Date: Wed, 3 Jun 2009 13:06:10 -0700
From: Rio Mack <badprose@hotmail.com>
Subject: Alien Culture 29 (gay/college)

The Alien Culture Project, part 29
By Rio Mack

DISCLAIMER: Contains depictions of gay sex.

The weather was cooler, more seasonal, that late Tuesday morning, as Chance
Taylor headed out for a five-mile run that would eventually take him to his
coach's loft downtown.  That day marked the start of his new one-on-one
training regimen with his mentor.  Wyatt had pegged Chance as the kind of
natural athlete whose physique and skills would make rapid gains under his
tutelage; he'd even win nationals, he'd assured the boy, if he was willing
to put in a little extra work with him a couple days a week. Chance most
definitely was: he not only looked forward to serious training sessions
with a true master, but his cock throbbed wonderfully when he thought of
the raw-muscled passion that was bound to erupt after their workouts ended.
Both he and Wyatt had tried to be cool and businesslike as they laid out
the rationale for these personal training sessions to their respective
boyfriends, and of course they were both quite serious about grooming
Chance into an elite collegiate athlete, but the two fuck buddies were also
deliriously excited at the thought of the pumped-up man-play that would be
a major feature of their deliciously private time together.  Chance could
hardly wait.

His coach had the hottest body of any man he'd ever seen, no contest, not
even close.  His muscle development went beyond perfection - not too lean,
not too bulky, just pure rippling strength, pure hard-packed power, pure
sculpted beauty - the Greek ideal made flesh.  Chance's young cock began
stirring as he ran, just thinking about that sensuously fur-covered
hard-body and the thought of being in such close, sweaty proximity to it
for an entire afternoon.  Wyatt was not only encyclopedic in his knowledge
of athletics and conditioning (guaranteeing, Chance knew, that his muscle
development would accelerate rapidly under Coach's training), but he was
expert in the art of love-making as well - in the precious few times they'd
fucked already, Wyatt had thrilled him like none of the boys he'd fooled
around with could.  Chance was the kind of boy who took a special pleasure
at the knowing, confident touch of an older man, especially such a
drop-dead gorgeous stud like Wyatt.  He was a young jock who was fiercely
proud that his well-worked body could bring a mature, devastatingly sexy
hunk like Wyatt such pleasure, and the young horn-dog in him was anxious
for another taste of the sexual secrets that only an experienced lover
knew.

For his run, Chance had worn some old black sweats and his Yellow Branch
Wrestling sweatshirt.  Plus one of his older, more stretched out jocks,
which is what he preferred to run in - it still gave him support but
allowed his cock to hang nice and full, letting it plump and jostle as he
moved.  He imagined himself a young stallion as he ran, his huge, meaty
fullness dangling proudly.  But he loved every sensation as he ran; running
was one of the physical activities he loved most (besides lovemakin' of
course, he grinned to himself).  Even more than wrestling, running made him
feel like a pure muscle machine.  For his run that day, he chose a windy
course to Wyatt's, so he could get a nice long aerobic workout; he wanted
his body to be fully warmed up, in peak receptive shape for the workout
ahead.

Plus a nice long run like this really let him think; 'Chance Time,' he
liked to call it.  And, indeed, he began reflecting on his life
immediately, as soon as he started off.

He'd always thought of himself as a jock, first and foremost, in high
school; someone known for his body, his strength, his ability to win games
and take home prizes, to be written up in the home-town paper.  But now,
here at college, the friends he'd made, and his lover especially, seemed to
appreciate him for his mind, his wit, as much as anything else.  That was
something new, something surprising.

Back home, about the only one who really bothered with his mind was his
dad.  The two of them had had so many long talks together on the farm, in
the fields or the barn or during those lazy afternoons fishing together for
hours on end.  Nights, too, after his chores and schoolwork were done, he'd
sit and talk with his dad on the front porch, listening to crickets and
smelling those heady, harvest-grass scents.  He'd learned so much from his
dad, about so many things; his dad was a voracious reader, on such a wide
range of different subjects.  No doubt it was his father who got him
interested in things like history and philosophy, which Chance couldn't get
enough of.

It was great, then, that the guys here at college appreciated his cerebral
side, because to the guys he hung with in high school, he was just another
jock-stud on the squad, prized only for his well-worked body, which was
always the envy of the other guys in the gym.

And sure, it WAS a good body, one Chance was almost shamefully proud of,
proud too that he was making it better - stronger, faster, way more
developed - here at college.  Not massive or anything, just supremely
carved, like the body of his idol, Wyatt.  Fuck, was he ever excited to
start training with that fine-ass muscle-god!

As he raced on, he thought about what more he could be doing for his body.
He'd been thinking for the past few days that it might be time for a fast
the next few days, to build on these couple of sessions with Wyatt.  He'd
done it many times in high school, to make weight, so he knew just what to
do: heavy-duty lean protein tomorrow, then maybe just clear liquids - tea,
water, apple juice - on Thursday, when he had another session with Coach,
and just water on Friday, plus a nice long yoga session in that super-hot
gym on late Friday afternoon.

His reasoning was that he wanted to get the absolute most of out his
increased training this week, because he REALLY wanted to get himself as
ripped-looking as possible for their trip to the dance-club this weekend.
He wanted to be one of those totally shredded muscle-studs he saw last
time, showing off all sexy-ass on the dance-floor in just a jock, driving
every other hot-looking dude in the place crazy.  He wanted to be the
ultimate wet-dream gay muscle-stud - cool, confident, and flirty, enjoying
the hottest of sex with the hottest of boys.  He wanted to be like Wyatt,
his idol, with a body reeking of male lust, so ripped it looked like your
finger would sizzle if you touched it.  His dick felt so damn juicy as he
ran and daydreamed about the incredible night ahead on the dance-floor this
weekend - he and Reed and the rest of his boys would cut a fucking swath
through Sparta, no doubt.  Then, after a cum-crazed night at the club, a
totally hot jock-stud orgy later at Wyatt's.  Damn, Taylor, what a fucking
life!

Suddenly, a cloud of doubt inched across this sunny scene - he wondered
about his dancing.  Was he any good?  He doubted it, and he sure as hell
wanted to be.  It wasn't enough for him just to have the body - he wanted
to have the moves, too.  It was his elite young athlete's pride to get the
routine down and execute it flawlessly.  And lately, after that first night
at Sparta and then the Josh Turner Company concert, dancing had become a
form of athleticism he was seriously into; it was something that made him
feel like he was participating in some sacred, primitive, masculine ritual;
it spoke to him as a young scholar of ancient Greek culture.  He wanted to
do it as often as possible now, get as good as he could at it, and he knew
he had a ways to go.  'Two left feet,' his mom had laughed when he'd
practiced in the living room the week before the junior prom.  The dream of
dancing the night away in athletic abandon at Sparta, with Reed, Tommy,
Kyle, Wyatt, Jesse, his boys from the team, and whichever hot guys in the
club cruised him, lost a little of its luster if his dancing was lame.
Hey, he realized, David was a dancer; maybe he and Reed could go out
dancing with David and Tag some night soon, or just have a dance party in
their dorm, and David could sort of give him some tips.  Maybe tomorrow
night, and maybe Devin and Mark could hook up then.  Fuck, that would be a
blast.

As the pavement sped by under his running shoes, Chance thought back on his
morning.  Damn, it sure was cool waking up with two dudes in bed.  He and
Reed had woken sleepy-eyed together, to the exquisite sensation of Mark
tonguing and lapping at their cocks, going from one to the other, impatient
to have them wake so they could throw him another fuck or two before he
left for classes.  Which they did with relish.  Reed took Mark first, while
Chance enjoyed more of the boy's passionate oral attention, then Chance
plunged his hard wet cock into that tight cum-filed hole.  Chance laughed
to think of Mark moaning and panting, squirming that ass over his cock like
he never wanted to let it go.  Fuck, was that boy ever a slave to cock now!
But what hot young jock wasn't once he got his first sweet taste of
boy-sex?  They all showered after, Mark soaping he and Reed up, worshiping
their cocks, begging for another go-round.  What a bottom-slut!  He and
Reed eagerly obliged, one pumping while the other stroked the boy's wet,
soapy cock, then they spun him, and the stroker became the pumper.  Kyle
and Tommy came in and jacked each other as they watched the show.  Mark
told them before he left how much he'd loved being fucked in front of those
other dudes, that he'd had these boy-whore fantasies seething in his mind
for so long and was so damn amped to be able to act them out.  He kissed
them both in mad delight before he left, reminding Chance to try and set
him up with that dude Devin.

Damn, Chance thought, his dick really stiff now, college life was pretty
fucking fine when your dorm was filled with hot-looking muscle-boys horny
for each other 24/7.  Shit, he laughed, Plato was right: every dude is gay
at heart, a guy's body knows the kind of sex that satisfies it most - and
college life was sure as hell providing him a very steady, very satisfying
supply.

