A Note From the Author:
The Alpha Male series is the property of the author, who reserves all Copyright rights and privileges. Please do not copy this story without his expressed, written permission.
The author wishes to thank the many people who have emailed him with feedback about the stories. He welcomes all email, especially when it is complimentary! He would like to take a moment, though, to point out the following:
- This story is entirely fiction. It is not based on the experience of the author, or anyone he knows. The characters and events have been completely invented. 2. This is the first story the author has tried to write, so no other stories of his exist, requests to be pointed in their direction notwithstanding. 3. The author is very - acutely - aware of the typos in the preceding chapters, and apologizes for them. In particular, Doug is said to moan when only Brad is in the room, Nietzchean is spelled incorrectly (though honestly, how many people attempt that in the first place!), he has an inexcusable love affair with the comma, and, most embarrassingly, taut is confused with taught. You needn't point them out to him. He is doing his best to minimize them in the future. 4. The author is fully committed to taking this story to its completion, and intends to do so. However, the pace at which he began - one chapter per day - was possible only because he was on vacation. He is back at work, now, and asks you to be patient and satisfied with 2 or 3 chapters per week. 5. The story depicts acts of unsafe sex -- in particular, the unprotected exchange of fluid. The author wishes to point out that this story is fantasy, not reality. While in fantasy, it is perfectly appropriate to engage in whatever ideation most appeals to you, in real life it is not. He neither advocates nor practices unsafe sex, and strongly urges you to cherish your own life by doing the same.
Finally, the author wishes to humbly and gratefully thank both G.- and R.- for their generous technical assistance in the writing of the recent sections of this piece.
That said, enjoy the story.
David Buffet Tightserve@hotmail.com
Chapter 12: Behaviors
I ran into Matt on the way to breakfast the next morning. It was Sunday, and they only had a cursory practice, with the afternoon free.
"Hey, good looking," I said, falling in beside him.
"Hey."
"Had a good time last night."
"Me too."
"Hope we can do it again."
"Hope we can do more."
I smiled at him, and he smiled back.
"Maybe after lunch?"
"Deal, amigo."
The morning passed slowly. I did the laundry thinking of Matt. He was quite sweet, it turns out. Sweet lips, sweet body, sweet demeanor. The joking was clearly a defense against having to coexist constantly with the rest of the boys. I pitied him, and I envied him. Pitied him for not being able to realize fully who he was among his friends. Envied him for the closeness he was able to achieve with them.
Was I so enamored of straight male bonding, I wondered? I had never had it, but had never felt I missed it, either. I certainly envied him his body, but that was true for all of them. He must be lonely, I thought. Imagine. Being lonely and looking like that.
Finishing up, I went into the gym, notebook in hand. The boys weren't into working, and there was a lot of just hanging around, talking, goofing, playing at routines. Brad, spotting Doug on the high bar, pantsed him to the delight of the rest of the room. Steve was teaching Eric how to do a break dance move on the floor. Adam was working the vault, the only one of them still taking his practicing seriously.
Lunchtime finally came, and the kids poured into the locker room. Finding Matt, I suggested as it was a rather warm day, he get his swim trunks and a towel, and that we picnic at the nearby lake.
Twenty minutes later we were walking the path together, chatting amiably. I asked Matt about his hopes for the sport.
"I don't know," he said, "I'll take it as it comes. I just love having the opportunity to participate, you know? I mean, it's not like we get million-dollar Nike endorsements out of it. Making the National team would be sweet. I'd love to be able to compete internationally. I was much more intense about it before I snapped my Achilles tendon. That kind of put it all in perspective for me."
"You think about the Olympics?"
"Of course I think about the Olympics. We all think about the Olympics. Don't you think about the Olympics?"
I laughed.
"Yes, but I think in a more prurient way."
"Huh?"
"Sorry," I said, kicking myself for my unconscious insistence on using the ten cent words, "like, I think about the bodies I get to see. For me, the Olympics are just as much erotica as anything else. Very, very soft-core porn."
"Me too," Matt giggled. "Can you imagine being around all those guys?"
"So you feel it too -- the sexual tension these guys have?"
"What, are you fucking nuts," he rejoined? "Of course! I'm not dead! They're pretty good looking, don't you think?"
"You're pretty good looking," I replied. Matt smiled, and reached for my hand. We walked on, palms kissing.
"What about Adam," I asked?
"What about him?"
"Do you think he's good looking?"
"Oh, yes," Matt returned, breathily.
"Do you enjoy doing him in those nightly visits?"
