Source: Forum (DeskFish)
Subject: Wrestling Wet
From: Facade (Forum User)
Date: Sunday, 21-Apr-96 20:28:48 JST

Here's the first part of a story I wrote recently. Sending it in spurts (as
it were).

The Briar College wrestling team had made its shittiest showing at the
spring conference meet in the five years Coach Marshall had been there: six
wrestlers had been entered in the meet and all six had lost in the first
round of wrestling. The coach was pissed as hell and scheduled a practice
for 11PM that Sunday night at the gym after their van got back from the
meet. The guys were so depressed that, when the team van arrived back at
the university, their heads were hanging practically on the pavement, and
the coach decided to let them do a little drinking to relax and loosen up
before the late-night practice. Frank and Ed, the two biggest guys,
clambered out of the van and came back with all the beer their arms could
hold, and they drove over to the gym.

The place was empty by that time, except for the guard at the door who knew
them all, and consoled them as they tromped in and past him into the
wrestling room, duffle bags bulging with equipment and beer. They plopped
down on a mat and started opening the beers when the coach joined them.

Marshall was 36, and could have still beaten any of the 20- year olds on
the team. They were younger, but he had been a national collegiate
champion. He had matured very nicely, was a solid and successful coach and
faculty member, but had one weakness: clothes. You didn't see too many
wrestling coaches looking like Pat Riley at a meet, but that's who he
emulated. Hot, sweaty arenas, locker rooms with smelly jockstraps lying
around: it didn't make any difference. There was the Coach Marshall in a
three- piece suit, a solid color shirt, and a coordinated necktie. Not a
wrinkle anywhere, including his still-boyish face. But he could be a terror
when his wrestlers fucked up because of mental mistakes or laziness. And
that's what had happened at the conference meet.

But by the time he sat down with them on the mat (still not wrinkling the
tan suit he had been wearing that day) he had calmed down and started to
try to convince them that they weren't the pieces of shit he had claimed
they were, but could do better the next time. He hadn't changed his mind
about giving them a real hard workout that night, though. But for a while,
he wanted them to know how much he liked them, and tried to be their
friend, joining in the downing of copious amounts of brew. Brad, the
middleweight said, they should have brought some potato chips too; they
could've been coneheads.

This started some good-natured insults flying across the mat. Ken, a little
lighter than Brad, suggested Brad had the mentality of a conehead. Frank
claimed Ed's hard cock look like a conehead. That led to some rough-housing
and cock- and ass-grabbing. One of the wrestlers poured half a bottle of
beer over another guy's head. It trickled down the front of his red team
singlet to his crotch, and everyone shouted: "Look! The cocksucker pissed
his pants!" Lots of laughter, more rough-housing. The coach was happy to
see the guys were in a better mood. Since 11 o'clock was approaching and
the guys seemed to have regained their spirits and energy, the coach stood
up, clapped his hands so the sound reverberated through the mostly empty
room, and told the wrestlers to clean all the shit off the mats and get
ready for the practice. Jim and Carl, the two lightest guys on the team,
started to complain, but simultaneous dirty looks from the other guys
stopped them with their mouths half open. So, everything got cleaned up,
mopped down, and they seemed to be ready for practice. No one had gotten
too blitzed by the beer, and when the coach asked if they were ready to
kick ass for the next hour, they all shouted "Yes, sir!"

The coach stood at the corner of the mat with a beer still in his hand and
more nearby, while the guys paired up according to weight, as they usually
did. The partners knew each other inside out. They knew everything about
each other's bodies from such close contact day after day, and one thing
the team had going for it was that they really liked each other and liked
to have fun together. The coach knew, when one guy lay exhausted with his
head on another guys crotch, that it didn't land there by accident, and he
knew there was a lot of fooling around going on in the showers, but he
didn't disapprove; after all, it seemed to keep team morale up and keep the
guys concentrating on school and wrestling rather than worrying about
whether they had gotten some girl pregnant.

