THRASHERS

Hey. Everybody seemed to like my first story - "Matt" - about a couple of nasty skateboarders, so here's another. Tell me whatcha think.

Thrashers

by Danny Nalgene

My name's Davin. Let me be so bold as to describe myself. I'm eighteen, and I wouldn't be lying if I said I had a highly fuckable body. I'm no liar. Interrogate any dude who hangs with me. They'll tell you I have a strict moral code about lying and shit.

I had my tongue pierced, but that didn't work out. I don't recommend it. It was like having a fucking wound that never heals. It was like being a woman for fuck's sake. And let me tell you, nobody needs that shit.

I've got lots of dings and pink patches on my legs and arms where I've picked at the scabs I got from various skateboarding spills. I can't help picking at them. I used to eat the scabs when I was a kid, but I don't do that much anymore.

I don't have much body hair, just some blond tufts in my pits, and some trailing down from my navel to my cock and balls. My cock is a real rager, man. Long and snaky. And full of spit. The wall behind my pillow is stained with all the cum that's shot past my head.

I owe my fuck-frame purely to skateboarding. It's gotta be. I don't do much of anything else. Some snowboarding around Mammoth or Big Bear, but that's a violent suck on the ATM. And some mountain biking in the canyons, but my bike's one thrashed piece of shit.

But back to my body. I'm not what you'd call overly tall. But that's okay, it makes my dick look bigger. Not that it needs the help, you understand. Long and snaky, you remember. I'm not skinny like I was as a grommet - I'm tight. Lean, slender, and tight. My skin is smooth and tan, except for my butt. I don't mean my butt isn't smooth, I mean it isn't tan. Take it from me, aside from a few road rashes, my butt is plenty smooth.

I don't know what it is, but my ass gets a lot of compliments. Girls seem to go out of their way to accidentally brush up against it. I can't say I don't like the attention. I've even dropped trow for a few of them. Given them a flash. They seemed to enjoy it. And I've poked a couple girls, and it was okay, but it's dudes that get my cock twitching.

My friends don't know I've got these faggotty ideas. And I don't put it up front like some of these dudes, so who's to know? But sometimes, when a couple of us dudes are tired and kicking back at the end of the day, sucking on some brews or smoking some weed, sitting so close our bare legs are touching, I'd just like to reach over and grab me a handful of long, skanky, skateboarder cock. But I'm afraid they'd pound me.

I'm not too experienced with dudes, I'm sorry to say. But one of the juiciest fucks I've had so far has been with another skateboarder.

It happened when this skateboarder dude named Dean was staying with me and my folks while a tournament was in town. He was a competitor - not a pathetic wannabe like me and my friends - and had just turned eighteen like me. As the skateboard club that we all belonged to was one of the hosts of the tournament, we all had to put up at least one dude for the three days of the event. Dean was mine.

I met Dean at the Amtrak station, and as I helped him pack up my car with his gear, my cock started to squirm in my shorts. He seemed cool. A regular thrasher like me.

Dean wore his knit beanie pulled down low, covering the tops of his ears like Spock trying to hide his Vulcan pointies. And though his pants were baggy and his Toy Machine t-shirt loose, the material would catch and cling as he moved, revealing trim, defined muscle. There was no hint to the form, size, or hang-style of his dick, but I had a good imagination. What can I say about his hot, smirky face? Its most striking feature was that I couldn't imagine it without my cock ramming in and out of it.

As we had to pass close to the event site on the way to my house, I took Dean by to check it out. I hadn't yet seen it myself. They'd taken over a couple of storage lots behind an industrial park and brought in all these killer half-pipes and railed ramps. Dean made me stop. The dude was mainlining adrenalin and had to try the place out. He started grabbing stuff out of his bags and told me he had a board I could use.

"They'll never let me in," I said.

"You're with me," said Dean. "Don't worry about it."

I'd thought we were just gonna armor up in pads and helmets, when Dean snagged out a couple jock straps and held one out to me. "I always wear one when I skateboard," Dean said. "You want?"

When I hesitated he said "Don't worry, they're clean. My mom just washed them." He pressed them to his face and gave a deep sniff. "Like Spring," he said, smirking.

I wished he hadn't done that. Something about seeing Dean with those bunched jocks in his face really did something to me. Blood started to dump into my cock.

I looked around as I took one of the jocks from him. With the car doors open, we were fully screened from anybody's view, but it still made me nervous. Nervous but excited. Surfers are used to changing like this, but for me it was a little strange.