"Doing him?"
"Yeh," I said. "When you go into his room."
"We talk about the routines."
"No, seriously. It's okay to talk about," I said, gently. Matt shrugged his shoulders.
"There's nothing to talk about.
The last time I went, we talked about strategies for start values on the pommel horse. It's pretty weak for me, so if I'm going to perform, it would be best if I had a lower start value. But I don't want to be a liability for the team. We were talking about Johnston's suggestions for a routine for me."
"No sex?"
"I wish."
"You can tell me, Matt. Really. It's no biggie. I already know about Brad and Corey."
"What about Brad and Corey?"
"That Adam does them during the talks." Matt stopped in his tracks, and turned to me, eyes wide with wonder.
"Adam does Brad and Corey?" The shock in his voice was so genuine, so complete, he could not possibly be faking it.
"You didn't know?"
"Fuck!" He dropped my hand, and began walking toward the lake again, this time at a much more purposeful pace. Finding myself suddenly alone, I took off after him.
"What's going on," I asked? But Matt, lips pursed in rage, strode on. I found myself almost jogging beside him, despite the fact that my legs were longer than his.
"Matt, I didn't mean to upset you. I really didn't. I had absolutely no idea that you didn't know. When Brad told me about him and Corey, I just naturally assumed that..."
"Well you assumed wrong," Matt testily snapped.
"Look, I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"What's not my fault? Why are you so pissed?" I put my hand on his shoulder, and, with some show of strength, stopped him in his forward progress.
"Matt, what the fuck?!"
He looked at me, and, I think, saw the confusion and concern in my eye. He softened, and looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet like a kid.
"Sorry, amigo. My bad," he said. A grin returned to his face, and he turned his dimples back toward me. "Kind of intense date, huh?"
I laughed.
"Christ, bud," I said, "what the hell was that?! I feel like I just stepped on a mine and got my leg blown off."
Matt shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders in demure apology. God he was cute. We turned and renewed our saunter down the path.
"It was just a bit of a surprise, that's all. Sorry. I overreacted."
"C'mon, Matt, it's more than that. What?"
He was silent.
"What," I repeated, more fondly?
"It's just that...shit, I don't think it's so appropriate to talk about this with you."
"Why not?"
"Because I kind of like you, amigo."
"Honey," I exclaimed! "It's okay! Are you afraid I'll get jealous? That's so cute. It's not like I don't come to this point without a past myself, you know."
"Yeah," he said, "but you don't work with your past."
"Really, Matt," I said, "it's okay. I've had more experience, I think, living in the gay world than you have."
"Prob'ly right," he said.
"This is what we talk about, guy. Shit," I laughed, "sometimes this kind of thing is all we talk about!"
We had arrived at the lake. There was a floating dock moored fifty yards out.
"What say you tell me whatever you have to tell me out there," I asked, nodding at the dock?
Matt stripped off his shirt, and dropped his shorts. Underneath he was wearing a baggy boxer-style suit. I just surveyed him, drinking in the sight of his skin, his curves, his deliciousness. He stood back up, having shucked his shorts, and saw me staring.
"What," he asked?
"Nothing. You're just so beautiful."
"Oh, thaaaat," he laughed. "Why, Rhet! How you talk! Bluuush."
I laughed back as I myself stripped down to my trunks. Taking the plastic bag in which I had packed the lunch and rolling it in our two towels, I made for the shore. Seeing me start off, Matt let out a holler of sheer abandon, ran past me, and plunged headlong into the water. Coming up for air, he screamed.
"Fuck! This is cold!"
"Well I could have told you that, stud.
It's a mountain lake. The air may be hot, but the water's going to be very cold."
"C'mon. I'll race you," he said. You can take the boy out of the competition... I thought.
"That's ok. Meet you there. I go more slowly. Besides. I got the food."
I walked to the water's edge and gently dipped my toes in. Yes, very, very cold. I entered to my ankles, and shuffled, waiting for them to become numb. Another step or two brought me to my shins. Suddenly, I was screaming. Matt had submerged, and, coming up to my side where I hadn't expected him, had sent a large wave of water through the air onto my unfortunate spine.
"You asshole!" He was shrieking with laughter -- the free, untroubled laughter of a boy. He splashed me again.
"I'm going to fucking kill you!"
"Gotta catch me first," he said, and with that, submerged under the reflective blue mirror that was the surface of the water. With far more speed than I preferred, I dunked, holding the towels above the water. Chilled to the bone, now, I had to exert energy as the only way to warm up. Turning onto my back, I stroked out to the raft, one arm swimming, the other holding the towels clear of the water. I made good time.