The coach decided to start them off with 15 minutes of drills spinning
first one way, then the other, first one guy on the other guy's back, then
reversing positions. This was boring as hell, but would sweat out some of
the beer and get them warmed up again. "Spin, spin, spin!" These were
familiar shouts coming from the corner of the mat. And the coach got to
watch those eight asses packed into the singlets go round and round faster
and faster. He couldn't deny this was a pleasant sight. He had fooled
around with a couple of the guys on his high school and college teams too
when the pressure of school, the team and horniness was too much to
resist. As coach, though, he felt he had to keep a safe distance from these
boys who idolized him.

After about 10 minutes of drill, Ken and Brad stopped and kneeled down on
the mat. The coach noticed in a split- second and bellowed: "What the fuck
did you stop for, you assholes? Did you hear me say "stop"? Brad gasped
between gulps of air: "Coach, we gotta stop. We both gotta piss from all
that beer. We'll be right back." (to be continued)


Part 2

"Like hell you will! Start spinning again...now!"

"Coach, we can't. We'll explode in a minute if we move anywhere except
toward a urinal. Let us go. Listen, you let us drink that beer. It isn't
our fault we gotta go now."

"I fuckin' asked you if you were ready when we started the practice and you
all said you were. Now you wanna break off practice to go piss. Great, like
3rd graders."

"Coach, we really don't have time to negotiate."

"OK, go piss your brains out, but get back here pronto and start spinning."
The coach took another mouthful of beer and ran a comb through his hair
since he had sensed a few were out of place after the tirade. "What
babies. Can't hold a little beer for ten minutes."

Brad and Ken were hightailing it to the men's toilet holding their crotches
when Ken said, "Fuck this. We do look like 3rd graders.", and let go of his
crotch.

Brad replied: "Well, we don't have any fuckin' choice. The john is half-way
across the fuckin' gym. If I don't squeeze my cock 'til we get there, I'm
gonna do it in my singlet and jock."

"So, what's the big deal? Didn't you ever just let it go sometime just to
see what it feels like?"

"Not since I was a kid. Did you?"

"Yeah, a few times."

"You're queer."

"Uh, tell me about it. How many times did *you* get a hard- on while we
were practicing last week, cocksucker."

"OK, OK. So, what's it like?"

"It's real hot -- I mean the piss is really warm, almost hot, and it's a
real turn-on too."

"Well, we don't have to worry about it. Here's the john."

Brad pushed open the door and scampered over toward the urinal but Ken got
in his path.

Brad shouted: "Get the fuck outta the way or I'm gonna end up pissing in my
singlet after all and the coach is gonna have a fit!"

"No you're not. You're gonna piss in *my* singlet and I'm gonna do yours."

"You're nuts! Then we'll both get kicked off the team."

"Never happen. We're the best he's got at the lower weights. C'mon. Do it!"

Ken reached over to Brad's crotch pulled out his friend's cock from behind
the singlet and his jockstrap and said, "Go for it. C'mon spray it all over
me. I wanna feel that hot piss."

"No, I can't"

"C'mon, man, thirty seconds ago you were gonna wet your pants. Wet mine!"

"OK, I guess. You really don't mind?"

"Do it, motherfucker!"

With that, Brad relaxed, and a yellow geyser erupted from his cockhead. It
hit Ken first on the stomach and flowed down behind his low-cut singlet to
his pubic hair and cock. An irregularly shaped stain started to grow around
the outline of his cock. Once Ken figured out the angle the piss was
squirting at, he directed it exactly where he wanted it, first up on his
chest, where the hair got soaked. Then he pulled Brad closer and to the
side a little so he could aim the gushing penis in through the side of his
singlet right on to his cock and balls. The whole crotch area was soaked
and piss started dripping faster and faster on to the bathroom floor.

"Oh, shit! Now we're making a mess."

"Shut up and keep pissing."