And the night before, that incredible first orgy in the newly remodeled
pad.  Football players fool you - like Lane and TJ, they don't seem to give
off a gay vibe, but then you get 'em started and, shit, are they ever hot
for messin' with other dudes.  Those gridiron boys sure are a closeted
bunch, Chance thought; maybe it's cause it's such a macho, aggressive
sport.  Different with wrestlers - I was just waitin' for the slightest
push; must be cause wrestlin's just so damn homoerotic to begin with - no
pads or helmets or shit, just dudes groping each other's hot,
barely-covered muscle-flesh.

He thought, too, about how cool it was getting dressed this morning with
his boyfriend, then walking off to class with him, arms around each, hands
wandering from shoulder to waist to butt, laughing, kissing, getting all
kinds of stares - broad, beaming smiles from the gay-looking boys, and
flushed, secret stares from the straight dudes, even smiles and grins from
most of the girls they passed.  They both wore short, tight Ts, low-cut
jeans, and leather jackets (zipped open, so they could each show off a nice
band of cut abs where their Ts stopped and their jeans started).  Fuck, he
bet they made a hot couple together.  It was so cool to be able to flaunt
such an awesome-looking boyfriend on your arm.  They walked hand-in-hand
into Baxter's class, dropped their 'Alien Culture' assignments on his desk,
and strolled to two empty seats together.  Lots of eyebrows raised there,
especially, he noticed, from the prof, who seemed almost flustered to see
two dudes publicly displaying affection like that.  Weird, Chance thought,
you'd think, as a cultural anthropologist, most aspects of human behavior
would be pretty much old hat for him.

Damn, he thought suddenly, as an image of Baxter's confused, furrowed brow
came back to him, maybe he and Reed had made a huge mistake turning in
assignments that were - shit, now that he thought about it - pretty
seriously gay porn.  Fuck, all those photos and videos, chockfull of all
that bare-assed beefcake at Sparta and the gym!  He suddenly got a very bad
feeling in the pit of his stomach and wished he could get back his project
before Baxter saw it.  No way he could afford to fail a class, and getting
some sort of disciplinary charge would probably cost him his scholarship,
his place on the team, and his chance for a college education.  His mom
would die of shame!

Stop it, Taylor! he told himself.  He knew he did a great project, very
heartfelt and well within the parameters of the assignment.  If Baxter's
homophobic, that's his problem.  Chance felt confident he could very
seriously and straightforwardly address any kind of grievance board Baxter
brought him in front of.  And for sure he bet Wyatt would be there to back
him up.  Feeling more confident, he let his mind drift, enjoying the
beautiful scenery along the river as he did the last mile to Wyatt's.

When he got to Wyatt and Jesse's warehouse, he took off his backpack and
fished out his cell phone.  Coach had given him a spare key with which to
let himself in, which he also took out, but he thought he should call Wyatt
first to let him know he was downstairs.  Trembling with excitement for
this first personal training session with his idol, he punched in the
number to the loft.

Wyatt answered, voice cool and confident, honey-thick.  He, too, was randy
with anticipation at the thought of a long afternoon spent in raw-muscled
intimacy with the hottest boy he'd ever seen.

"Glad yer here, boy," he said gruffly.  "You got the key to the outer door,
right?  Take the elevator up to the top.  I left the inner door unlocked
for ya.  Just come in and shuck yer street clothes.  I'm back here in my
training room."

"Uh, what should I wear?" Chance asked.  He'd packed a couple jocks, some
mesh shorts, a muscle T, even some sexy underwear if Wyatt wanted to work
out in that.

"'Wear'?  Why nuthin', o'course.  Thought that was yer idea, no?  Nude
wrestlin' practices from now on?"  Wyatt's voice was thicker now with
barely concealed male passion.  His own cock had been stiff and thick all
day waiting for his young fuck-buddy.  "Just shuck yer duds as soon as you
get in and join me in back.  I'm just finisn' my warm-up."

A stab of pleasure shot through Chance's young cock when he heard they'd be
doing their training nude.  To be able to see his mentor's awesome body
strain and pump and bulge and sweat while they exercised would be so
fucking hot, not to mention watching that huge, thick cock dangle and
bounce and bob atop that big, juicy man-sac.  The elevator stopped; he
stepped into the beautifully furnished loft and looked around, loving to be
in such a cool, hip space.  Some day Reed and him'd have a tight-ass place
like this, he just felt it.  He put his backpack down, stripped off his
clothes, and headed for Wyatt's studio.

Once there, he pulled up short, feeling his breath catch involuntarily in
his throat, when he caught sight of the nude, muscular perfection
stretching and bending lithely in front of him.  He stood riveted and just
watched Wyatt go through his warm-up for a while.  His coach had a body
like stone, only supple, animated; with curves and bulges in places Chance
still hadn't - a testament to his age and expertise in conditioning.
Chance could only stand and stare, thrilled by that beautifully sculpted
body, muscles rippling like a thick, fluid current, bending up and down as
he did toe-touches - such a perfect form, but alive and throbbing with
coiled power.  Those huge arms, ripped abs, those big suckable tits, and
that thick luscious length of man-meat bobbing and swaying as he moved, so
deliciously big and veiny, covered entirely by his thick foreskin, and
mmmmmmmm, that lightly hairy, perfectly carved muscle-ass - Christ, what a
man. It was exciting for Chance to think that his own youthful body, even
though no match for such awesome male beauty and power, could bring a stud
like that enjoyment.

And he loved that he was such a smooth, young boy, and Wyatt was such a
furry, slightly older dude - a 'young bear'?  Is that the phrase he read in
one of Reed's stroke books underneath a picture of two hot students that
looked a lot like Wyatt?  The contrast in their ages, their body types, and
their sex-knowledge seemed fitting, like what the ancient Greeks advocated
- the young boy learning from and giving pleasure to the older man.  Wyatt
had to be every boy's ideal of raw, real, he-man perfection; that beautiful
dusting of man-fur, accenting the carved granite musculature of his
physique in all the right places, made Chance's excitable young cock
stiffen with a teen's deep crush of breathless desire.

"Why'n't you sell films of you doin' that on the internet, Wyatt?  You'd
make a fucking fortune.  You could retire from coaching."

Wyatt had looked up and slowly rose when he heard Chance's voice.  He
grinned; fuck, was he ever ready for today.

"If I gave up coaching, how would I meet such hot young studs like
yourself, and lure them up to my studio for an afternoon of raw, naked,
hard-core fucking?  'Scuse me, I meant 'training' o' course."

Wyatt, the boy could tell immediately, had shaved his usual week's worth of
beard and buzzed his hair as close as Chance had ever seen it.  He looked
devastatingly sexy.  Then, Chance's eyes lit up to notice that not all of
Wyatt's beard had been trimmed away, that now the square-jawed, muscle-stud
was growing a goatee - fuck, did he ever look hot in it.

As he strode closer to his idol, his glance was caught by the sight of both
their beautifully muscled, naked bodies reflected in the mirrored wall of
the training room.  Damn, did they ever look good nude - how fucking
awesome it was going to be to work out with Wyatt, both of them bare-assed
nekkid!

But, Chance realized, in a sense, they WERE dressed: they wore their
hard-carved musculature like a uniform, the sexiest uniform a true athlete
could wear, a torso sheathed in achingly perfect definition, complete with
beautifully firm ass and a full, dangling length of uncut cock.  No other
outfit could flatter a well-worked body more than such a fully transparent
raiment, one which hid nothing, revealing every curve and ripple and bulge
in stunning masculine artistry. As Chance drank in both the glory of
Wyatt's body and the beauty of his own, reflected in the mirror, he knew
the Greeks were right: nudity was the ideal state for a truly competitive
athlete.

He slowly walked over to his mentor, their eyes drinking in each other's
beautifully-carved musculature, in almost nervous anticipation.  After a
minute or so spent worshipping the muscle-porn of their bodies, their horny
gazes dwelled for long, luscious moments on each other's thick, dangling,
uncut beauties.  They each had cocks of full, ripe perfection, big and
long, almost seeming to pulsate with the essence of male virility.  Both
their foreskins fully covered their cockheads, giving a smooth, fulsome
sleekness to their manhood, making them even more mouth-watering, like some
thick, luscious sex-sausage.  In Wyatt's case, the flesh-sleeve even
nippled over ever-so-sexily, irresistibly, tempting you to chew and nibble
and tongue and tweak and tease.  Chance's foreskin was thinner, letting the
full head show through, lovely and lickable, while Wyatt's was much
thicker, his meaty hood blurring head and shaft into one long, luscious,
irresistible mouthful.

Wyatt finally yanked his lust-drenched gaze off his young stud-lover's
cock, but as he raked his eyes up Chance's powerful young torso, he smiled
cockily to notice the boy's eyes were still riveted on his own thick,
massive length.

