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Ch. 4: That other DP
We're hanging in his room the night before we leave for the College World Series in Nebraska. Right...I'll come back to that.
I'm poking through his underwear drawer, shirt-cocking it, looking for something that fits me. (You might say I'd grown more comfortable; I'd say "-ish.") I pull out one piece after another and hold it up to needle him. "What did you spend on this?" (You might call it a bikini.) "And how does it fit on your ass?" There's not much there but a patch of purple.
He looks up from his Abnormal Psych book, half-way engaged. "It doesn't. Think dental floss." I twirl it around my finger and wolf whistle. He rolls his eyes.
Turning back to his dresser, I pick out a dingy jock with faded stencils. "Seriously, dude! What's with this?!"
Looking up again, he raises an eyebrow. "That was my lucky jock. Ha--I forgot I still had it!" I sniff it mocking-like and pull a face. He closes his book and stands. "Picture sixteen-year-old me in that." He apes seduction then turns and tugs his shorts and half-moons me before turning back around. I think back to that hotel room; I'm not sure I should be ogling sixteen. "Imagine us in the locker room back then." He turns again and yanks down his shorts, stepping out and bending over to toss them out of the way. I'll never tire of that ass. My dick is waking. "I think you woulda liked it." He is back in my face and snatches the jock from my hand. He bends over, steps into the straps one leg at a time, and turns again to show off his jelly.
He has my full attention; the image a jack-off fantasy. His round glutes lifted tight by straps that cut high under slabs of meaty ass. The two-inch waistband sloping over the curved crest of his creamy globes, the hem carving under his prominent obliques even from behind. My mouth waters. I leak a little pre on the floor.
"Get on that bed so you can breed me. And take that shirt off."
It's hard to describe the friendship. We have our "in the bedroom" thing--he helps me explore the sex stuff. Then there's the "everywhere else/teammate" thing. Normal. Ish. I have my moments; I sometimes wonder what it adds up to, what it might mean for us. He says he's just a horny dude. He still dates girls. Well, maybe not as much. Bedroom time is once a week; we don't want the guys to know.
But after those first times, there's no uncertainty about our fucking. Andy--no longer Dex at these sausagefests--takes the lead. We are both horny dudes, and I have lots of years to make up. I'd say we're aggressive within limits; he understands my boundaries. I'm not sure he has any, but then again, I'd been warned.
With that old jock "covering" him, I can ignore what's happening up front. Even as I push myself, I'm still afraid of his cock. But I also wonder: How's it stuffed in there? How does it hang, the meaty heft of it? Left, right, down the middle? I'm curious, but not curious enough to break an irrational taboo. He likes to tease me. I take it because I know what I get in return.
I'm sitting on the edge of his bed, my cock towering between us, the head poked out of its skin and engorged, continuing to spit with each muscular spasm. He turns me on. I imagine things we might do sometime in some other place but won't dwell on it. He tosses a bottle of lube, and when I slick it up, my dick shines like steel. It beckons, promises of fun: slip and slide, grip it and ride. What I can't see in his jock I read in his face. He is hungry. He moves toward me trance-like, staring at my johnson and licking his lips. His nipples spike. He kneels over me and grabs it, shuffles forward to find purchase, a move that spreads his ass so I can't miss my mark. He lets gravity do the rest, and he sinks onto me with such ease like he was already ready for me. Like buttah'.
"So good, Scott." We're in it. "As deep as you can." He's talking to air, eyes closed. But he is ever-present. A Svengali, his right hand grabs my tit and twists. Not gently. I grow another half inch inside him as I pull him to my chest. I smell his skin and bite down on the cord of muscle near his jugular. I want to pierce him here, as well, and suddenly I get where Dracula was coming from. I want him to know that I would have all of him, would feed off him if he'd let his body sustain me. Salty and thick. I wrap my arms around him, grab his chunky ass cheeks, and lift and stretch him wider as I probe him with my rod. It smashes in and out. I can't do this hard enough. He stutters my name breathlessly with each thrust, a scattered admonition: "Scott. Jesus, that's...uh. Fuck. Scott. Scott! Fuck, man. I can't...uggh. More! Scott!"