Brad did. He was far from being done. Meanwhile Ken really was about to
explode. Since he was already dripping wet from Brad's piss, he didn't just
want to add more to the puddle at his feet. So he pulled out his own wet
cock, now half-erect, both from the hot action he was getting and from the
fact it was about to explode and shouted, "Get ready, fucker! Here it
comes" He started his flow down Brad's left leg and then switched over to
the right. The piss cascaded down and turned Brad's white socks yellow and
seeped into his shoes. Then Ken told him to take his cock in his hand and
shoot the warm piss wherever he wanted to feel it. Since Ken had moaned
most when Brad had pissed on his crotch, that's where he directed the
spray. Soon he was drenched just like his partner all around the crotch
area and he began to feel the warm liquid flow around his balls. This was a
real turn-on for him. He was about out of piss himself, anyway, and the
erection he was getting stanched the flow. But Ken had just started and
seemed to have gallons available. While still pissing, he grabbed Brad in a
bear hug and they both felt his piss squirt up between them. Ken was able
to shut off the flow for a second and then shoot it out with more force so
that the piss hit them both all over the upper part of their bodies up to
their chins.

When they were both done, they were soaked from neck to feet and standing
in a yellow puddle. The john smelled like piss and beer, and, like, oh
yeah, the anchovies on the pizza they had had on the way back from the
meet.

Ken said, "Wow! that was a real turn-on, partner." Oh, man, look at this
hard-on I've got. I gotta jack off. And we'd better dry off and get new
jocks and singlets from our lockers"

"Me too, but we don't have time for that shit. Marshall'll have us drawn
and quartered if we don't get back there. He's probably sending someone to
look for us now."

"Well, what the fuck will we tell him?"

""It was your idea, conehead, you figure it out."

"I got it. We'll just say that he kept us at the mat so long we couldn't
make it to the john on time."

"We'll be lucky if he swallows that."


Part 3

 So, dripping wet, they ran back to the wrestling room where they were met
by the coach's booming "What the fuck were you doing, taking a bath in it?"
When Marshall looked at the two wrestlers he realized he wasn't far
wrong. They gave him their lame excuse, the other guys whistled and
laughed, and Ken and Brad expected the worst. The coach let loose with a
few expletives and questioned their mothers' ability to toilet-train them,
but it could've been much worse. Actually, they were really happy. They got
to relieve their bladders of all that piss and they had shared it with each
other. As a matter of fact, they were still sharing it with each other
since they were going to continue to practice in their wet clothes.

Still, the coach wasn't too thrilled with the whole episode. "OK, you
assholes. That was the last interruption of this fuckin' practice. Next
thing you know, you guys'll be asking for piss breaks in the middle of an
actual match. From now on, until midnight, no one leaves the mat area. You
got that?"

The wrestlers all nodded silently. Brad and Ken still had their five
minutes of spinning to finish, but other guys had started working on
specific moves. Ed and Frank were in the referee's position with Frank on
top working on timing and getting a quick jump when the ref's whistle
blew. They had both been too slow at the meet. It was about fifteen minutes
after Brad and Ken had come back that Frank realized he had drunk a lot of
beer too, actually much more than the smaller guys. There was that
unmistakable feeling that gets rapidly worse after you've drunk something
like beer or coffee. He tried to concentrate on the whistle but couldn't
and Ed was escaping easily. The coach started ragging on him. "What's going
on, Frank? Past your bedtime? Gone to sleep already?"

"Uh, no, coach, I really gotta piss too. I'm not gonna be able to hold it
until midnight."

Marshall exploded, "I don't believe this. This is incredible. No wonder we
lost all six matches. I've got a bunch of kindergarteners masquerading as
college hunks. You're gonna fuckin' keep wrestling until midnight and I
don't care if you piss in your ear!"

"Aw, but coach." The whistle blew even more piercingly than usual and Frank
knew that was the end of the discussion. He tried to keep his mind off of
what was going on between his legs but there was no getting around it. He
was going to have to piss and if he couldn't leave the mat, it was going to
happen while he and Ed were on the mat. While Frank was trying to keep Ed
from escaping from his hold, he told him, "I can't hold this much
longer. I'm gonna have to go right here. I'll try not to get too much on
you, man. I'm really sorry."

Ed said, "Holy shit. You're gonna piss right here? Well, I guess it isn't
gonna kill us. We can take a shower at midnight, remember. And, like they
say, everybody's gotta go sometime."

This made both of them laugh a little, and Frank realized that wasn't the
prescription for holding it in a little longer. His cock was pressed
against the right side of Ed's ass as they struggled for dominance and he
felt the first drops come out of his dick. He tried to hold it in and
actually succeeded for a little while. But that only made the spurt more
forceful when he had to let go completely a few seconds later. Urine poured
out of him, dripping down his hairy leg to the mat.