Indeed, Chance was helpless to look away, Wyatt's huge, awesome girth was
that commanding.  The boy realized he was a slave to his coach's king-sized
horse-cock - he'd never be able to get enough of it, it could pleasure a
young dude in so damn many ways - licking it, gorging on it, playing with
its huge stiff bulk, rubbing its stiff thickness all over your face and
body, feeling its enormous power as you squeezed it tightly against your
own, teasing its hard girth up and down your crack, then the glorious
ecstasy as every inch of that hard, wonderful thickness plowed into you,
filling up every ounce of fevered longing pulsing through a young boy's
body.

Chance drew close and stroked that long, thick, semi-hard shaft, eyes wide
at how huge even the head was.  Wyatt purred gruffly.  Then Chance knelt,
helpless, his mouth drooling for a taste.  Workout be damned, he thought,
let's cut to the chase.  We both know what we really want, so why waste
time?

But Wyatt checked the boy before he could lower himself to his knees to
slake his thirst for cock on that beautiful piece of meat.

"Whoa, boy," he said, voice low and raspy, "not yet.  Just hold off, son.
There'll be plenty o' time for that later.  Don't know 'bout you, but the
thought of what we'll be doin' later, after we train together, is gonna
fuel the fuck outta my workout.  Thinkin' o' the pleasure I'm gonna get
outta that hot body o' yours, watchin' your muscles and cock and ass as you
pump and stretch and strain - shit, that's gonna gimme such a rush, such a
balls-deep tingle, I'm thinkin' I'll be able to push my muscles to do
things they never have."

"You're right," Chance said sheepishly, ashamed at his impetuous young
horniness.  "Can't blame me, though.  That's serious fuckin' meat yer
packin', Wy.  Most awesome cock I've ever seen."

"You'll have all afternoon, after we're done, to show me just how much you
like it."

He pulled the young horn-dog close for a deep soul-kiss.

"Okey-doke, dude," Chance grinned, as they broke their embrace, "let's
start some shit."

The routine was fairly simple at first: push-ups, then crunches (hanging
and reverse), then squats, in endless sets.  Chance's muscles were soon
screaming - and truth to tell, so were Wyatt's; they were driving each
other harder than they'd pushed their bodies before.  It was not only the
fierce desire of true athletic competition, it was the lust coursing
through each other's bodies, the testosterone flooding through them, so
amped were they at the sight of each other's raw, naked, splendor: there
are few things as breath-taking as a nude, well-built male working his body
hard, that finely-chiseled body fully displayed, exertion revealing all the
awesome power coiled in those well-trained muscles; and these were two
grade A, prime muscle-studs, pushing themselves to the limit, watching each
other's perfectly developed, lusciously ripe musculature straining and
flexing, muscles working together in a kind of choreography of masculine
eroticism.  Sweaty muscles pumping, dripping, sheened with sweat; thick
long juicy cocks bouncing and swaying, drops of sweat flying from them;
stunningly handsome faces contorted and snarling with strain from the
effort - their was no hotter porn for a true muscle-hunk.  Chance
especially loved glancing at Wyatt's torso, those wet, sexy swirls of
matted man-fur, plastered across ripped, glistening muscle.  These two
studs were turning each other on more deeply than they ever had been.
Imagine the most erotic, dick-hardening muscle-porn possible, then imagine
yourself right in the midst of it, part of it, able to breathe in its
promise, enjoy its possibilities.  These two, with each grunting, panting
breath, were gulping down huge draughts of the headiest vintage of straight
male passion; it was making them drunk on lust but leaving their faculties
sharp and keen and ready.

[Plyometrics, medicine ball, heavy bag]

They ended their first, straining session together with a wrestling match.
As exhausted as each of them was, they still had enough drive left to grasp
and flex and grapple and lunge as they writhed on the mat, each trying
desperately to pin and not be pinned.  Getting a grip on bodies covered
with what seemed a half-inch of slick, hot man-sweat was almost impossible.
They grunted out shouts, curses, and laughs as they went at each other with
a ferocity that was a barely concealed sublimation of desire.

Soon, of course, the desire could be reined in no more, and the sloppy,
exhausted wrestling turned to raw hungry groping.  Neither of them could
check any longer the raging sexual passion exploding through every nerve.
Their workout, they both knew, was not just elite-athlete training, it was
the perfect brand of man-hungry foreplay for two such prime muscle-studs.
And they both knew they needed to fuck IMMEDIATELY, while both were still
dripping from the workout.  They wanted rank, raunchy man-sex; hard, sweaty
fucking; nothing more than brute, animalistic rutting, ripe with the
essence of steamy masculinity - the taste on the tongue as it slathered
over salty muscle; the heady aroma from a musk-damp crotch as one sucked a
thick, gleaming, sweat-drenched cock; the panting gasp from spent muscle,
making the perfect accompaniment to this raw, elemental man-passion.  As
they kissed and pawed at each other, they breathed in the sharp scent of
male desire rising like thick steam off each other's pumped bodies.

They clasped and squeezed each other, ravenous with a hunger that grew both
from the flood of endorphins and testosterone coursing through them, as
well as the overwhelming force of a man's natural, homoerotic desire, which
had by now been dangerously oversaturated by such prolonged exposure to
each other's potently erotic nudity.  They stroked one another's long
straining hardness, half-fondling, half-groping at each other's impossibly
huge cock, those cocks which seemed now, in their plump fullness, to be
almost smugly anticipating the pleasure that lay ahead of them, the
deliciously mind-numbing frenzy of desire that would be focused on them.

Their lust for each other, which had simmered and seethed during their
workout, was now boiling violently.  Wyatt's training room had become a
raging furnace of man-sex.  They kissed, not tenderly but hungrily, with
the steaming hot desire erupting out of them; it couldn't even be called
kissing, in the strict sense of the term; it was just raw, desperate
sucking and licking of each other's stubbled cheeks and chins, buzzed
heads, muscular necks, massive pecs and rock-hard nipples. Theirs were
bodies built for the most primal forms of male passion: sex, athleticism,
body-worship.  And what they were doing now was a combination of all three
- an arcane, ages-old rite; a raw, grunting, sweat-sheened, hard-muscled
ritual in the secret cult of man-lust.

Wyatt grabbed the boy and pressed him close, pawing at that smooth,
solid-muscle ass, while he played his sweaty stubble feverishly over the
boy, wanting to drink in every part of him at once.  They swayed with
unbridled lust and an eagerness for the explosive pleasure ahead of them.
As they rocked, their hefty man-cocks danced across each other.  Chance
moaned and threw his head back deliriously, so stoked was he to be at the
threshold of full-bore sex with this amazing older hunk.  Wyatt leaned
close, their cocks still magnetized to each other, and breathed hot,
desperate kisses all over the boy's neck.  He began to play rough and
hungry with Chance's hard, ripe boy-nipples, as both their cocks throbbed
into ripe, ready stiffness.

The sex was on; the man-heat, stoked steadily during their workout, was
raging, building to its inevitable thunderous release.

After the first rush of fevered intimacy exploded out of them, Wyatt lay
back and let the young stud worship him.  Chance was almost drunk on the
sight of that ripped, sweat-bathed musculature, a maddeningly gorgeous
combination of brute power and elegant beauty, all covered by those wet,
swirling patches of man-fur.  His lust-gaze settled on Wyatt's long, thick,
shaft, sprawled irresistibly across his abs - it seemed to snake more than
halfway up his torso. He grabbed Wyatt's huge, hypnotic thickness and
fisted it down at the base (not quite getting his hand around that massive
girth), bringing the head to his lips as if it were a huge glass of cold
nectar to slake a dry thirst, wasting no time devouring as much of it as he
could, slurping, snorting, greedy for that delicious length of man-meat.
His hand around the base, his mouth taking as much in as he could, and
still Chance saw there was about six inches of exposed shaft.  Fuck, what
an amazing cock.  All you could do was marvel at it, desire it, hold it
close, bring it into every part of your body possible, try to pleasure it
(and in doing so, being so wonderfully pleasured by it).  He felt such
privilege in being able to minister to that powerful tool.  He was the
athlete on the team most intimate with Wyatt, the chief acolyte in that
phallic cult of beautiful young wrestlers who worshipped their achingly
well-hung muscle-god of a coach.

Hunger flooded through him, filling his mouth with lust-drooling saliva,
helping him to work more and more of that thick shaft down his throat.  Up
and down, up and down, snorting with luscious delight, his mouth and throat
stuffed to gorging, until finally he felt Wyatt's sweaty bush tickle his
nose.  "Urrhhmmmmm," he snorted piggishly, jamming his nose right down into
that musky patch, inhaling the heady scent of raw, ripe man-musk.  He grew
light-headed from that acrid, intoxicating odor, as well as the incredible
thrill of that huge thickness choking him.  He raised his head up off the
luscious shaft, letting his full lips savor each inch, then back again,
slurpily, gulping the gorgeous cock down until his chin rested on Wyatt's
hefty ballsac.

