Date: Tue, 17 Jan 2017 05:27:46 +0000 (UTC)
From: Hairy Jacques <hairy.jacques@yahoo.com>
Subject: Submission: "Naval Academy wrestler, part 2"

This story, modified to protect the anonymity of those involved, blends
fact and fantasy.

Reader feedback is welcomed, and the author will do his best to answer
questions and respond to comments. Contact him at hairy.jacques@yahoo.com.

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As soon as the guys drove off, I started replaying in my head my parting
conversation with Greg:

"I just want to thank you for taking care of me last night," he said.

"You're welcome, Greg," I responded. "It was my pleasure."

That's when he smiled. "The pleasure was all mine."

"Know you're always welcome to come over," I said, feeling emboldened:
"whether you're with my cousin or not."

Greg's smile widened. He tilted his head a bit and leaned forward. "Don't
worry," he whispered, "I'll be cumming a lot."

I absentmindedly licked my lips as I closed my front door. There wasn't
much ambiguity in that conversation. It pretty much removed all doubt that
he was awake and aware last night. That he knew I sucked him off. That he
let me do it. That he liked it. And that he wanted to do it again.

I could hardly believe my luck. Things could have gone differently. He
could have woken up and beat the shit out of me. He could have ratted me
out to my cousin. Shit, he could have told my wife.

Instead, I got to explore and enjoy Greg's big, muscular body and his big,
meaty cock. The facts that he was just 21 and my cousin's friend made
things extra hot. The facts that he was a midshipman at the Naval Academy
-- and a college wrestler -- made things even hotter.

As I emptied the dishwasher I let my mind wander. When did Greg wake up
last night? Was it when I was bobbing up and down on his cock? Or was it
earlier? I had tried calling his name and even shaking him by the
shoulder. If that couldn't wake him up, then why did the feeling of my
mouth around his dick have that effect? Or maybe he did wake up when I was
grabbing his shoulder. But that couldn't be. If I had woken him I would
have gotten a reaction. Was it possible that, before I even started to try
to wake him, he was only pretending to be passed out?

I wandered into the bathroom and stripped down to take a shower. As I
pulled off my boxers I remembered that after he had gone to the bathroom he
had pulled off his briefs and dropped them in the hallway. Last night I
hadn't given much thought to the fact that he had done that -- or why. It's
possible that he was just wasted and not thinking straight. Maybe he had
gotten some piss on them while taking a leak in the bathroom. I was almost
surprised at myself for leaving them on the floor. If I had to do it all
over again, I'd pick them up and see if there was any wetness. Whatever the
case, I really should have sniffed them to see if I could detect the scents
of his crotch and ass. The thought made me feel more than a little bit
perverted, but it also turned me on.

By the time I was standing under the warm spray of the shower my cock was
erect and throbbing. I hadn't even touched it, but there was no reason to
deny myself any longer. I coated my palm with my wife's hair conditioner
and started to stroke myself, thinking about Greg. He sure seemed to
stumble walking in and out of the bathroom last night. He even crashed into
something. Was he just pretending to be that wasted? Did he make all that
noise to get my attention? Is it possible he left his BVDs on the floor to
bait me back into the guest room, where he laid on top of the bed, on top
of the covers, only pretending to be passed out?

I dismissed the thought. I was ten years older than Greg, a college
wrestler who spent a lot of time in the locker room with other college
wrestlers. He also spent a lot of time in the Naval Academy barracks where
no doubt there were lots of other hot guys on display. Up against that sort
of competition, there was definitely nothing special about me. But then I
let me eyes survey my body. For a guy in his early 30s, I was in good
shape. Time in the gym pays off. I had muscular shoulders, well-defined
pecs, and even a decent six-pack. My cock, a thick seven inches when hard,
had earned me plenty of compliments over the years. I was a hairy guy --
hairier than Greg -- with a nice mat of fur on my chest and a thick
treasure trail that descended from my sternum to the top of my pubes. Most
of the guys I'd been with said they liked all the hair. But not all guys
felt that way, and there were probably some hookups that never happened
because my would-be partner saw the hair curling up over the collar of my
t-shirt.

As I pumped my hand up and down on my shaft I reached with my other hand to
massage my balls. I loved how it felt when I pulled down on them, slowly
but firmly, as I coaxed my dick into overdrive. I then released my balls to
move my hand to another erogenous zone: my ass. I soaped my crack and then
started to circle my middle finger around my pucker. I pressed my digit
into my hole, moving it in and out. When I felt my sphincter grip my second
knuckle I started to move the tip of my finger in circles. Suddenly I was
back in the bedroom, standing over Greg's naked, muscular body. I was
inhaling the scent of his armpit, sucking his nipple, and tasting his
precum on the tip of my tongue. I was feeling the scratch of his pubes
against my nose and reveling in the musk of his crotch. Then I was
swallowing his shaft, feeling it stretch my lips and then my throat. I felt
his hand on my head. I felt his hips thrusting. I felt his cock thicken and
stiffen and throb. Then I felt him start to cum. As I tasted him my middle
finger pressed hard into my ass and my other hand beat down on my shaft. I
was panting. I gasped as I erupted. I shot one, two, three, four, and then
five volleys of cum. The first two shots hit the shower wall while the
remaining three somehow ended up on the back of my hand. I let go of my
dick and raised my first toward my lips. Extending my tongue, I licked the
cum off the back of my hand, tasting it. Greg's was a little bit sweeter
than mine, which had a flavor that was a little bit more difficult to
describe. I guess it sort of reminded me of almonds.

After my shower I dried off and dressed, still thinking about Greg. He said
he'd come back. But when? My wife was away a good bit but home a good bit
more. How would I link up with him? Should I make the first move? I toyed
with the idea. I went into our home office and logged onto the internet. I
navigated to the USNA wrestling team's home page and scanned the roster for
a "Greg." I found him, taking note of his last name. Since my cousin's
e-mail address followed the format of firstname.lastname@usna.edu I figured
that Greg's did, too.

That's when the phone rang. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed the
receiver from the wall. "Hello?" I said.

There was a pause. Then: "Hey, it's Greg." It was him! "I looked you up in
the phone book."

"I'm glad you did," I said, maybe a little too honestly. I really wasn't
sure how to play this.

"Listen," he said, "I just want to thank you again for putting up with us
last night."

"Like I said," I responded,"you're welcome anytime."

"Thanks," he said. I could hear him swallow, like he was gathering his
thoughts. "I was wondering if you'll be around later. I have mandatory
practice this afternoon, but then I was thinking I'd go for a run. I could
come by your place. I have some extra tickets for a wrestling tournament
we're hosting on Friday, if you're interested."

That was a nice gesture, I thought to myself. But really it was just an
excuse to come over. I was hoping he wanted to see me for the same reason I
wanted to see him.

"I'm definitely interested," I told him. "When do you think you'll be
dropping by?"

"Is 1800 okay?" he asked, pausing, and then converting from military time:
"I mean, 6?"

"That's great," I said. "I'll be making dinner. Any chance you'll be
hungry? You can stay as long as you want." As soon as I said that, I
worried I was coming on too strong. His reply managed both to reassure me
and turn me on.

"Dinner sounds great," he said. "But it's a three-mile run to your place,
so I might be kind of sweaty."

"It's just us guys," I said, "no worries."

"Good," he replied, "I really want to talk."

As I hung up, his last words echoed in my head. What, exactly, did he want
to talk about?

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