"Hey, what the...?" Ed blurted out, as his ass cheek started to get warm
and damp, not realizing that what they had just been talking about had come
to pass.

Frank shushed him and whispered that they'd better keep their bodies close
together. That way, the coach might not see what was happening right before
his eyes. Frank's piss coated the lower part of his own torso, and all of
Ed's ass, turning the front of one and the back of the other singlet a
burgundy red. You could hardly miss the difference between the one half and
the other if they separated. And there was more bad news.

Ed said,"All this talk of having to piss and feeling yours trickle down my
rear end and onto my balls is making me have to go too. I had just as much
fucking beer as you."

"Oh no, you can't. Not here. Marshall's bound to see it if you start going
now. You'll just make a big puddle under you on the mat after you soak
through your jock and singlet."

"I can't help it man, I'm sorry. It's gonna come out in a couple of
seconds, no matter what I do. Maybe he won't do anything to us. Looks like
Brad and Ken got away with pissing on each other with not much more than a
noisy reprimand. Oh, shit! Here it comes!"

As luck would have it, Marshall wasn't shouting orders or blowing the
whistle at that moment, and for a second Frank could hear the hiss of the
warm, yellow liquid spewing forth from Ed's cock just as Frank's had pretty
much drained itself. It gushed all over Ed's cock, went right through the
porous jockstrap and filled up the space around his cock and balls in the
singlet, from where it spilled out in front of his crotch in a steady flow,
producing a widening puddle on the mat. Ed let out a little grunt which
caught everyone's attention, so Frank pushed him down into the
puddle. Well, now at least the front of Ed's singlet matched the back. (to
be continued)


Part 4

"Oh, God!" blurted Frank, as Marshall started walking toward them , each
step a little faster than the previous one.

"What the fuck now? Stand up!" They didn't move, Ed still face down on the
wet mat, Frank pressing his now hardening cock up against Ed's ass. "Stand
the fuck up." And he pulled the 200-pound Frank off of Ed. There stood
Frank, piss dripping off the seam of the right leg opening of his singlet,
his pecs and tits glistening under the lights, and his now completely hard
wet dick pushing free against the restraint of his drenched jockstrap and
singlet. Ed got up and piss dripped off his chin and the dirty blond hair
on his chest while he stood sheepishly in front of the coach.

"Are you boys quite done?"

"Not exactly," Ed replied honestly, as a little more of the yellow fluid
dribbled out of his cock and appeared at the front of his crotch where it
was clear he was getting aroused too.

None of the guys could restrain a giggle. Even the coach cracked a
smile. It was a pretty funny scene. An elegant man in a tailored tan
three-piece suit, gesticulating with an almost empty bottle of beer,
scolding two hunks each weighing over 200 pounds who had just completely
wet themselves while engaging in a sports practice session.

Although he wanted to give them hell, the coach couldn't help slapping them
on the back: "OK, you fuckers, back to work, back to work. And see if you
can keep those boners down!" Actually, as he downed the last of that bottle
of beer, Marshall was beginning to think that midnight couldn't come soon
enough. He was starting to feel like it was time to visit the toilet
himself. Oh, what the hell was he worrying about? He was the coach. He made
the rules. He could go whenever he had to. So he opened another beer.

Ed and Frank got back on the mat and laughed. Practice was certainly easier
now and they responded to the whistle like track stars off the starting
blocks. In between moves, Ed said to Frank, "Hey, man, ya know, I had seen
your hard dick in the shower when we all jacked off together, but it was
really hot when I felt it on my ass and that warm piss came out all over
me. Uh, someday could you..."

Frank knew what he meant. "Sure. Long as you do the same to me. Some guys
get to be blood brothers; we can be piss brothers." They both returned to
practice with renewed vigor. And if you had seen their practice sessions
regularly, maybe you would have noticed that on this occasion each guy's
face ended up in the other's wet crotch more often than necessary.

A few minutes later, the coach announced, "Just keep going, guys. You've
only got about 15 minutes left. I'm going to the john. I had more beers
than you.