Then, used to that thickness filling him, his hands began to glide across
the fur-covered, rock-hard expanse of his older lover's torso.  It was an
unparalleled sensory rush; it felt like his head might explode, his hands
burn up with tingling, excited passion.  Slowly and slurpily, he worked his
greedy, snorting mouth up and down Wyatt's huge, stiff, saliva-slick pole.
His own hard cock was pulsating maddeningly.

Chance sucked and licked and stroked that hard, thick, enormous length as
if it were life-giving manna; then he pulled off and grasped that huge,
beautiful man-cock by the base.  He was in a half-conscious lust-swirl now,
existing only for pleasure, both to give it and receive it.  Grasping that
hard, spit-glazed meat with a kind of desperation, he rubbed it all over
his beard-stubbled face and closely-buzzed head, not even realizing how
wonderful that sharp prickly tingle would feel on his older lover's
fuckstick; he just needed to hold that awesome cock close, to press its
power to him, its throbbing warmth, to bathe himself all over with the
huge, ripe magnificence of it.  There in that moment, he lived only to
serve and adore the awesome majesty of Wyatt's manhood.  His panting gasps
of almost babbling desire became his prayer-chant.

The sheer sensual fervency of Chance's obsessive passion sent Wyatt into
the zone - this sizzling hot boy was worshipping his man-meat the way it
craved to be worshipped.

Chance was alive to the fevered eroticism of the moment.  He rubbed his
hands through the wet, sweaty fur coating Wyatt's chest, fingers gliding
sensually through that thick, swirling mat, tracing lust-trails across the
flat massive planes of rock-solid pecs and down along the deep crevices of
his coach's solid, bulging washboard.  His own body was pressed close, his
mouth a rush of hot panting lust, his tongue licking the deliciously salty
man-sheen off Wyatt's neck and face.

His body trembling with a young boy's strong, desperate need for sexual
release, he began tweaking Wyatt's stiff, pert nipples mercilessly, while
hip-thrusting his hard, raging cock insistently against his mentor's tool.
Both studs delighted in the skull-ripping pleasure of their big thick logs
grinding against each other, each cock pressed flat, halfway up their abs,
so their fist-sized nuts could rub and roil against each other in their
sacs.  Chance could feel the cream froth and churn in his nuts, ready to
pump out load after load of hot, thick spunk.

Wyatt, gave a low, guttural, deeply satisfied grunt, then rasped, "I'm
gonna flip." He planted a huge hand down on the mat, then his body seemed
to explode in a blur of motion; just as quickly, he came to a stop,
settling himself in so he could nurse greedily on the boy's hard, wet
stiffness.  Chance had a momentary flash of amazement at what a
well-trained body his mentor had, that it could so effortlessly perform
such strong yet smoothly graceful moves; he's like a large cat, the boy
thought.  Then the young jock went back to lavishing hot, slurping
attention on that incredible length of man-meat, while thrilling to the
feel of Coach's hot furnace of a mouth on his own straining thickness.
Both muscle studs were delighting in that most basic of masculine pastimes:
two horny men pleasuring each other's cocks.

Wyatt painted Chance's cock with his thick, moist lips and tongue, all the
while nastily teasing the boy's big, floppy sac with a strong, playful
index finger.  He'd pull his hungry mouth up off the boy's long firmness
every now and then so he could watch that oozy rope of precum-thick saliva
trail off the young jock's spit-glazed cockhead, a sight that always
further inflamed his lust.

Wyatt had become a connoisseur of man-flesh over the years, so he could
truly savor the exquisiteness of his young athlete's cock: long, thick,
veiny, with a good hood of foreskin (not quite as much of a thick sleeve as
his own, but more than enough to feast on).  And Chance kept himself shaved
sexily close, almost bare, so what the older stud chowed down on was all
boy-meat, thick and luscious.

Wyatt's home gym was soon filled with the loud moaning and lip-smacking and
panting of two sexed-up cock-mongers relishing the heights of oral abandon,
mouths stuffed to choking with hard, meaty, drool-covered cock, feverishly
gorging on each other, savoring this primal scene of manly lust.

Despite the raging, pulse-pounding fury of their passion for each other,
these two beefed-up hunks made tender, almost delicate love to each other's
cock-heads, teasingly circling their tongues under each other's foreskins,
then darting into piss-slits, and kissing the tips tenderly, lingeringly,
almost as if the tip could kiss back.  As their passionate rage fed on
itself, though, the tenderness melted away, and they began increasingly to
devour each other's lengths with a grunting piggishness, hungrily grabbing
and licking and sucking, gorging on those thick, hard, ripe pieces of
man-meat.

While continuing to give exquisite head to the boy, Wyatt pulled his own
huge, thick, glistening length out of Chance's cock-hungry mouth and rubbed
it all over that hungry young jock's firm, stubbled face and jaw, then up
over his freshly buzzed head, just as the boy himself had moments before.
The feel of boy-stubble all over his long, hard, saliva-and-precum-slick
fuck-stick was addictive.  Damn, Wyatt thought, every cell in his body
seeming to tingle wildly, this was the sex of the gods: two ultra-prime
male bodies indulging in the wildest throes of hot, wet lust.  He plunged
his huge rammer back in the boy's grateful mouth, and face-fucked him hard
with raw, short, insistent bursts, while attacking the luscious tool in his
own mouth with inflamed hunger.  He grasped the boy's huge pole with both
hands, licking and slurping all up and down and over the teen's thick
length, making sure to tongue his own fingers while he was at it, getting
them all slick and wet.

Then, still sucking that hard, ripe length of boy-meat, his slimed-up
fingers went to work on Chance's smooth, muscular ass with a kind of cold,
knowing efficiency.  First, squeezing and kneading the young jock's glutes,
sending slow ripples of desire tingling through Chance's loins; then, using
his strong, spit-slick fingers, he traced the intended path of his desire
up and down the boy's beautifully shaved-smooth ass.  Fuck, Wyatt thought,
the kid has a kind of dream-body, one that seemed to spring fully formed
straight out of an older man's deepest sexual fantasies.

Chance was whimpering.  His ass was maybe the most sensitive part of his
body; he'd begun fingering it in high school, way before he'd known he was
gay, and ever since then intensive ass-play had been a major part of his
jack-off sessions.  Occasionally he could get himself off by just clenching
and playing his ass muscles over two or three fingers, poking and playing
around in his hole.  Now, with gay sex, he had partners who knew only too
well the erotic possibilities of a boy's hole.  What Wyatt was doing to him
was incredible, reducing him to mindless ecstasy.  He hoisted his lithe
hips a bit so Wyatt could get a better purchase.

Then, with his big young muscle-body draped across Wyatt's, his smooth
sleek ass-cheeks wriggled hungrily over Wyatt's wet, beard-stubbled face,
desperately demanding a truly nasty rimming, while he worked his huge, hard
dripping cock back and forth across his older lover's hard-carved
washboard, reveling in the erotic sensuousness of Wyatt's scratchy bristle,
juicy tongue, and hot breath on his ass.  His cock throbbed from the
glorious sensation of this full-blown ass-pleasuring.  With his hole taken
care of, he went back to lavishing hot wet love on that huge prick that
would soon be giving his ass so much pleasure.

Wyatt's fingers worked Chance's tight boy-hole with wanton disregard,
poking in and around, teasing it, stretching it, nipping at it - forcing
open his portal to ecstasy.  He let huge gobs of spit drool out of his
mouth and onto his fingers, which would then be used to lube up that
exquisite pucker.  A couple times he even brought his hands down to that
hot jock-mouth working his cock, cramming his fingers past the boy's lips,
so that it would be the boy's own lust-drool that would help lube up that
tight hole.

Wyatt loved the fevered wriggling and squirming of Chance's ass on his
eager mouth.  Fuck, he smiled lewdly to himself, was this young pup hungry
for man-cock or what?  He continued to lap and tease and work his deft
tongue in and out of his prize.  Part of him wanted just to plunge his
shaft in, hard and raw, at once, and get to the wondrous fucking ahead, but
there was an exquisitely painful pleasure throbbing through his hardness
with each second of deferred gratification.  And the thought of the
glorious feel of his huge thickness sinking slowly, deliciously, into that
smooth, tight boy-hole kept fanning his lust-fires.  He hocked another gob
of spit right onto that sweet, luscious rosebud, then sensually worked it
further in and out of that wonderfully tight orifice, making sure to toy
with his young stud-lover's hard little love-nut. All in all, Wyatt worked
the boy's ass like he owned it, prying and teasing steadily until Chance
began to groan even deeper with a primal need for thick, hard man-meat to
fill his desperate hole.

To get better access, Wyatt quickly rose off the boy and squatted, then
guided Chance up.  The boy rose in a daze, his conscious mind almost wholly
overrun now with the delirium of lust-fever.  Chance stood leaning against
one of the mirrored walls in Wyatt's studio, sighing as the skilled tongue
of his mentor resumed pleasuring his incredibly sensitive hole.