Dean turned away from me and pulled his shorts and boxers down. Cool with being naked, Dean hadn't even looked around before dropping trow beside me. Though I couldn't see his dick, I got a nice view of the dude's succulent ass as he harnessed himself into the jock. I wanted to reach out and cup my hand around the sweet curve of his butt, but of course I didn't.

Rousing myself from my stupor, I quickly pulled off my shorts. My nervousness had deflated my cock a little, so it was okay if Dean saw me. I jerked the jock around my cock and balls, and pulled my shorts back on. There was a lot of room in the jock and I wondered if some monster cock had stretched it out. I couldn't be sure, but I think Dean gave a backward crotch-directed glance at me the fleeting moment I was bare-assed. I wanted it to be true, but I was always imagining shit like that.

A couple minutes later, Dean and me were tearing up the ramps. Doing kick-flips and 360s. I don't know what it was, but I was skateboarding like I was on fire. I could do no wrong. Even Dean noticed it.

"You're pretty good," the dude said, wiping the sweat off his neck. "You compete?"

"Me? No way."

"Well, you should think about it," said Dean. "Lot of dudes gonna be out here tomorrow who don't got half what you got. You've got attitude, and the judges like that. And you've got the perfect body for skateboarding. Not too tall like me." He snapped his foot down and his skateboard sprang up into his hands. "Me, I gotta work too hard at it. I've got too many handicaps."

I shook my head in disbelief. "You don't look like you've got no handicaps."

"Oh yeah, dude," he said. "I'm a regular Christopher Reeve out there."

We laughed and jumped back on our decks. Dean and me skateboarded for twenty minutes more, then headed back to the car.

As my parents planned it, Dean was gonna stay in my room and I was gonna crash in the motor home out in the driveway. I couldn't lose. At the very least, the idea that this guy had sweated between the sheets of my bed was sure to monopolize my whack scenarios for the next few months. But when Dean found out he was kicking me out of my room, he opted for the motor home. I put up a fight, but the dude wouldn't hear it.

Though he wasn't a pro or anything, I was sure I'd seen a picture of Dean in one of my skateboard mags. I rifled through my collection. I wasn't into buying much porn at the time, so some of the glossy pages were stained and kind of blistered where I'd shot-off, drooling over the thighs and asses of these skateboarder dudes. As I plowed through the stacks, I hoped Dean's wasn't one of the pictures I'd chosen to foul.

I was working through the second stack when I finally found it. The smile of Satan twitched on my lips. Dean looked hot. Totally fuckable. Caught in mid-air above the lip of a half-pipe. His taut ass right in the camera. The material of his pants stretched drum-head tight over his butt. And amazingly enough, I hadn't blown my wad over him. Looking at the photo, and realizing this dude was out in my driveway, I almost pulled out my rager right there and covered his glossy ass with gobs of my hot, thick spunk. But I maintained.

It was late and my parents had gone to bed when I slipped out of my bedroom with the magazine in my hand. Through the family room window I could see a light on in the motor home. He was up. My cock shifted in my shorts. I grabbed a couple beers out of the fridge and went out the back. I knocked quietly on the motor home's aluminum door. After a moment, the shade went up and Dean's lightly stubbled face appeared at the window. Seeing me, the skateboarder pushed open the door with his foot.

"What's up, dude?" he said. He was standing there shirtless, shoeless, his mesh shorts hanging loosely from his hips. He'd lost the knit beanie, revealing a tangle of unkempt hair.

"Hey," I said. "Thought you could use a beer."

"Come on in, dude," he said, nodding Zen-like. "As if I ever refused a brew."

In the few hours since Dean had taken over the 22-foot Winnebago, he'd made himself right at home - it was a total fucking rat-hole. Bravely hacking a trail for me to follow, Dean led me to the trash heaped bed. Making room for us to sit, Dean pushed aside some sweats and underwear, an empty Doritos bag, and a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich. But it wasn't like he wanted to spike me right then. Fact was, there just wasn't any other place to crash. The table area had been taken over by his several boards, extra hardware, and tools.

Dean put me at ease right away, making some joke at his own expense. We quickly downed our beers, going on the whole time about decks, axles, wheels, tournaments, girls, and snowboarding. And though Dean was always quick to ask what I thought, and seemed to listen as if I was some kind of guru, it didn't take me long to figure out that he knew way more about every one of these topics than I ever would.

