To the Mat - Pt 3
To the Mat -- Pt. 3, by Swimmboy4@aol.com
This story involves sexual contact between young males. If such stories are not appealing to you, or it is illegal to read such material in your jurisdiction, please do not continue reading.
Cody was confused. It had been a few days since he'd spent that special night with Bryan, and while Bryan was relishing memories of that night, and wondering how soon it might be repeated, Cody was just plain confused. He remembered how two years earlier, he and Doug had experienced those moments of passion, when their lust for sexual release had resulted in male-to-male contact that had both exhilarated and frightened him. Cody recalled how shaken he had been following the encounter with Doug in their Indianapolis hotel room. For weeks after, he had avoided Doug as much as possible, afraid his older teammate would be angry about what had happened, and maybe take revenge on him. He feared perhaps he would be `outed' as a fag, a queer, a homo -- and that could be a death sentence for a college athlete. Sure, he could have countered Doug's claims with statements of his own -- about how Doug had given him a blow job that night, but would anyone believe his word over the team captain's? Doug had likewise pulled away from him, perhaps suffering from the same acute fear and dread. A few months later, Doug graduated and moved to another city. They had kept in touch for maybe six months or so, with a few friendly, non-specific e-mails, but as time passed, their relationship had faded.
Since then, Cody had avoided relationships with other guys. He'd had a couple of casual girlfriends in the past two years, but nothing serious. The other guys just assumed the handsome stud was `playing the field' -- little did they know how tormented he was, confused over his desire to be "normal, one of the guys", and the strange and wonderful feelings that welled up within him each time he thought about what he and Doug had shared. Cody had been careful to never let his personal feelings show -- yes, he had been attracted to a couple of his teammates since Doug's departure, but he had fought -- so far, successfully -- to hide those feelings. Now, a new source of torment had entered his life. Bryan. Sweet, tender Bryan. The young, innocent freshman was so open, so trusting, and so willing to share his bed and his body. Cody could feel two years of defenses crumbling, and it terrified him. "Concentrate on wrestling," he told himself. "Stay focused. Keep the grades up" As he prepared for the afternoon's practice, these thoughts were rushing through his head. Then, a smiling Bryan entered the gym, and Cody's mind began once again to stray...
"OK, guys, good work-out today," said Coach Weber. "Now, for tomorrow's practice, don't report here to the gym. We're going to work on some aerobic and cardiovascular training, so report to the natatorium, and bring your suits."
"What was that, Coach?" "The nata...what?" "Where do you want us to report?" "Our suits? Like suit and tie?" Such questions echoed around the room as several of the wrestlers began speaking at once.
"The pool next door to this building, guys! Natatorium -- n-a-t-a-t-o-r-i-u-m," said Coach Weber. "The swimming pool. We are going to swim tomorrow -- get your heart rates up, work on some aerobic stuff. So bring your swimsuits with you."
Several of the boys looked perplexed, but shrugged their shoulders and said they would dig out their trunks from the bottom of their small dorm or apartment closets. Two of the guys, including Cody, admitted they had not brought swimming gear with them to campus, but the coach assured them he would talk to the swim coach and probably find suits for them, as well as goggles. Bryan was excited about swimming -- since he'd arrived at Holden, he had not yet found time to try out the nice pool, he was just too busy with classes and wrestling practice. Cody was not so enthusiastic, finally whispering to Bryan as they left the gym that he didn't know how to swim. "Really?" responded Bryan, assuming Cody excelled at any and every sport. "Gee, Cody, don't be nervous. I'll show you tomorrow -- you'll be swimming like Michael Phelps in no time!" Cody smiled somewhat shakily, but the smile showed little confidence. "We'll see," was all he muttered as he hopped onto his bike and headed for his apartment.
The following afternoon, Bryan was running a little late. His last class was on the side of campus farthest from the gym, so he was usually a few minutes late to practice anyway. He reached the pool and followed the signs to the locker room. Quickly removing his clothes, he reached into his backpack and fished out his swimsuit -- the suit he'd worn for summer league meets. It was a Speedo, navy blue with the team name "Stingrays" in gold letters across the seat. "Man, it feels good to put this on," thought Bryan, as he relished the thought of hitting the cool water for the first time since August. "I've really missed swimming -- this is so great!" He rushed out to the pool deck, and hurried over toward where Coach Weber and his teammates were huddled by the edge of the pool. As he neared them, a chorus of snickering and laughing reached his ears as all eyes turned to look at him.