The four wrestlers who had pissed and been pissed on shouted
simultaneously, "No fuckin' way, Coach."

"Whaddaya mean, no fuckin' way? I'm the fuckin' coach and I make the
rules."

"That's right, Coach. And you said, 'No one leaves the mat area until
midnight.' You're a someone. So you can't leave either."

"Very clever. OK. You're on. I can beat every one of you pussies on the
mat, and I can hold my piss longer than any of you assholes too. Resume
practice. Go!" But he really wished he could adjust the clock ahead about
ten minutes.

Through all this, the lightest guys, Jim and Carl, had been holding their
own (in the practice, that is). They were doing a great job and had gotten
no complaints from the coach. For whatever reason, although they certainly
would have liked to visit the john, continuing to practice was no big
problem. Maybe, along with their rock-hard, smooth physiques came
self-control. Jim had blond hair the color of straw, and the cuffs matched
the collar, as they say; it was just as light in color in his pubic area as
on his head. He only weighed 116 pounds, but was a wrestler you normally
didn't want to tangle with. He'd been coming back from the flu, though, and
just didn't have it at the meet that day.

Carl doesn't sound like a name for an Asian-American, but he was. His
father had convinced his mother to name him after Carl Bernstein, the
journalist, of all people, whom he had admired during the Watergate
episode, just before Carl had been born. Carl was a little taller than Jim
and had just as little fat on him, though he weighed about eight pounds
more. His hair was jet black. Though his chest and arms were almost
hairless, there was plenty of black hair on his legs and ass and a wiry
tangle in the bush that crowned his uncut cock. Jim had run his fingers
through that bush a hundred times before grabbing the warm slippery cock
that stood next to it. Carl and Jim had masturbated together, not only with
the team in the shower but also in private in the dorm. They didn't know if
they were gay, but they certainly loved each other and enjoyed jacking each
other off. The coach had noticed hard-ons through their singlets several
times in practice, but since it never occurred during a meet when the
public could see it, he didn't really care.

Anyway, both Carl and Jim had lost their matches on this day because of
faulty pinning moves. So, while all the watersports were going on elsewhere
for the first forty-five minutes of the practice, they had been assiduously
trying to improve their pinning techniques. However, now and then, one of
them would end up lying almost right on top of the other. In that case,
it's easy for the wrestler on the bottom to use his torso and legs to lift
up the wrestler on the top and throw him off. Occasionally, Jim's or Carl's
hand would slip off a leg, but they didn't mind: it usually ended up on the
other guy's crotch and that wasn't half bad from their viewpoint. But most
of the time they did what they were supposed to do and executed the moves
better and better as the practice went on.

Carl started to feel like he was working hard to hold in his piss, though,
and an idea started to insinuate itself into his consciousness. He had
never given himself, much less anyone else a golden shower, but he figured
if he was going to try it with anyone, it would be with his best friend.

Jim. As the need to piss became greater, he decided it really was a very
reasonable idea. He wanted to try it, his best friend was there, four other
guys were already soaked in piss, as was the mat, and the coach didn't seem
to care. As a matter of fact, Marshall seemed less involved in coaching and
more involved in crossing and uncrossing his legs as time went on.

So as Carl pinned Jim on his back, he whispered to his buddy, "Hey, Jim,
everyone's been pissing since this practice began. I could probably hold
mine in until 12, but actually, I'd like to spray you from your head to
your toe, and I can't think of a better time to do it than now. How about
it?"

"Hey, sounds like fun, but why don't we just do it in the shower back in
the dorm sometime. I don't wanna get into trouble tonight. Coach Marshall's
gone easy on us."

"In the shower, we don't have any clothes on. And I wouldn't worry about
the coach at this point. He's got enough troubles of his own. Besides, all
the other guys are wet. We might as well join the fun."

"OK, what are you gonna do?"

"You stay lying on your back. I'm going to stand up, pull out my dick, pull
the head out of the foreskin and rub it a few times and just let it go all
over you. When you see me coming towards your head, you'd better keep you
eyes closed. Sorry I didn't think to bring goggles. Are you ready?"

(final part to come)