Arriving at the raft, onto which Matt had just climbed, I handed him the towels, and hoisted myself out.
"You swim well," he said, unrolling the towels, and handing me one. "Where did you learn to do that?"
Growing up, we had spent summers on Cape Cod. When I was half a year old, my parents dunked me in the water. I came up smiling, and that had begun a love affair with swimming that had lasted throughout my youth. It was the only sport in which I felt competent.
"Spent a year doing the Hungarian Water Polo Team," I said. "Used to play the game myself 'till my horse drowned." Matt chortled.
"Anything you haven't done?"
"Yeah. You."
"Gonna spend a year doing me, next?"
"We shall see. We shall see."
The combination of warm sun and cold water had brought up goose bumps on his skin. I traced my finger down the lateral head of his left triceps, feeling the buds. He shivered, perhaps from the cold. I turned him so that his back was to me, wrapped the towel around him, drew him to me, and, leaning him against my chest, began to vigorously rub his upper arms through the towel.
"Better?"
"Much," he said. I kissed the corner of his neck, where his trapezius turned north toward his skull. We laid the towels out, sat down on them, and took out the lunches we had brought.
"So what's the deal with Adam," I asked, as gently as I could, "you like him?"
Matt looked off over the lake, and chewed his sandwich contemplatively.
"Yeah. I've liked him since I met him two years ago. There's something about him."
"There sure is."
"You like him too?" I couldn't read his motivation for the question. How to respond?
"No, it's not that. I just recognize his appeal."
"At first, I had this really big crush on him. I thought about him all the time, you know? Like, college was supposed to be this big change in my life. I never did anything with anyone during high school. I was totally into boys, but I couldn't tell anyone about it."
"Small town?"
"Outside Des Moines."
"Say no more."
"But college was going to be different. I had just healed from the surgery, I was heading back toward competition-level routines, and I was going to the Big University, you know?
I was going to find a boyfriend, win the National All-Around title, get a job and live happily ever after. College meant coming out to me. It had since I was thirteen.
"So then I arrive, and in, like, the first week, I meet Adam, and I'm totally taken by him. He was an upperclassman, he was this real hot shot on the team, and, well...just look at him."
"Yes. I have."
"And every time I was around him, I just felt...this sounds so stupid...I felt like..."
"...Tingly?"
"Yeah. That's it exactly. I felt tingly. But I couldn't come out, or anything. So then, one day, I'm alone with Adam in the trainer's room. Didn't plan it that way. It just happened. And he turns to me, and out of the blue, he just kisses me. This incredible wet, sloppy, deep, long, soul kiss. His tongue just came out of nowhere and totally took my breath away.
"And then, he just breaks it off, and says, 'Now go out and get a boyfriend, kid.' That was it."
"No shit?!"
"Yeah. Then he tells the rest of the team I'm gay. That was the only time we ever did anything. It really freaked me out for a long time. I kept wanting to ask him why he did it, or...I don't know...if we could do it again. But every time I got near him, I changed my mind and thought I shouldn't bring it up."
"That's stunning," I said, entirely honestly, as I was completely stunned by the revelation.
"Yeah."
"And since then?"
"Nothing. He hasn't talked about it, and I keep wussing out when I'm near him. So that's why I was so pissed when I found out he was doing Corey and Brad. 'Cause I still want to, you know? And then to find out that he's doing them."
"Why do you think he did that to you?"
"I have no fucking idea, amigo. No fucking idea."
"And he outed you to the team? That's outrageous!"
"Yeah. But you know," he said, turning to me, "that turned out okay. Even at the time I was kind of glad he did it. I wanted to do it myself, but didn't know how to. And then I just didn't have to worry about it anymore. If I had known how it was going to turn out with the rest of the guys, I would have asked him to. I just didn't know." He turned back to stare at the ridge of mountains in front of us.
We sat there in silence, each thinking our individual thoughts about Adam -- Matt in wistfulness, me in confusion. I had been sure he was doing Matt. Absolutely convinced. How could I have been so wrong? I had so misread Matt's restlessness that first night when Adam came into the commons room. He had not been uncomfortable because he didn't want to be involved with Adam, he was uncomfortable because he did want to be involved, but wasn't.