In the middle of all this, Dean rescued his half-eaten - and now severely mangled - peanut butter sandwich, ate it, and slapped together another for him and one for me. He put his away as I was still working on mine, and when I offered him the rest of it, he ate that too. Watching that dude's mouth was mesmerizing me.

I sneaked back into the house for a couple more brews, and when those were gone, Dean broke out what remained of a pint of Jack, and we alternated sips.

Then, remembering the magazine I'd brought, I pulled it out and flipped it open across his lap. "This is you, isn't it?" I asked, showing him the photo.

"Oh, wow," said Dean. He yanked the mag out of my hand. "Where'd you get this? This is like nine months old or something."

Dean lingered over the photo for a moment longer, then turned his eyes on me. "How could you tell it was me? That's more ass than anything."

"I wasn't sure," I lied. "But it is you, right?"

Dean nodded. "When this came out my mom bought a big stack of the things. She sent this picture of my butt to all our relatives with our card at Christmas. But even she didn't know it was me until I told her."

I didn't know what to say. "Was hoping you'd sign it for me," somehow found its way past my lips.

"Sure, dude, got a pen?"

I didn't. "There's gotta be one around here somewhere."

As I started ransacking the driver's compartment, Dean continued to flip through the skateboard mag.

"You know," he said, "when I first saw you with this thing, I was hoping you were bringing me some whacking material. My dick could use a good pounding."

Blushing, I mumbled something, and continued to rifle the glove compartment. Finally, I came up with a pen. I hoped the ancient thing would write.

As I dropped back down on the edge of the bed, I noticed Dean examining the whitish stains on one of the magazine's many cum-encrusted pages.

"But I guess this will do in a pinch, huh dude?" he said, looking up at me with a grin.

While I was trying to think up a comeback that wouldn't result in him pounding me to a pudding - but wouldn't shut any doors either - Dean grabbed the pen from me and scrawled his name beneath his photo.

"Sort of hurts me, though," said Dean. "I look at all these pictures of guys you've jacked-off to, and then I look at mine and I think, How come I don't got no dried cum on my butt?" The corner of his smile turned up in a coy smirk, and he tossed the magazine aside.

I studied the skateboarder's eyes. They were surprisingly tender. I reached out and ran my hand across his bare chest, pausing to trace round his left nipple, and on down across his stomach. "Check again tomorrow morning," I suggested.

A single, small, but explosive laugh burst past Dean's lips. Dean moved closer and put his hands on me, as if taking possession. He found my nipples through the thin fabric of my shirt and gently rubbed them.

"Fucking, yeah," I said quietly. "I wanna fuck you so bad."

"Shit, dude," said Dean, running his hands under my shirt and thumbing the rivet-hard flesh of my tits, "From the second I saw you at the train station I knew we'd slamfuck. You standing there looking all shiny, and me looking like... well... me. Jesus, dude, I wanted to deep dick you right there in the train station restroom."

Dean stood and slipped his mesh shorts off, tossing them on the floor. His cock shot up, slapping his stomach with unexpected force. I was amazed it didn't leave a bruise. "Jesus, dude," I said, staring at the jutting monster, "Nice cock."

"Thanks, man," he said. "I kinda like it. But it's always nice to hear it from another dude."

He grabbed rough hold of his meaty shaft, and playfully bent it down till it pointed straight at my face. I ran my tongue across my lips. He let go and it sprang up and struck his stomach again, leaving a glossy smack of pre-cum. I reached up, and touched my fingertips to the slick, clear smear. I spread a snail trail across his stomach and then tasted it. I wanted more.

But before I could go after his weanie, Dean pulled me up to him and tugged off my t-shirt. He didn't waste time now with caressing my chest and stomach. He wanted me bare-assed. The naked skateboarder ran his hand under my waistband and I shuddered as his scabbed fingers worked their way through my pubes to my quivering cock shaft. He took his time getting there, but when he did he wrapped his hand around it and gave a friendly tug. "Is this for me?" he said. "Is this for me?"

I said that it was. But he fucking knew that. He withdrew his hand and dragged the shorts from my ass. I kicked them off into the clutter of his clothes. My cock bobbed up like a dolphin breaking for the surface. Stiff and wonderfully hard. It glanced against his hardness as it cranked to its full, erect height.