"Scott?" Another voice. "Dex?!" Panic and the feeling I'm about to throw up. I try to shove but Andy is tense and, therefore, too heavy for me. The door swinging open and a silhouette filling the frame. Fuck we're dead! I look up, the proverbial deer, directly into the startled expression of Rafa Cruz.
Rafaello Cruz is a junior, our short stop. Hailing from Tallahassee, he emulates Derek Jeter in play and poise. One time, on a road trip to LSU, he jumped on stage at a Karaoke bar and led the crowd in a spot-on cover of Jay Z. They ate it up.
Andy is frozen; three interminable seconds go by. I try to throw him off again, but he presses down on my chest. "Too late," he mumbles. I want to scream.
"Hey. Can I come in a sec?" His voice is soft, almost plaintive.
My mind reels at warp speed. Cruz is a smart guy. My dick wilts. "At least let me pull out," I mutter to Andy. He acquiesces and rolls off of me. We stare at Cruz in the doorway. I try to read his face without looking.
"So...whatcha doing Cruz?" Andy doesn't panic; he will not hide in his room.
"It's cool, guys. I didn't know you were home. Really, it's cool." He is looking at me with concern. I might be hyperventilating a bit.
"I'm home. Looks like we're all here now." Andy can intimidate when he's pissed, like giving zero fucks but with an edge that says, well, maybe one fuck. "Can I trust you'll pretend you saw nothing seeing as how you let yourself in?" I think he's pushing it, but Cruz puts out his hands, palms up, no-worries style.
Then the kicker: "So maybe this is where I tell you guys about my boyfriend? On the basketball team?" He is speaking alien if you can judge by the expression on my face. I think he said.... He looks at me again, recognizing that I am hopeless right now. He tries once more to get this to register. "Umm, with a big dick?"
And when I focus, it hits me. And when I focus again, I am struck by another more significant thought that lodges in my brain: Cruz is one sexy dude. And in the time this registers through my body, I realize I'm getting hard again. And as I lay there on my back, I notice the two hotties in the room are staring at me, watching it grow.
Andy breaks the silence: "Come in, Rafa. And close the fucking door." A smile crosses Cruz's face. Andy looks at me, a silent question. I glance over at the door then back at Andy. An almost imperceptible nod on my part. I can't believe I'm gonna do this. "Feel free to join us," Andy says without looking in his direction. He straddles me once more. "Now, where were we?"
***** I can't believe that happened! I'm trying not to freak, but, holy fucking shit! Stinger and Dex! Two stud kings. And I got to get in that!
Stop. Rewind. Play.
I was taking a summer course and hanging at the library. I decided to call Brandon, so I packed up my shit and headed outside. "Hey, Boo. Sorry I can't talk right now. We gotta meet with the boys." His team was doing a summer clinic with local kids. It was a two-week camp about 45 minutes away down toward the Gulf. "I'll call ya tonight." It was cool. But I didn't want to go back to the library and it was early for dinner, so I decided to head home to see if anyone was around. I wanted a distraction.
I got one and more.
I'd spent a lot of time around Dex these two years. He was prime beef. Killer body. The white-hot glow of a blond Adonis with the body of a muscle hunk. I wanted that the first time I met him.
And Stinger. This guy screamed sex. But he was slow burn, like the devil. Dark features, high cheekbones and olive skin. Prominent but elegant nose over full lips. I would watch him smear Chapstick and die to rub it in.
His body. Did he even know?! Broad shoulders and long limbs. Traps and lats like a cobra's hood. Perfect nickel-round nipples and washboard abs. His dong. Yeah, I've seen it heavy in the shower. His balls were good-sized eggs, tugging low from his body. And still his dick reached lower. Uncut. I wanted to chew on it for days. His quads and calves were covered with the dark hair of a man you knew was all man. His size thirteen feet were a bonus, with veins protruding like the ones on his powerful hands. Long thick fingers.
Girls swooned. And others.
The funny thing is, the guy never acted like he knew it. He was so fucking intense. We all knew he was going places, but I never saw him smile. Except around Dex.