Wyatt smiled to watch that muscle-ass try to gobble his fingers and tongue
in with a clenching, insistent hunger.  He could tell the boy was desperate
to flex his ass muscles around something long, hard, and thick, not only
from the way he rubbed and wriggled his ass up and down over and around on
Wyatt's fingers and tongue, but from those breathless moans and cries from
the sexed-up boy.

Wyatt took short breaks from ass-eating, sometimes to glaze the boy's
smooth low-hangers, grabbing them in a tight grip and letting his tongue,
thickly coated now with saliva and ass-juice, dance sexily over those
skin-taught eggs; at other times he pulled back the boy's steel-hard
horse-cock, so his tongue could slobber passionately all up and down the
hefty length, from ass-crack to cock-tip, pausing at the head to suckle on
it greedily.  Long, goopy ropes of spit trailed off, stretching from ass to
tongue, every time Wyatt pulled off the boy's sweet hole to pleasure his
cock and balls.

Then Wyatt rose up and stood behind Chance, reaching around front with one
hand to jack his young lover's thick uncut length, using his other hand to
play the massive head of his own cock all up and down Chance's smooth
ass-crack, signaling his fevered lust-need.

"Oh fuck!  YES!" Chance panted, his loins aching for his older lover's
fullness.

Foreplay's over, Wyatt thought, in a kind of daze, lust for his beefy young
stud rattling him to the core.  He grasped his huge, hard length, pulled
back the thick flesh-sleeve, and aimed his glistening, exposed cockhead
straight for its coveted prize.  The excited young bottom began to tremble
and moan as he felt Wyatt's huge, wet, thickness ooze its way into his ass.

Chance felt a quick flush of pride, knowing he had a body that could so
captivate a mature, masterful lover like Wyatt.  As his mentor worked his
slick stiffness slowly up into him, groaning loud and hoarse from the raw
mind-numbing pleasure coursing through his hot bear-stud body, Chance
eagerly squeezed that huge prick with his powerful, finely-tuned young
muscles. He knew this was the most intensely intimate embrace one man could
give another - this warmly passionate welcome of another man's sex.

Wyatt grunted ecstatically, and a slight, serene smile flickered across his
face, as he took his pleasure, delighting in the way this young stud's
desire was more than the equal of his own unquenchable thirst.  The feel of
that young ass clasping his huge hard thickness, drawing it in, riding on
it, begging to be fucked hard and long, was exactly the feeling a
steel-dicked, stone-muscled sex-addict like himself craved - pure, hot,
sweaty, masculine frenzy.  The fact that it was with this perfectly
sculpted, voraciously horny young boy made it that much sweeter.  Chance
seemed to crave everything Wyatt could give, so it inspired him to give
more and more, fuck harder and harder.  Chance was only too glad to
reciprocate: he knew he was being fucked by the best in the business - not
just the most skilled cocksman, but hands-down the hottest looking.  And so
his ass wiggled and waggled and bucked and twitched, doing all he could to
wring every ounce of pleasure out of Wyatt's mammoth fuck-stick.  Not that
he had to do much - Wyatt's meaty shaft hit his sweet-spot with
machine-like precision.

Wyatt, positioned behind that smooth, young, beautifully proportioned body,
cleared his throat of all the thick drool coating it and let a long ropey
trail of saliva drape down to lube his huge throbbing cock.  Chance
thrilled to the feel - as well as the mirrored reflection - of Wyatt
long-dicking his hungry young ass.

Soon, they were in the delicious rhythmic sync of hard-core man-play.
Wyatt held the boy close, giving him short, quick thrusts, while his huge
muscular hands played all over the young Adonis's beautifully carved chest
and abs.  He began to lick the young muscle-god's neck and shoulders and
buzzed head while he fucked, wanting to get as many nerve endings as
possible in contact with this fuck-dream.  Then he let one hand trace down
those abs to jack the boy's long, leaky, ramrod-stiff prick, jutting up
straight and thick between those hard-cut thighs.  Chance's pleasure was
ratcheted up another notch or two - to the gut-plowing delight of Wyatt's
fuck-thrusts was added this wonderfully sensual handjob, that big paw
stroking and squeezing and tickling and tweaking with lewd abandon, and
floating over it all was the electric thrill from the older muscle-god's
man-fur playing over his hard-carved back.  Chance just moaned in a kind of
semi-conscious stupor at the full-bore, totally immersive ecstasy he was
awash in.  His hard young cock felt like a thermometer of lust, throbbing
closer and closer to its glorious boiling point.

Wyatt, fucking the buzzed young muscle-hunk from behind, reveled in the
glorious future ahead of them both.  This boy, practically a virgin and
with a sexual appetite more than equal to own ravenous hunger, was his
personal slut, to use whenever and however he wanted.  They'd found in each
other the perfect fuck-buddy: from now on, they'd meet regularly, watch
each other work their hard bodies to exhaustion, then spend hours
satisfying that balls-deep hunger for man-on-man intimacy that seems to
constantly pulsate through the core of all virile men.

Wyatt knew this wild folly of theirs would at some point come to an end,
but he planned to enjoy every fucking minute of it, delighting in his
status of the first in what would doubtless be a very long line of virile
he-men Chance would couple with throughout his life.  He'd make sure they
made the most of their time together.  Maybe, for example, their
twice-a-week private practice sessions could stretch to three, adding a
weekend afternoon?  And Wyatt had already decided he'd suggest to Chance
that one night the two of them hit one of the raunchier leather bars in
town - he'd picked up a very definite vibe from his young stud that that
suggestion would be met with wide-eyed excitement.  Damn, he hadn't made
that scene in a while: he took Jesse when they first started hanging out
together; his lover had never really been into it on a sexual level, only
interested at first for the photos, but then even grew tired of that, so
Wyatt, too, drifted away.  He got hard as hell at the thought of his return
there, with this hot young man-bait of a boy on his arm.

Wyatt knew Chance had a steady boyfriend (another hot little fucker he
loved now having in his sexual circle); he knew too - something brought
into high relief at yesterday's wrestling practice - that Chance was
fucking around with his team-mates, who knows how many other hot college
dudes, but those were all kids.  During their intimate sessions together,
Wyatt would school Chance in man-passion - hairy, mature, hard-dicked
muscle-sex, suffused with a downright nasty edge and that deep, aching need
that youth couldn't fathom.  Maddened with boy-fever, he pinched and
twisted Chance's hard little nipples roughly as he reamed that sweet
muscle-ass with his huge, throbbing pole.

 "Damn, Wyatt!" Chance cried, voice hoarse with crazed desire.  "It's so
fuckin' long!  So damn thick!  So freakin' hard!  Like a goddamn baseball
bat!  Feels so fuckin' fine, dude!  I wanna just work my hole all over
it!!!"

"Go ahead," Wyatt grunted, trying feebly to remain all steely and cool and
in control - but no way he could keep up his sly, sexy front with Chance,
because this was absolutely explosive sex, mind-numbing sex, radioactive
sex.  He'd NEVER had a partner so athletically responsive, so erotically
gorgeous; he'd never met anyone as feverishly hungry for man-sex as he was
himself - and Chance was probably even hungrier: Wyatt knew he'd be worn
out on these training-and-sex afternoons they'd be sharing together way
before Chance would.  No man he'd ever had - and Wyatt had had so many
since coming out in high school - had driven him to such rapturous heights
of sheer muscular passion as this amazing young stud, this lust-prince he
was now utterly addicted to.

He pulled out and lay back on the matted floor of his workout studio.
Chance turned and straddled his coach, with the strong, fluid flexibility
of a seasoned athlete, working the crack of his stone-carved glutes over
Wyatt's long, thick stiffness.  Then he plunged it in hungrily, wriggled
his tight hole back over that enormous girth, trying to stuff as much of
that huge manaconda into his eager ass as quickly as possible.  Wyatt,
lying there - loving every delicious sight, sound, smell, sensation -
smiled to watch his young stud-lover use the fingers of both hands to
stretch and pry his barely-not-virginal tightness open so he could drink in
every thrilling inch of rock-hard man-meat.  What a horndog, Wyatt thought,
a lusty glow suffusing him - this young muscle-pup loves being fucked just
as much as I love fucking him.