And what did this mean for my theory about Adam using sex as a competitive edge? Was that totally out the window? Maslow spent three decades of his life proving to the world that autistic children were traumatized in their early years and needed reparenting, only to be shown a paper that proved that the disease is neurologically based. The entire second half of his career went down the toilet with that one paper. Had the same rug been pulled out from under me?
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of laughter from afar. Within a few moments, the majority of the team rounded the last bend in the path, and walked into the clearing. They had, evidently, had the same idea I had. This wasn't surprising. It wasn't like the camp provided a rich buffet of entertainments from which to choose.
"Date's over," Matt said, turning to look at the beach.
"No, stud," I said back, scooching over to put a little distance between us, "just postponed."
The boys threw down their towels and kicked off their footwear. Shorts dropped and shirts were stripped. Together, they were quite a sight. I certainly enjoy the look of a naked man. But a man who is almost naked -- now there's an image. Plenty to look at, and just enough to dream about. Matt and I lay on our stomachs, propped up on our elbows staring at the sight before us. For Matt, I think, it was just another day with his friends. My erection, on the other hand, ground painfully into the wooden plank of the dock.
On the shore, there was some negotiation, a unison count to three, then Brad, Doug, Eric, Evan, and Corey raced for the water. Five heads disappeared under the water at almost the same time, five heads reappeared with shouts and protestations of cold. The swam out and began their genial horseplay, splashing, swearing, dunking, and shoving. Dolphins themselves could not be having more fun.
I glanced over at Matt, who was looking longingly at them. Clearly he wanted to join them. I marveled at the boys' physicality. Like Sherpas when they return to the mountains, they were happiest when they were using their bodies.
"It's okay. Go play. I want to sit in the sun some more."
"Kay. Thanks." He flashed me a smile, then was off the raft like a seal sliding from the rocks.
I spread out more comfortably on the towel and shut my eyes, glad to have the time to think. How could I incorporate this new dissonant information into my cognitive schema? What was the game that Adam was playing? Adam could clearly control anyone and everyone. He had all the tools he needed to do so. Part of that control was clearly sexual in nature. He had demonstrated that amply with me. But if he could have sexual release with any of them, why didn't he? I had just assumed that he did more of them than Brad and Corey. Was it just them? If so, why? Was it more? If so, why not Matt? And why the kiss and the outing? I needed more information.
I looked out at the pack of otters 20 yards from me, and called Brad over. His graceful arms brought him over in a backstroke. Reaching the raft, he pulled his upper torso onto it, resting on his elbows and forearms. The water that had slicked back his golden hair also dripped appealingly from his cheeks and nose.
"Can I ask you a question," I ventured?
"Sure, bud. Shoot."
"It's kind of weird..."
Brad laughed. "You're kind of weird, dude. What's the question?"
"How long have you known Corey?"
"I don't know. Five years maybe. We started at the same gym."
"What was he like."
Brad answered quickly.
"Oh, he was a real asshole."
"Corey?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"No reason. An asshole in what way?"
"He thought he was the biggest shit in the world. It was kind of funny. This big mouth on this little kid. He was a bully at school and everything. Kept getting into trouble. Really had a chip on his shoulder."
"He's so different now."
"Yeh. He's grown a lot. Not a bad kid now. Much more serious. Doesn't get into trouble at all."
"He was a bully?"
"Yeh. Beat the crap out of this kid once. He used to try to give us shit. You would have laughed. He had this big attitude thing going on."
"Brad," I said after a pause, "when did he change?"
"I don't know..." he said, thinking about it, "...about three years ago, I guess."
"Was it about the time that Adam did him?"
"Ummm...come to think about it, yeah. It was around then. Listen -- no one complained. The change was way for the better."
"Yes, I can see that. Thanks, Brad."
He slid back into the water, and sprinted back to his teammates. A porpoise with a purpose.
Like Alice, I found I the situation getting curiouser and curiouser. And like Alice, I determined it was time to jump down the rabbit hole myself. I jumped into the water, taking our towels and the leftover lunch, and stroked back to the beach. Arriving, I dried off and surveyed the beach. Adam was off to the side, lying on a towel. He wore a pair of well worn jeans he had cut into shorts. The ends of the legs were frayed and torn. His only other apparel was a pair of dark sunglasses whose lenses, though not mirrored, were highly reflective. I scanned the wind. It was coming from the north. I sauntered up to his left, and spread my towel a few inches from his -- upwind. I lay on my back next to him, and closed my eyes to the dazzling sun. Here I would be as safe as I could be, I thought. Eyes closed, upwind, and in public.