It hit me when I opened the door. Of course! And, of course. Dex dated girls, so I guess I let myself think otherwise. And, of course they're with each other! Olympus won't make room for mortals.
I mean, Dex was sitting on it--that beautiful thing wedged up in there. They stopped moving when the door opened, but I couldn't miss Stinger's pole plowing those beef slabs framed by the straps of stretched elastic. Dex's ass is legendary. Matched only by Stinger's giant cock. Jesus!
Dex was pissed; Stinger was shitting bricks, which is funny, since a hole is a hole, so they say, and he wasn't as much the compromised one here. Did I mention Dex's ratty jock? Mary and Joseph! But Stinger looked ready to pounce. Or puke. I couldn't bring myself to turn around, to let them be. I was boning up.
I was babbling, too. Like hooked up to a polygraph. Staring at Stinger's slick dick, which was starting to fluff across his tree trunk thigh. I told them about Brandon. Well, not his name--I wouldn't do that.
"Come in, Cruz. And close the fucking door." Andy grabbed Stinger's shaft and climbed back on, back in the saddle, aiming blindly but finding his mark and sliding with gravity like quicksand upside down. A sword swallower. I wanted in.
I must have been frozen, because Andy turned his head--there on all fours in front of me--and proclaimed matter-of-fact-like: "Let's see if there's room in there for you."
"Seriously?!"
"You only live once." I watched Dex watching Stinger watching me. Something happened in that moment, some tacit, triumvirate spark. "And I've always wanted to try. There's a condom in the drawer."
Hells yeah! This was going to happen. It was almost more than I could take.
***** As Cruz rips his shirt over his head, I quick-glance at Andy, questioning him with my eyes. Is he certain? I'm excited and terrified for him. For us.
And I'm thinking about tomorrow. We are flying to Omaha, one of eight teams in the College World Series. My dad used to talk about it, the time he went his senior year at Tech. Before me and Mom. Before the Phillies. Dad and his brotherhood of Yellow Jackets.
Times have changed. That WE will represent is still hard to believe. Were we supposed to be there? Maybe not. But we are, and that is--
"Scott!"
I'm looking at Andy's piercing blue eyes, and I realize something is moving on my dick that feels hard and slippery where I'm buried in Andy balls deep. The movement behind him snaps me to attention--Cruz is looking down, concentrating, his tongue out, one hand on Andy's back while he seems to be guiding something inside him below. What the? Fuck, he's trying to get in there with me. But how?!
Andy sees the look on my face. "Just go with it," he squints and suppresses a grimace, takes a short breath. Then he leans his face closer. He's not going to kiss me in front of Cruz. I try to telegraph this. He whispers: "This is to take your mind off it." He winks. And then he brings his mouth to mine. Take my mind off it? That ain't gonna happen. Because as we kiss, Rafa Cruz's seven-inch wiener slides along the length of my cock until his tight hairy balls nuzzle my own. My dick never knew tight before, and I worry about Andy in the morning.
Cruz leans forward, putting his hands out beside us and pretzling my man in between. It was a lot of weight, and I couldn't move my hips to take an active role. Instead, I hold Andy pressed to me and let Cruz do all the work. I pull out an inch or so and feel Cruz's dickhead kiss my tip through the latex hood of a condom. It's something I hadn't done with Andy--I always kept our cocks from touching. And maybe the condom makes it feel different. Whatever, it sets something off in me because I go to town on Andy's mouth now, eating him from inside, trying to suck the life from him. I become that vampire. He groans in my mouth, making louder sounds than before, and I open my eyes to intensify my experience. I pull off his lips. Cruz is looking right at me, all concentration and focus. His long eyelashes and puffy red lips intensify his cocoa beauty. I look at Andy; he flashes a slutty, tongue-out smile as his eyelids droop. Can we do this forever?
Cruz picks up the pace. I smell sweat and sex, deodorant and lube. It's twenty degrees hotter in here. THIS is hot! Cruz grunts a rhythm, a pummeling serenade for each spark along my cock. Andy buries his face at the indentation of my clavicle and gasps--breathes--with the metronomic drive of Cruz's composition.