When his cock was all the way in, Wyatt left it there for a bit, throbbing
its fullness through Chance's young loins, letting the boy appreciate the
power of a true man-cock to fill him, complete him, while he himself
luxuriated in the exquisite tightness and devastatingly subtle
muscle-control of the young stud's ass.  Chance wriggled and shifted with
every muscle in his legs, hips, and ass, using Wyatt's hard thickness as a
kind of mega-dildo, to hit all the pleasure-points in his hungry hole.
Wyatt smiled to watch the subtle shades of ecstasy play across the young
athlete's face, suffusing him with the glow that only a true stud-cock can
give a horny young muscle-jock.  He stared wantonly at the lusty hunk's
reflection in the training room's mirrored wall, savoring every single
thing about this new young lover the gods had blessed him with.  To Wyatt's
thinking, at least according to the hardness meter that was his own cock,
Chance had the most erotic body imaginable.  Just tracing those deep, sexy
grooves of the boy's hyper-sculpted abs was enough to send a fevered pulse
through his groin.  How long has this boy been working out, he wondered?
Or was it just a matter of incredible genes to begin with?  If so, Wyatt
thought roguishly, he definitely wanted to see the boy's father.  Damn, he
wondered, just when IS parents' weekend.  He hoped soon, and he hoped
Chance's dad was planning on coming.

Wyatt ran his hands with bold, sensuous roughness all over every grabbable
inch of his new fuck-toy, letting Chance know by his rude touch that he had
possession of this body - it was his to do with what he wanted, when he
wanted.

"Fuck, son," Wyatt growled hoarsely, his voice thick and gurgling with
lust, as if the cum flooding his dick was now rising in his throat, choking
him, overwhelming him, "you know you already got the hottest body ever.
Another few weeks of our workouts, and it'll be beyond amazing.  You'll be
the sexiest fucker that ever lived!"

Wyatt was purring with compliments - all heart-felt (or maybe, more
precisely, groin-felt) - because he couldn't say enough how much he wanted
their new private workouts to stretch out into infinity.  He was addicted
to this boy and too shameless to be subtle about it.

"Gonna love watching you get even bigger, harder, then see you in
competition.  Shit, boy, you're gonna win every match, no doubt.  With you
as an anchor we get to nationals, no fucking sweat."

Wyatt's dick was ready to explode.  His lungs let loose with a guttural
yell the likes of which he hadn't heard emanate from him in maybe fifteen
years.  Fuck, this kid was a goddamn youth-tonic, he thought, as his strong
hips plunged over and over up into that sensuous ass, and his hands
delighted in the feel of the hottest muscle-flesh imaginable.

"Gonna love fucking you silly, too, any fucking time I want," he panted,
drilling this ass of dreams.

Wyatt's raspy, excited voice, to Chance, was utterly thrilling, hypnotic.
He could feel his own young hardness pulse and throb more deeply than ever
before as his idol recklessly pistoned his ass.  He was light-headed now,
almost laughing, as his body seemed to shake apart, his hard young cock
wagging painfully as he bounced up and down on Wyatt's huge hardness.  If
he hadn't had the mirror-wall to brace an arm against, he'd fall
helplessly, his legs were that rubbery.  Every nerve in his body was
meeting in some secret pleasure-spot in his brain and screaming with
unbounded delight.

"I'm gonna mold you, sculpt you," Wyatt went on, barking now in sheer lust
as he fucked that ass senselessly.  "I'll own you!  I'll fuck you ANY DAMN
TIME I WANT!!"

Both studs were now gasping and crying and panting, aware that they'd never
ever been to a peak of sheer sexual delight like this before.

"OH FUCK YES!!" Chance panted, his cock so hard it felt like it would never
soften again, that it would just ache and throb and then explode.  But
still his ass kept wriggling and squirming all over that huge hard cock
damaging him so, because even though the heights of ecstasy had grown too
scary, he couldn't get enough of the sensations flooding through him.

"And I'm gonna be fucking this ass EVERY CHANCE I GET!!!  BELIEVE IT,
BOY!!!"

"Fuck, Taylor," Wyatt croaked, quieter now, his body unable to take much
more of this level of arousal, "you're like a goddamn drug to me."

Wyatt couldn't speak any more.  With all the rational consciousness he had
left, he concentrated on fucking, over and over, that incredibly tight,
incredibly responsive ass, as it played and rode and twisted and turned on
his huge pumping hardness.  His hands, too, seemed on a kind of autopilot
as they stroked and rubbed and pawed the boy's sweaty musculature.  It was
like a contact high. This was sheer brute passion, base animal sex.  As
Wyatt could feel the cum begin its inevitable spurt, he heard a kind of
crying hiccup: it was Chance, whimpering like some wounded dog.

There was no holding back.  Wyatt rammed his hardness in to the hilt and
plastered the boy's guts with volley after volley of man-juice, screaming
in brain-tingling awe as his maddeningly raw orgasm was slowly, sharply,
ripped out of him.  When the electric current in his brain stopped, he
fisted Chance until the young stud's thick hardness sent wave after wave of
hot, thick boy-cum roping across their sweaty bodies.

They lay together, spent and panting for who knows how long.  Then Wyatt,
clutching his lust-object tightly, grunted as he felt the boy's finger
begin to stir across his chest and stomach.  Chance was tracing his finger
through the thick, viscous, milky pools of cum that studded their
hard-packed muscle.  Once he'd filled a fingertip full, he brought it to
Wyatt's mouth and began to paint Wyatt's beautifully sensual lips over and
over.  He got another fingerful and painted again; this time Wyatt, smiling
greedily, grabbed Chance's hand and sucked the finger into his mouth.  The
he pulled the boy's head to him and they kissed, hard and sloppy, their
tongues battling to scoop off all the cream Chance had smeared on Wyatt's
mouth.  As Chance's tongue met Wyatt's, they dueled.  Chance scooped more
cum up and coated both their tongues.  Fuck, Wyatt thought, this boy knows
just which buttons to push in me.  His dick was hardening again, the fever
was rising quickly.

He pushed the boy back and fingered some cum up himself, then traced gob
after gob around the boy's small, prefect nipples, getting them
diamond-hard and glistening with man-cream.  Then he grunted low and raspy
and swooped down to suck and bite and nibble those cum-covered treats.
They kept up the cum-play - painting cocks and ballsacs and asses - until
their bodies were wiped clean and their huge cocks became longer, thicker,
achingly hard.  Chance lay back and Wyatt took him again, a slow, simmering
fuck.  All the while he jacked the boy's hardness while Chance reached
around and fingered his mentor's hot hairy hole.  Wyatt wanted to scream,
the sex was so good, so new, so perfect.  It made what he and Jesse did
seem like a tired ritual, he thought shamefully.  His dick throbbed with a
balls-deep ache as he long-dicked his slutty young boy-god.  As he fucked,
the feel of Chance's fingers poking and prodding his hole awakened a hunger
for deep in him that he thought was long gone; the huge, hard piece of
college-jock meat he fisted seemed overwhelmingly irresistible.  He came
again almost instantly, body and mind again wrenched with a brain-splitting
orgasm.  This time he pulled his huge thickness out so he could blast more
cream for them to play with.

"Sex with you is the best, obviously," Chance said softly, when they had
fully slaked that last round of lust.  "In fact, I'm a little bummed
sometimes when we fuck cause, really, man, I can't see how sex is ever
gonna be better in my life with anyone else."

The young boy felt he had to say something, emotions were swirling
confusedly in him.  He'd never thought twice about having sex with someone
other than Reed, it had never seemed like 'cheating' to him before, just
dudes getting' together and getting' their rocks off.  But today, with
Wyatt, it was real, hard-core, intense.  The magnetism he felt for Wyatt,
the intensity of his lust for the older man, scared him a little.

"But," Chance continued, brow furrowed as he strove to get his words just
right, "sex with Reed is so damn good, too.  Good in a different way -
wild, deep, thrilling, passionate.  So damn delightful.  Maybe not the
intensity with you, the physical perfection of your body and the, I don't
know what to call it, the 'sexual athleticism,' maybe, that you bring to it
- I mean, for real, Wy, you're like a goddamn virtuoso in bed! fuck, you
bring out sensations in me, pleasures and shit, I ain't even knowed I had!
But with Reed, it's still so damn rich.  Richer even, ultimately for me.
You're like, sex I'd never say no to, sex I crave and need so damn deep in
my body, sex I'd crawl across the fucking continent for, but Reed is like
my desert-island guy, long haul.  I'd be on that island with Reed,
stranded, missing you like fucking crazy, beating off thinking about you
when Reed was asleep, but I'd never regret just Reed.  Does that make
sense?"

Wyatt smiled, but said nothing.  Because if he did, he'd have to say that
if push came to shove, he'd take Chance on that desert island over Jesse.
He felt bad for his lover, of course - someone he'd never leave, whom he
loved dearly, totally.  But sex was the be-all and end-all for Wyatt, the
bottom line.  If he had to choose, he'd choose the sexual perfection and
endless excitement of this young sex-god in front of him in a heartbeat.

Fortunately though, he smiled to himself, he wasn't going to be stranded on
a desert island any time too soon; he'd be staying here, in his wonderfully
exciting life with Jesse.  A life made even more exciting now because it
included the promise - the certainty, really - of regular sex with the
hottest stud he'd ever known.  Even more exciting still, he realized,
remembering how Chance had helped him, at that incredible Greek-style
wrestling practice yesterday, cross a line he'd always thought was
uncrossable: that of sex with the hot young athletes he coached.  His
future was full of all the sex with luscious young boys a randy satyr like
him could handle.  He smiled to realize he was hard again - but that
wouldn't last long.