Dean backed up to get a good look at my body. His eyes playing over me, he grinned with a look of such innocent desire and nirvana that it made my dick jerk to a new level of hardness. I got a good, lingering look at his naked form. The dude could barely stand still. His body was near bursting with carnal energy.

"Just look at us man. Look at us standing here," said Dean, beaming. "Couple of fucking skateboarders with cocks that won't quit. Look at these cocks. Think of all the dudes missing out on this. What are they thinking?"

Dean stepped back toward me, and rammed our young bodies together. My skin slapped against his. He backed up and jerked into me again. It was just him and me in our own private homo mosh pit. Skin slammed against skin. Nothing separating us. I ground my dick into his, and he worked his throbber against mine. Our bellies grew slick with fast-leaking fuck-juice.

As the skateboarder crushed his lips to mine I could smell warm peanut butter on his breath. His tongue darted and fought with mine, sliding over and around and back again. Saliva flowed and drooled down our chins. I tasted beer and Jack, and Doritos, and more peanut butter, and something else. Something separate and distinct. I tasted the dude. How many guys get this close to another guy, I thought, how many learn the taste of another dude? I was drunk on this scruffy skateboarder.

The true buds that we were, we exchanged enthusiastic dick sucks. I took him first, and soon had him whimpering. The dude was emitting little cartoon animal sounds. For a moment or two I thought I was blowing Thumper. I snacked this dude's dick like I'd been doing it all my life.

As he bruised my young lips, I turned my face up and watched his expression. I get off on watching a guy's face as I slather his cock. I don't know if this sounds stupid nor not, but it makes me feel good to see the quivering kicks I'm delivering. Eyes closed tight, his trademark smirk turning the corner of his sweet mouth, Dean was blissing out. It made me proud.

Dean's cock began to buck in my mouth, and he emitted an animal moan - not a cartoon animal this time, but something deep jungle - and I knew what was coming. What I'd waited for. My lips tightened around the curving shaft, and I was sure I could feel the boy-stuff coursing along its snaking length before it erupted in my throat. I'd thought I was ready, but when the gushing, rich streams of warm cum shot into my mouth, I almost lost it. But only for a moment. I swallowed and swallowed and wanted more of the dude. I was like a fucking cum vampire. I wanted to drain this guy. And that's pretty much what I did.

Scrambling over my bod, Dean attacked my dick with his able mouth. Like he really wanted the thing. Like he was afraid it might get away from him. He didn't have to worry. I wasn't taking my cock anywhere. Jesus, he could do things with that mouth-tentacle of his. He had me clenching my toes so hard I was pulling up carpet fibers. The dude had some kind of control over that tongue like you wouldn't believe. My cock wanted to live in the warm recesses of his mouth. Yeah, live there and only come out now and again to piss - unless he was into that too. I wouldn't have put it past the nasty dick-suck.

Lifting the far corners of the thin mattress, we dumped the contents of the bed onto the floor at our feet and hopped back up on the bed.

Dean's slender, callused hands got busy all over my smooth ass, pulling and slapping, and working their way nearer and nearer my tight pink asshole. That was their goal. The holy fucking faggot grail. I grabbed the wings of his shoulder blades, and dug in, clinging to them as he worked a finger into me. Then two fingers. Then he climbed aboard, jackhammering away as tears streamed from my eyes. He stopped, gently licked the tears away, and continued to pound me.

The flexy, bendy bodies we'd developed during countless hours of skateboarding were a help as we attacked each other's ass in the cramped cave of the Winnebago. We went at it like Batman and Robin in the batcave. Quick, Robin, to the bat-pole! Holy ass-fuck, Batman!

Over what remained of the weekend, we frenzied ourselves on my skanky little bed, and in my parents' football field-size bed, and in the motor home again. Not to mention some light groping in the bathroom at the event. Dean even brought over one of his fellow competitors for a three-way fuck session - a skinny dude with a crowbar where his dick should've been. And we went through several jars of Jiff. Extra-crunchy.

Dean wasn't so rawly fucked that he couldn't compete, and even pulled down a few trophies. As I watched Dean performing out there in front of the crowd, jerking his skateboard up and down the pipes and ramps, I took secret delight in knowing that my cum lingered in his stomach, in his knotty hair, and up his ass. Everyone was watching him, but they couldn't see him like I could.

I'm thinking of entering a competition up where Dean lives, and hope his folks can put me up. Or maybe my parents will let me drive the motor home up.