Our symphony of sex approaches its crescendo. Cruz has trapped my forearms against the bed. I see his eyes are closed: he is concentrating on the grand finale. I piston with him and squeeze to flex my muscle to remind him what's what. A loopy grin forms on his face, and he opens his eyes to look at me. He mouths something that Andy won't know: "You're a stud." I'm going to verify the truth of it because my unwrapped horse cock will blow any minute.
"Fuck, Scott." Andy sounds on the edge himself. He lifts his head and I look into his face. "I'm so fucking stuffed." Sweat drips off his nose onto my lower lip. Our chests slide together, our liquid abs an accordion around his fat rod. The weight of two teammates presses it into me harder, and I try to split my attention in an attempt to feel each cock. I am all nerve endings and throbbing sensation. It's time.
"I'm cumming!" Cruz shouts ecstatically. "Fucking A, guys! I...don't...want to....Gwaaah!" He keeps pounding a rhythm we match with each breath.
"Oh god, guys!" Andy squeezes his ass, somehow, and he arches his back, lifting his cock-rocket up and off my abs before slamming back down onto us. Up again. "I'm there!" And he shoots, steaming globs of cum that fly high over my face and then splotch my cheek as I turn, finally hitting a nipple and puddling in my abs. As he sprays me, his ass clenches with each shot, pinioning my prick and Cruz's semi. I don't want to give in. I have another mission, and I pull out once Andy settles down. Cruz slips out of his ass when I do; the rubber hangs looser now, his fluid release collecting in the tip. His eyes drift quickly to my meat, and he licks his lips reflexively.
I grab my cock and slow jack it, enough to keep it dark and plump. "Where do you want it?" I look in Cruz's eyes as my confidence surges. Rages. His eyes open wide and that grin turns upward.
Andy rolls off me over onto his side, his arm a kickstand for his head as he lounges watching us. I shuffle to the end of the bed, my motion backing Cruz onto the floor and into a slow crouch and soft roll onto his butt. He rips off the condom and fondles his balls. I am standing now. Towering over him as I stroke above his body, his steady gaze matching mine as my hand pump-jacks my cock like an oil derrick between us. His chest heaves, his dark caramel nipples stiffening into Hershey's kisses. And I explode, shoot on his face and neck before aiming lower, a grunt that echoes like a roar, my spunk hitting his clenched abs and, finally, his curly bush and flexing hand. I smell myself and watch with admiration as he brings his dripping fingers to his mouth and licks my pork juice. Still watching me.
I turn to Andy, who is up on the edge of the bed. He pats my ass proudly and then mock claps toward both of us. He stands and heads to his closet where he grabs two towels from his laundry, tossing one to each of us. I forgot I was covered in Andy, and I wipe myself carefully, aware of new desires beginning a dull burn.
But this show is over. Andy says something generous to Cruz then mentions our early wake-up call. Cruz thanks us with a little self-deprecation: "I don't expect this to happen again, but I'm glad we did." He is out the door before my panic returns. I am glad Andy is here to distract me. *****
A coda: I need to wake up in my own room in the morning, so I leave Andy's place about fifteen minutes after Cruz goes down to his room. A bunch of thoughts rattle in my head, and I have to make sure that this was OK, that we hadn't gone too far. Mostly I want him to know--and to feel for himself--that it was only sex with Cruz. Cruz the accessory that pulled our outfit together. But I am at a loss for words, as usual. And as always, he knows the score. He will conduct us through it.
"Thanks, Scott, for letting that happen. I always wanted to try it." He looks at me a little sheepishly; my heart can't get any bigger. "And I'm pretty sure you enjoyed it, too." The wolf--the one always hiding there--comes out now, a mouth full of teeth widening across his smiling face. I raise my eyebrows and shrug a bit-if you say so, it suggests. Then I let loose my own shit-eating grin and walk to take him in my arms, to rub his hair and to hold him while I kiss the crown of his head. You're OK, Scott, I think to myself.
And I am. And we are.