"Let's shower, stud," he said softly, his mind filled with porn-quality
images of what awaited them under the spray, naked together, muscles pumped
and glistening.  There was nothing as visually hot, Wyatt thought, as a
hot, big-dicked, hard-bodied stud dripping with water.  To be in the shower
with a young stud like Chance, their hands slick with soap, bodies tingling
with desire - damn, he thought, this boy is gonna burn me down in no time.

"And after we'll start dinner," he added, voice dry and scratchy with
desire.

Their shower was a sensual poem.  Not surprisingly, their muscles had begun
to throb, sore and aching, from that first workout together, a workout that
had pushed even Wyatt to the max.  That, combined with the glorious bout of
muscle-stud rutting that followed, had made them both a little too tired
for another passionate go-round.  But there had to be sex, of course; those
bodies were just too beautiful and those cocks too long, too full, too
dangley.  So, tired and sore but simmering with desire, the two spent
warriors soaped each other sensually, bathing in the other's beauty,
watching water bead on hard-packed musculature and run in rivulets down
each other's thick, drooping uncut meat.  Their hands moved and glided
everywhere - over chests and abs, circling nipples, caressing buttocks and
thighs, shoulders and biceps.  Their erotic massage was therapeutic at
first, using the occasion of contact with those luscious hard-packed
muscles to rub a little of the soreness out of each other.  Soon, though,
they grew helpless to do anything but concentrate their touch where each
wanted it most: on those hard sleek shafts, over those big bulging sacs and
deep in the grooves of those firm muscular ass-cheeks.  Their moans mixed
with the whoosh of the shower and soon they were crying softly in slow,
luscious orgasm.

Refreshed, clean, they dried each other, kissing and purring in delight,
both of them almost giddy to be sharing such intimacy, knowing that it was
just the first of many such sessions together.  As he squatted down and
dried the boy's gorgeous cock, Wyatt couldn't resist kissing and licking
that gorgeous length of teen dick, inhaling the sweet fresh scent of young
sex.  He commented on how fucking sexy his pubes looked, shaved almost
bare, and told him to keep shaving like that, how he wanted him smooth and
hairless like a boy was supposed to be.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice thick with raw lust as he stroked that huge
meaty shaft, "I'd love to fuck some real boys some day with you."

Chance had been moaning in pleasure, his cock hardening while Wyatt played
with it.  Now it grew even stiffer as he told Wyatt about the two boys he'd
met in the park with Brock, and how they were excited to come over to
Wyatt's party this weekend.  He grew stiff thinking about he and Wyatt and
those two young hotties.

Wyatt purred, too, while he worked the boy's hard young prick, now
straining and jutting.  The scenario Chance was suggesting got him thinking
further, so he mused while he stroked, making them both hard and drippy.

"I get so many young h.s. kids visiting the school every where, who want to
check out the teamand the preogram.  Fuck those high school wrestlers are
hot!  I never tried nothin' before, o' course, but now with you as captain,
we can have a fuckin' field day.  We can show 'em what it's gonna be like
on our team o' naked horndogs.  If they ain't into it, fine.  But if they
are, shit!"

Wyatt was lust-fevered again from thinking about the changes Chance would
be helping to make in his life, the endless stretch of beautiful boys that
was his (and their) future.  His cock was huge and throbbing again.  And as
long and hard as Wyatt was, that's how deep and hot the hunger in Chance's
ass was for him.  Soon he was taking the boy from behind, both of them
panting wildly.

"Whaddya say," Wyatt asked, as they toweled off their cum, "let's stay
naked while we fix supper, okay?  We can get dressed all nice and sexy
before our men get back, but I wanna see you sashayin' around my kitchen
all bare-assed, watch these incredible muscles o' yours flex and ripple,
and just gaze on this amazing cock and ass 'o yours."

As he spoke, his huge hands pawed over Chance's body as if he was some
drunken sailor, about to bed a young luscious whore.  Wyatt knew how hot
his own body was - he'd examined it critically, studiously, in mirrors for
years as he'd worked it, trained it, shaped it, to the mature, fully ripe
perfection it now was.  And Chance's would be the same some day.  The two
of them had bodies that needed never feel shame in their nudity - Chance
would discover in time what Wyatt had, that even as older man his
finely-worked body would effortlessly, insistently, attract the sexiest,
most desirable of boys.

Chance agreed readily to Wyatt's sexy suggestion.  He had no problem
staying nude.  It wasn't just the thrill of showing off his well-worked
body to his idol, flirting with the older stud, keeping his lust inflamed;
and it wasn't just the opportunity to have that rich eye-candy of Wyatt's
awesome body and cock on display - there was something more.  It was the
luxurious pleasure Chance took in being naked.  He always had, it seemed.
Back home, in his room, and now at college.  He had realized many years ago
that nudity was his natural, most comfortable state, and so he was thrilled
to have his body-mentor to share in that elemental passion with him.

The two of them strode out to the loft's kitchen area.  Wyatt put on some
music, and then the two of them began to work, getting out all the
ingredients for the appetizers and the main course Wyatt had planned.
Chance, still a novice when it came to cooking, followed Wyatt's short,
clipped orders.  They worked with a steady efficiency, focusing on their
various tasks, but relishing the chance to stop and gaze at each other's
muscular beauty, as their gorgeously nude bodies turned and darted about
the work space.  Soon, though, as he chopped vegetables, Chance fell into a
reverie.

His daydream began when he realized that the last time he'd been naked
together with a handsome older man like this was with his dad, in the
upstairs of their farmhouse - that was really the male space in the home.
His mom was always busy, it seemed, downstairs - cooking, baking, washing,
cleaning, sipping coffee at the kitchen table, resting on the chaise in the
parlor, playing hymn-music on their old piano; the upstairs was where the
men hung out - Chance with his exercising or homework, his daddy with his
reading and resting, shaving and showering.  Neither of them wore much in
the way of clothing when they were alone up there.  Chance couldn't
remember when he first saw his father naked, but all through grade school
and high school, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world was to
wear just underwear or nothing when the two would be lounging or working up
in their rooms.

He loved watching his father's hard, weathered body saunter bare-assed
around the second floor of their house, that big cock swinging and those
hard ropy muscles rippling.  There was nothing sexual about it (or so he
thought at the time - who knows what his dad was feeling, he smiled slyly
to himself now).

His dad usually always wore a jock when working in the fields, and the
other wonderful sight was seeing him after he'd just stripped off his shirt
and dungarees, that damp, weathered jock all moist and clingy with
man-sweat, doing very little to hide every sweet contour of the huge
package underneath.  Chance remembered thinking so often: this is what a
real man looks like.

He was a little embarrassed now as he remembered all the times he'd sneak
in to his daddy's room, when his father was taking one of his long hot
showers after a brutally hard workday, picking up his father's jock and
trying it on, parading in front of the mirror, imagining himself an older
stud.  I guess all boys try on their dad's clothes, he thought - it's
prob'ly only young pervs like me who try on their father's jocks, though,
he laughed to himself.

He could remember countless times going in to his dad's room with a
homework question.  His dad would be dozing there naked on the bed,
half-asleep, that lithe, lean, weather-beaten frame exposed, his huge cock
lying back all plump and proud.  Chance, naked or just in a jock, would
softly nudge his dad and ask if he had time to help.  No need to ask,
really, he always had time, so he'd hop up on his dad's bed and listen as
the older man explained the math problem or told him how parts of speech
worked.  It seemed so right that they were both bare-assed or near-naked;
there was nothing shameful or suggestive about it.  To Chance, it seemed
the way boys and men should be - proud of their well-developed bodies.

Sometimes too, Chance smiled to recall, especially during the last couple
of years of high school, he'd tease his father and they'd end up wrestling,
one or both in just their jocks or one or both nude.  His mother would have
to yell laughingly to tell them to "cut it out before you bring the whole
house down!"

And there were times outside the house, too, in the summer, after a hard,
sweaty day in the field, before going in for lunch or supper, skinny
dipping with his dad in the creek that marked the northern border of their
land, then laying out in the sun to dry.  Those memories were still so
strong in his mind: he could easily picture the sun glinting through the
leaves of the trees along the shore, feel the hot smooth stone against his
bare body, see his father's thick man-cock as it splayed across his lower
abs or lolled down along his thigh whenever he'd shift and rest on his
side.

It all seemed so natural; these memories were golden to him.  And Chance
realized now the important lessons he'd learned from his father, about a
male's natural pleasure in nudity, and about a fierce and healthy pride in
one's body, keeping it fit, working it hard, so it looked good naked.