"Hey, champ," he said. I resisted the urge to open my eyes and look over at his prone form. Instead, I just relaxed into the sun's rays, enjoying the display of reds and oranges it was causing under my eyelids.
"Hey."
"Was wondering when you'd be back."
"Look, Adam," I said, "let's call a truce."
"Didn't know there was a war."
Whatever. If there was going to be a conversation, clearly it would be up to me.
"So you been enjoying the summer?" God, I felt like I was at a bar. Come here often?
"Yup. We got a good team this year. I like our chances."
"You're repeating, right? Are a lot of the guys experienced?"
"Me, Dan, Steve, Eric, Doug and Brad all have. Drew, Matt and Evan are sophomores. This'll be their first trip."
"And Corey?"
"He's only in high school. He's not even supposed to be practicing with us. It's against NCAA rules."
"So why's he here?"
"He's good. Johnston's grooming him. So technically, the camp isn't sponsored by the University. It's a private deal. The school pays for us to be here, and he pays for himself." That way, we're just training next to each other, not together. Johnston coaches him privately. The kid pays him, like, a dollar a week to keep it legal."
"Got it all worked out."
"Yup."
"So what's after gymnastics for you, Adam? I mean, when the Nationals, Worlds, and Olympics are over."
"Life."
"I mean, what are you going to do?"
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm in school."
"So am I."
"What are you studying?"
"Engineering."
Why did that surprise me? Was I falling into the Brad trap, thinking that just because he was beautiful and muscular, he must, by definition, be stupid? No. I knew he was smart. I just didn't expect a rigorous discipline. Maybe a coach in training. Maybe a PT. But an engineer?
We fell silent again. The sun was reheating my skin after the shock of swimming back to shore. I found myself relaxing into it.
"I've been watching you in the gym..."
"I know."
"...You're pretty strong."
"Yup."
"Were you always that way?"
"No, champ. I work my ass off."
It was such an odd moment. That wasn't the question I had intended to ask -- at least, it was a variant of the question I had intended to ask. Yet, he had answered the words I had presented him correctly and truthfully.
I thought about it. He did, indeed, work his ass off. I wondered if that extended to his interpersonal skills as well.
"The other guys really look up to you."
"Yup."
"I know Matt likes you a lot."
"He's a good kid." There didn't seem to be guile in his statement, or hidden motive.
"What does a team captain do? What's your job?"
"Encourage them. Work out strategy with the coach. Mostly, I look out for them."
"You look out for them?"
"Yup."
He must have been playing games with me. He played with people's minds, and he was playing with mine. I looked over at him, turning my head away from the sun. He was lying on his back, his head resting in his clasped hands. He was in silhouette, as my eyes were not adjusted from the burn of the sun. He had not shaved that morning, and the stubble on his chin broke the line of his jaw. Slowly, as my sight returned to normal, his features resolved. The thin lips, the small, straight nose. The day's growth on his cheek made him look even more roguish and, I realized, alluring.
I became entranced looking at his armpit. With such development in the muscles surrounding it, it was cavernous. I could not tell if the black hair in it was particularly sparse, or just hidden by its depths. Three small, spherical drops of sweat hung at the end of three of its strands. They sparkled prismatically in the sun -- reds and blues and oranges in unexpected places. I felt my salivary gland squirt involuntarily, and I began tasting salt, though my mouth was empty. Some fortunate eddy in the breeze caught the hairs, and the orbs danced, liquid marionettes.
"You should stay out of Matt's pants."
"Pardon?" The shock of the words brought me back to the present. I looked up to see myself staring at myself in the reflection of his glasses. He had turned his head, and was watching me watching him. How does he make me lose myself like that?
He didn't repeat himself. The words just hung between us as I looked myself in the eye.
"Why? Do you have designs on him?"
Movement behind me in the glasses caught my eye, and I turned to look. Matt stood over me, dripping and smiling like a ten-month-old lab who had just been introduced to his first wet fetch.
"Heya, amigo." I handed him his towel.
"Heya."
"You wanna take a walk?"
I turned to look at Adam, and, answering both, but with different meanings, said, "sure."
I reached for my shorts and began slipping them on over my trunks. Matt simply dropped his bathing suit before stepping into his shorts. It struck me as odd, at first, that he would so shamelessly strip before this group of straight boys. But, of course, he did it every day. They thought no more about being naked in front of each other than they did eating.
He slung his towel over his shoulder and we set off along the circuit path. One hundred yards in, he turned and headed into the woods.
"Where're we going," I asked?
"I'll tell you when we get there."
