Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,gay-net.erotic-storys
From: man2man@netcom.com
Subject: Thanks, Buddy  (M/M)
Summary: REPOST
Date: Sun, 30 Apr 1995 20:20:29 GMT


                               THANKS, BUDDY

When I was eighteen years old and a high school senior, I was on the
wrestling team. At least I was until practice one afternoon when I made
the wrong move at the wrong time and got my arm broken. The cast wrecked
gym class, too, so Coach made me do homework at a desk outside his office
at the center end of the locker room. I sat there every day looking down a
long empty room with showers on the left and lockers and benches on the
right. The boring grind of an extra study hall was more than offset by the
end of class when I just did what Coach told me to do: I sat there and
waited... and watched. 

I saw some cool stuff. 

The popular jock Jeff had a lot of hair for a kid, even on his solid
muscled ass, which was already one of the best things to look at in the
halls. Wayne had an uncut dick so thick but so short that it rested on his
fat furry balls and stuck straight out, looking like a third eye. Kevin
was an aloof but handsome preppy with shaggy hair. They said he drank all
the time. I got to see the weird cuts and bruises he tried to hide as he
furtively dressed. Mark didn't hide much at all. He was a quiet kid with
strong arms and shoulders and he sauntered around hanging half hard,
checking out the other guys. Craig was an annoying redneck with black
hair, pale freckled skin, and a cute butt. One day he came out of the
showers with a raging red boner reaching for the sky. He just packed it
into his worn briefs and greasy jeans and split. 

I beat off for weeks to these pictures in my mind, but mostly I thought of
John. 

John was an eighteen year old senior and was the best wrestler in his
weight class in the entire state. He proved it for two years. He also ran
cross country and he had the incredible lean and defined body of his
sports. He worked hard to win and also had a functioning mind, a quick
wit, and decent grades. He was blessed with curly blond hair, clear gray
eyes, and an easygoing manner. Nobody didn't like John. 

When it was obvious John was contending for a third straight state
championship, Coach cut him s ome slack in gym class. He'd have him
demonstrate some advanced techniques for the dweebs or let him do his
personal conditioning routine. Then he started showing up in the locker
room early. Coach brought in a second desk. John would come sit by me and
we'd pretend we'd studied. We would talk about upcoming wrestling meets or
student council shit. John would laugh at the cartoons I drew of the
teacher babe in our history class and the hopeless dork who taught us
chemistry. I was happy just to smell him and sometimes get a good closeup
look at the bulge in his jock pouch through his cotton shorts. Once he
told me how Cindy let him go all the way with her, but then he went out of
his way to tell me he really wanted a blowjob. Nobody else ever entered
the locker room mid-period. 

One day John complained vaguely about some soreness and disappeared into
the varsity training room directly beside our desks to use the whirlpool.
I actually studied for a while and when he came back he was naked a ênd
wet. He started yapping about a book report, but I got a strange hot
nervous feeling I'd never had before. I took in everything I could while
trying to be cool: he has faint tan lines on his shoulders from his winter
track uniform, his chest is chiseled and grownup-looking, the blood
vessels on his forearms pop out, there are muscles defined on his lower
abdomen I never even knew about, the fine blond hairs on his sinewed
thighs are shining, his penis is pink and wrinkled... be cool, look away. 

But when I looked John in the eye and forced myself to hear his voice, he
wasn't making any sense and his eyes were liquid. I couldn't help but look
again at his crotch two feet in front of me. His teencock wasn't pink and
wrinkled. He was chubbing. His full balls were throbbing and the blood was
flowing into his thickening rod. Suddenly, he made a whooping sound and
took off. I got a great view of his flexing buttcheeks as he ran away. I
got up and followed him to the furthest changing room. I was forced casual
and leaned against the doorway. 

John was doing handstands! He jumped around and sprang upside down. His
dick was flopping around and his nuts rolled around in their sac; he was
inadvertantly flashing me his crack and pucker. He was flushed in various
shades all over -- from the hot whirlpool, from the exercise, from the
excitement. He yanked his jeans from his locker, pulled them on without
any underwear, laughed loudly and snarled, "thanksalot, buddy." I realized
he was a sexual timebomb and somehow we were going to mess around. 
 
    The next day, John stayed in regular gym class the whole period, but
the day after that he came back to the whirlpool. I could hear him humming
a rock song and splashing around. Then I could see him in the shower stall
soaping up. Next he's hollering, "Check it out, Kenny! I got a pussy!" 

His stuff is jammed backwards between his tightly clenched thighs. His
bright blond bush tops a taut white V. "That's just strange," I bark. 

John thrusts his hips forward and tosses out his jockmeat: six inches
hanging, red all over from the squeezing. But it's hanging, as in gravity
over muscle... he isn't fully hard yet. 