The two of them worked on in the loft's kitchen area: Chance now chopping
peaches and mangoes for the salsa, Wyatt buttering and trussing the
chicken, then working on the mole sauce; each of them flaunting the
seductive eye candy of their hard-muscled bodies and lusciously dangling
cocks to each other's appreciative gaze, which they'd stop every so often
and leeringly drank in, along with sips of the ice-cold white burgundy
Wyatt had poured for them.

At one point, Chance just had to stop and marvel at the naked, virile
beauty that was his coach.  So he set down his knife, took another sip from
his wine glass, and slowly stroked his own thick shaft as he ran his gaze
up and down the beautifully etched, fur-dusted perfection that was his
coach's muscular torso; each cut muscle carved and firm, quietly rippling
as Wyatt moved efficiently around the workspace, the thick, massive
ripeness of that huge, perfectly formed cock keeping Chance hypnotized.  He
was riveted not just on the long, luscious shaft, which he could just
taste, but fascinated by that huge mouth-watering head so seductively
covered in that thick, tight, slightly nippling hood of foreskinIf any boy
thought they were straight, Chance defied them to gaze fully on that
marvelous cock and not want to lavish hours of oral attention on it. .
Chance had heard the term 'a man's man' many times, but Wyatt, in his hard,
hairy, muscular perfection, and the most awesomely luscious man-cock he'd
ever seen, fit that description to a T.  The worshipful young boy took
another sip, then smiled sheepishly and mused aloud, "Damn, Wyatt, if we
were together, you know, as a couple . . . ."  He gave a shy, quiet sort of
laugh.

Wyatt turned to look at his young crush, drinking in the naked beauty of
his young-muscled splendor, and finished his thought for him, "I know -
we'd never leave the loft.  We'd be fucking all the time."

"You'd lose your job.  I'd drop out of school, quit the team.  Fuck, to
have a endless expanse of time with you for sex, it'd ruin both our lives."

"We're like two moths to each other's flames; if someone didn't blow the
candle out every once in a while, we'd be burned up in no time.  'Amour
fou', that's what the French call it.  'Crazy love'.  That's why, I guess,
part of finding the right lover is finding a guy who can let you live in
the world the way you're meant to.  Reed does that for you - he lets you
live your live.  Jesse does that for me."

Then Wyatt wiped his hands, grabbed his wine glass, and came close to
Chance.  He gazed longingly in the boy's eyes, took a huge gulp of wine,
set down his glass, and stroked the boy with a smoldering tenderness.  They
kissed long and hard, with a warm, moaning intensity.  Wyatt's hunger was
simmering again; he could not get enough of this boy.  Chance returned the
desire.  Their thick, hardening dicks, jutting up now in full masculine
arousal, ground insistently against each other as hungry hands each clasped
a ass-cheek and hugged them close.  They could feel their big, jostling
man-sacs mash against each other.

But Wyatt reluctantly broke the embrace.  This was wrong, he said to
himself, hey had to finish dinner preparations and get things in the oven,
he told himself, then there'd be time for more man-sex.

He was wistful, though, confessing bittersweetly to Chance, "Yep, Jesse's
the right guy for me in almost every way.  Just not sexually."

Chance gave his older lover a puzzled look.

"Oh, don't get me wrong.  We have a healthy sex life.  Very open, as you've
seen.  But we both realized long ago that Jesse would never fully satisfy
me.  Fuck," he laughed a laugh that was tinged with a sweet desperation,
"I'm a fucking sex addict, I know.  My only weakness."

"But what a weakness," he added slyly.  The, irresistibly, he reached once
more for the boy's huge, jutting stiffness.  As he stroked it, he
continued: "Jesse doesn't have the fierce, deep, almost animal need I seem
to have.  He knows it, and so he lets me have as much fun as I want.  It's
another way he's perfect for me."

Chance's dick was straining and twitching now under Wyatt's steady
stroking; nectar oozed out the tip, and his coach made things even slicker
by letting a huge gob of spit trail down onto that beautiful sleek cock.
Another thick, sexy gob of saliva and he began to fist his own huge
hardness while he kept stroking the boy's length.  Fuck, Wyatt thought
lustily, the two of us have such serious meat, it's damn near impossible to
keep hands off cocks this hot.  He began panting in loud, building passion.
Chance moaned; the fever was on them both.  The boy instinctively reached
for his coach's massive, jutting length.

They stood there, in a kind of erotic daze, fisting each other's huge
girths in their large muscular hands, slowly, knowingly, with a kind of
rough masculine need.  As big as each male's hand was, the huge shafts each
fondled and teased were a very satisfying handful.  Strong fingers clasped
and squeezed, stroked and fingered, tracing the extent of their hunger all
up and down each other's hefty shafts.  The two of them could have stood
there all day, fisting each other languorously, soaking up the thousands of
delights coursing through them from this most intimate form of man-play.

Wyatt caught Chance's gaze and said in a low, hushed rasp, "You know the
need I'm talking about, don't you, boy?  You have the same constant hunger
as me, I can tell.  It's why we're so damn good together."

"Aw fuck, Wyatt, suck my fucking cock!"

"Glad to, so.  Glad to."

In seconds they were like a beautifully writhing mechanism on the floor,
sixty-nining each other lustily, unable to resist the sheer erotic force of
each other's big-dicked, hard-muscled allure.  As he thrilled to the double
delight of Wyatt sensuously face-fucking him with that huge, thick
hardness, while lavishing expert attention on his young manhood, Chance
realized that no dick could ever satisfy him like Wyatt's.

But then another thought came to him with a kind of stunning excitement:
there was another dick, he knew, that could thrill him as much, if not
more.  His father's.  Suddenly Chance's mind was awash again with more
images of his daddy's raw, rugged man-cock.  Like Wyatt's, when soft it
hung down an obscenely luscious two or three inches longer than other
men's.  And it was thick, perfectly shaped, covered with those lovely,
lickable veins.  And a nice thick hood of foreskin, also like Wyatt's, that
begged for oral attention.  It was a hundred percent pure man-meat.

Chance sucked and moaned harder as he thought about his father's dick.
Damn, he thought, imagine the scene: Paul and Wyatt together, his father
and his coach, the two handsomest men he's ever seen, the two men he
idolizes, together - with him there to learn more about male passion, and
to be used by those two he-men for their pleasure.

A fantasy-reel unspooled in Chance's fevered young mind: Wyatt and his dad
and him - all naked, passionately devouring each other's bodies.  Chance
would kneel in front of the two as they sucked and kissed and stroked each
other, taking first one man's cock, then the other in his mouth, sucking
and licking and swirling lovingly, reverently, knowing how much he was
pleasing each stud.  When they were both hard and inflamed and ready to
erupt, he'd take one in his very eager, smooth young ass.  He'd take
Wyatt's first, so his daddy could grow more inflamed as he watched his son
fucked hard and raw, knowing his turn was coming next.  He'd let Wyatt pump
and ram until Coach shot the thick, hot, heavy load of a real man.

Then with a smile mixed of love and lust, he'd guide his father's cock in,
luxuriating in the luscious, naughty sensation of his father's thick hard
man-meat plowing through his coach's load, causing the cum to seep thickly
out of his tight young hole.  With his hands, he'd guide Wyatt's spent
prick to his mouth and clean every drop of cum-slime off, getting him hard
so he could fuck his ass again after his dad shot.  And how hot would it be
for his dad to watch his boy suck that thick luscious length of man-meat
while he fucked him?

As each of the older studs worked a hole, front and back, they'd be
pleasuring each other's hard, hairy torsos and kissing hungry sexy,
beard-stubbled mouths.  After the two men had fucked themselves dry in his
young jock ass, he'd worship those hairy, cut bodies, using every young
whore-skill he's learned to bring the two to hardness yet again.  Then he'd
lay back and stroke his hard young jock-cock as he watched the two virile
hunks made love to each other.

Fuck, thought Chance, breathless and hard, utterly aroused by the sweet
taboo that was his fantasy.  He winced sharply and came again and again in
his coach's mouth, in a swift, gut-wrenching, rhythmic pulse that seemed to
dance along a tingly trail from the back of his skull to the base of his
balls.

The phone rang before Wyatt came.  It was Jesse; they'd be hung up at the
studio for maybe two more hours.

"Sorry if we're screwing up dinner plans?"

"Not at all," Wyatt said coolly, trying to keep his boyish eagerness tamped
down; the thought of more sex with this hot young wonder-stud was too damn
exciting, "take all the time you need, we're jes' gettin' things started
here."

"I'll bet you are," Jesse laughed.

"Back atcha," Wyatt replied gruffly, as he could hear what sounded like a
very loud, luscious, lip-smacking blowjob being administered, by Reed no
doubt, on the other end.  "See ya soon, lover."

Flipping his phone shut, he told Chance the news.  And then added, "Now,
where were we," as he gently forced the boy's hungry mouth down onto his
stiff, jutting shaft.