I followed him as he negotiated the boughs and roots. The dappled light danced on his skin. His hamstrings morphed in and out of corded definition as he picked his steps, hopping onto a log, bowing under a branch. I followed him, sensing a descent, though the ground was level.
The forest opened to a clearing. Matt found its sunny center, turned, dropped the towel, and beckoned me with his forefinger.
I walked up to him, and we took each other in our arms.
"We're there."
"We certainly are."
Our mouths came together, and he gently sucked at my upper lip, nipped at my lower one. I feinted a kiss, pulling away as he began to melt. Another approach, another withdrawal. He smiled, and brought his hands up to the sides of my head to capture and prevent a further tease. Mine wrapped around his ribcage, finding his shoulder blades. My fingers dug into the rhomboideus muscles between and beneath them, pulling him forcibly forward into me. The kiss, once started, took control of us, and we gave into its insistence, tasting each other, breathing each other, consuming each other. He ground his groin into mine, as if trying to press himself into my very body. My right hand swept down the roller coaster of his spine, over the tremendous mound of gluteus muscle to his hamstring. I lifted, and without resistance, his knee came up to rest on the shelf of my hip. I stroked the light hairs on the bottom of his thigh, reaching up into his shorts to feel the firm massiveness of his ass. The kiss broke, as if it continuing it any longer would have caused us to erupt into flames.
Breathless, Matt whispered, "let's fuck."
"What's your pleasure?"
"Either way," he said. "Both. Every which way."
"Good answer," I said, licking his lips. "I wanna start by fucking you. I'm feeling this overpowering need to top, right now."
"That can be arranged."
My left hand swept down his spine toward my right, but detouring at his hip, curled around to his groin. I grabbed at his full dick through his shorts, squeezing it roughly through the fabric.
"Mmmmm," Matt groaned. "I've heard about those hands."
"It's not the hands," I said, slipping my hand under his waistband, pulling at his pubic hairs as it slid down to circle the root of his cock between thumb and forefinger, "it's the brain they're attached to."
I laid him down onto the towel and undid the button on his shorts. He hip thrust on his heels, allowing me to pull the pants off him. Mine were as quickly cast on the clearing floor beside them.
He lay before me as I stood over him, his knees bent and spread flat, his hands, unable to reach me, settling for resting on his own chest.
Matt's dick was short but wide, the round ridge of its full head protruding well out from his already substantial girth. It was just shy of tawny, like his skin, but darker, and even darker still where crowned by the scar of his circumcision. Pinned fully against his belly by its fullness, his cock pulsed with his heartbeat. His balls hung unusually low, large and relaxed in a sac that was almost hairless.
I, myself, was harder than I had been in recent memory. This young buck below me, willing, compliant, eager. He reached over and grabbed his shorts, taking out a packet of lube from a pocket.
"Why, Mr. VanLuyken," I said, "if I didn't know you better, I'd swear you'd set me up."
He giggled as he tore the packet, and reached up to spread the goo on my dick. The coldness of the lotion on the heat of my groin was exhilarating. I sank to my knees to give him better access, taking possession of the space between his legs. My nearness to him had its electric effect. His ass spasmed in anticipation, causing his dick to bob and produce a thin bubble of precum. I didn't bother guiding my dick to his hole. Rather, I leaned forward and placed my hands on the towel. They were almost between his armpits. This brought my face closer to his, and in the move down to his mouth, I slid my rigid dick over the crack of his ass up under, then over his balls. Taking him with my tongue, I ground the roots of our dicks together. A frottage ensued, as I extended my hip rotation back and forth, guiding myself first down along his perineum, over his pucker, reversing motion at his coccyx and bringing myself back up to the crown of his dick. His moans were strangled by my theft of his breath.
But my boy still had the control that only a gymnast could manage, and need bespeaks desperation. On one of the journeys northward, he flexed, lifted, and rolled his hips so that the head of my dick, rather than poking, testing, teasing his opening, turned into it. As I had not expected it to enter, I continued the thrust, fully taking him in one unplanned motion. Unplanned, at least by me. He relaxed into it fully, the warm, tight, lips of his sphincter drawing me on until I could push no farther. I looked into his eyes -- those lush deep pools of brown. Mine asked if he were okay. His urged me on. I attacked his mouth as I withdrew and slammed home again.
From there, it was more rutting than anything else. On my part, it was the release of days of pent-up nonreciprocation. For all I knew, on Matt's part, it was the catharsis of years of it. When we came, it was as if looking at the sun.