John strolls through the training room doorway to where I'm glued stupid
to the seat of my crappy high school desk and says plainly, "Dude, you got
a woody." 

Of course, my snake has crawled several inches down the leg of my boxers
and is now so boned that you can see the outline of my glans through my
Levi's. 

John stands quietly - no, he's breathing sharply - and lets it happen. His
cock lengthens and swells. It bobs and jerks as three more inches curve
out and upwards. "Please, Kenny," he hisses, "I know you wanna help me
out." 

"Yeah, John, let's go." 

We go back into the training room and slam the door. 

I move around behind him and heave my left arm cast onto his left
shoulder. I tentatively slide my right hand around his right hipbone to
grab his hot hardon. Oh jeez, this is really happening. He reaches around
my right side and grabs my denim-clad buttocks. His left arm sneaks around
my left leg and gropes... Oh shit, he's gonna wrestle me right over his
back and slam me against the wall. 

But he turns his head and finds my lips with his. He grinds against my
face and whips his tongue against mine. I tickle, stroke, and flail at his
stiffy -- now so vertical heÕs almost fucking his own navel. John moans
into my mouth and finds my trapped tool with his fingers. He starts
rolling my boner around in the folds of boxers and jeans, grasping at the
underside of my shaft and pulling on my dickhead. I can see over his
shoulder that his cock is so fat and purple the whole thing looks ready to
burst. 

John is gasping hot breath down my throat and starts rocking back and
forth as he rams his burning pole through my fist and rubs his wrestler
gluts against the base of my rigid cock, jamming it sideways against my
left thigh. The friction from the fabric and his busy fingers is too much
... I flood my boxers with jizz. I'm cumming so fast it feels like
pissing. The juice drips past my knee, down my calf, and into my sock. 
 
   John humps my hand for another few minutes, then unloads without
warning. He pumps a long white arc towards the whirlpool. I'm still
yanking as he spatters his thighs and feet and the floor with steaming
spunk. He sags against my chest and spews a final wet wad into my grasping
fingers. We slump there for a minute until he whispers the words I'll
never forget: 

"Thanks, buddy." 

Things were nice and loose between us for weeks afterwards. John
won the state championship again and I got my cast off. We didn't get
to repeat our scene in the locker room.

But it turned into spring, school got out, the neighborhood swim
club opened, and they were having a teen party. John was still going
around with Cindy and I had a warm friendship with ultrahip Pam. We'd
all sneaked some beers and were having a reasonably good time dancing
to new wave tunes on a boombox. A slow song came on and the women all
sidled up to the shuffling boys. I put my chin down on Pam's shoulder
and watched John stumble around with Cindy. He was wearing some ole
baggy plaid shorts but I noticed the big curved lump in his crotch.
It was cool I really recognized  his hard cock, but it must have been
bent double. He was obviously uncomfortable; when his darting eyes
connected with mine, they were like lasers. The song ended and he
excused himself politely , heading for the bathroom. I followed in a
minute.

Inside, he was pacing. His face was sweaty. "Kenny, you gotta
help me." I reached for his zipper.

"No, man..." he mutters. In one smooth wrestler's move, he
pushes the waistbands of his shorts and jockeys to mid-thigh, lands
on all fours, and sticks his firm white asscheeks in the air.
"C'mon, you know what to do."

I whip my nylon soccer shorts and boxers off, drop to my knees,
and assume the wrestling start position. I reach my hand underneath
his t-shirt and his tight chest is damp and quivering.

John slaps his palm on the floor and growls, "Bone me, Kenny.
Stick it in and hurry."

I gob spit all over my left hand and dripping woody. I hock more
on my right fingers and press it onto his pink hole. John spreads his
butt muscles apart with both hands and slaps his own spit in his
hairless crack. I push my purple cockhead at the hot opening,
grunting and probing. John moans and shoves back, flexing his
rectum. My steely teendick slips inside and I almost cum right then.

The wrestler takes over, rocking forward and slamming back. In
minutes, he's making high-pitched noises in his throat and clutching
at my cock with his ass. His pants are all bunched up around his
upper thighs and as he grinds his butt muscles against my crotch
hairs, my balls slip inside the waistband of his briefs. I find his
throbbing boner with my right hand and he arches his whole body down
and forward, scraping my knuckles bloody on the bathroom floor and
squashing his swollen boymeat in my palm. He humps and bucks a few
more times and creams everywhere beneath us. He smacks his
jizz-slicked belly against my slimey forearm and his hole clamps
down on my aching shaft. Just as the pungent spunk smell hits my
nostrils, I squirt hard up his ass and drop across his back. I bite
at his neck and gush again and again, filling his guts with my
sperm.

John turns his head for a deep, silent kiss, then says it again:
"Thanks, buddy."

Thanks, John.