chance, about Mark - I know it's
our first night in the new room and all, but - ."

"I know just what yer thinkin', dawg.  Sleepover?"

"You're a mind-reader.  That fucker's hot as shit!  It's only 11:30.  I'm
good for at least another couple hours.  Wouldn't mind spending them
stayin' up with you and that excitable boy.  And when I say 'stayin' up,' I
mean STAYING UP!  That is one ass I hella wanna tap!  And then, tomorrow
morning, we can show that hottie just how shit wakes up around here!"

"Fuck when the two of us get done with him, he won't be able to sit for a
week!"

Chance stroked Reed while he tongue-kissed him sloppily.

"Shit, man, we ARE the best fuckin' couple, aren't we?  We sure as fuck
know how to have fun.  Damn, tonight was hot as shit.  And I think it's
just the start.  Tommy was right, we're gonna be havin' like major sausage
parties around here from now on.  You did such an amazing thing fixing the
place up!"

"Thanks, dude.  My fuckin' pleasure," Reed smiled, loving the thrilling
ride he and Chance were on.

He packed down a big bowlful into his bong and carried it over to the
bedside table.  He made sure the dish with their lube, dildos, and
cock-rings was close by.  He replaced the guttering candles and lit the new
ones, put some bass-heavy trance music on his laptop, lit a stick of
incense, popped in a fresh porn DVD for wallpaper on the flatscreen (this
one full of raw, hungry muscle-bears in jockstraps, doing the nastiest shit
to each other), then hopped into bed to await their house guest's
return. He couldn't believe it - now we've started in on the second floor,
he thought dreamily.

Chance joined him in bed.  "Mmmmm, an hour or so of a hot three-way,
fuckin' ourselves comatose, then we got this football hottie all to
ourselves in the morning for a while.  Too fuckin' much, dude.  Boy howdy,
you sure as fuck are the boy for me."

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