"A Speedo!" "Whoa, look at that itsy-bitsy bikini!" "Oh no, Bryan -- we can't look!" "Dude, that's the smallest Speedo I've ever seen!" -- these and similar comments filled the air as Bryan walked up to the group, suddenly feeling awkward and bashful. He hadn't had a second thought about donning his team Speedo. He was at a swimming pool, he was wearing a swim suit. Only then did he notice every other guy in the group was wearing the ubiquitous `board shorts' -- those baggy, droopy, `ayatollah' pants so popular with young men his age. Glancing at them, covered from navel to knees, then at himself, barely covered at all, he felt nearly naked. Self-consciously, he dropped his hands in front of his groin, trying to shield his `privates' from the stares and sidelong glances his small suit seemed to be generating. Coach Weber had just opened his mouth to say something, when a new chorus of wolf whistles and snide remarks arose from the group, as Cody and Jamie Knox came slinking onto the deck from the direction of the swim team's lockers, arms and hands clasped in front of themselves as they tried to make a quiet, unnoticed entrance wearing suits the swim coach had located for them. The swim team coach had donated suits from a stash he had of last year's varsity supply. The swim team was destined to receive new suits that fall, so the few old ones remaining from the previous year were available for distribution. Per Coach Weber's request, the swim team coach had indeed provided the wrestlers without swim gear for the day's practice -- brief racing suits, bright red (the school color), and looking ridiculously skimpy on the two muscular athletes' bodies. The hoots and hollers reached a crescendo as the two approached, their faces as red as the suits they barely wore.
"What in the hell is wrong with you guys," bellowed the coach, who was surprised at the negative reaction a swim suit could generate from a large group of college athletes. "What is wrong with the suits these three are wearing? You there -- Collins -- you've been having a good laugh -- what is so funny?"
"Well, um, Coach, it's just that, well, LOOK at those suits they are wearing! Sheesh -- could anything leave less to the imagination? Their `stuff' all out there for everyone to see and everything. Man, you wouldn't catch me dead in one of those tiny things!" So stated Luke Collins, with many of the others nodding assent.
Coach Weber glanced from one to another, shaking his head. "Gentlemen, there is nothing shameful or embarrassing about your male physiques. These three boys are appropriately dressed for a swimming workout. Rather, it is the rest of you who look ridiculous in those get-ups. Be that as it may, if that is what you've brought to swim in, so be it. I will be joining you for this session, though more to assist the lifeguards who may need to perform several rescues this afternoon, and I prefer to be comfortable in the water." With that, Coach Weber proceeded to strip off his tee-shirt, kick off his shoes, and peel down his sweatpants, to reveal he, too, was wearing a bright red team competition brief. The boys stared open-mouthed -- partly out of shock at seeing their coach so scantily clad, but mainly due to the sight they now beheld -- a 36 year-old male, a perfect specimen of masculine energy and fitness, with a body that had gained, at most, maybe five pounds since his collegiate wrestling days some fifteen years earlier. A stunned silence fell on the group, none of whom had seen so much of their coach before. Walking to the pool's edge, Coach Mark Weber dove neatly into the water, slicing into it like a warm knife into butter.
"Wow, look at Coach!" exclaimed Luke, stunned that a wrestling coach even knew how to swim. The crowd was silent as their coach swam an easy 100 freestyle, neatly doing flip turns at each wall. He stopped back where the wrestlers waited, then said, "Well, what are you guys waiting for? Hop in!" The wrestlers entered the water -- some doing silly cannonballs, a couple doing dives, most just entering feet-first, several rather timidly.
Bryan dove in and did a quick 100 free, loving the feel of the water on his skin, forgetting the momentary embarrassment he'd felt a few minutes earlier over the small suit he wore. Bryan paused next to his coach, who complemented him on his excellent stroke. As the two of them glanced around, they were both surprised to see how few of the other guys even knew how to execute a proper arm pull. "Oh man, Bryan," said the coach, "will you help me give these guys a few pointers?" Bryan assured him he would, and the entire group made their way to the shallower end of the pool. A few of the guys were able to swim some basic strokes, but at least half were relative novices in the water, and Bryan and Coach Weber spent the better part of the hour helping that group get accustomed to the water, and pick up a few general tips on stroke techniques. Bryan worked with Cody and Luke, showing them breathing, kicking, and stroke mechanics. Cody was especially nervous, and Bryan was forced several times to support both boys on their backs as they worked on floating and body position. Each time he held Cody, Bryan was amused by the way his friend's hips would rise, thrusting his `package' above the surface of the water. Bryan would never admit he'd used his leverage to raise Cody's hips just that high!
At first, Luke rejected any notion of Bryan helping him. "I don't want some dude in a Speedo putting his arms under me and cradling me in the water," he sputtered. But after several failed attempts to float, he finally surrendered some of his masculine pride and asked Bryan for help. By the end of the hour, most of the guys at least had the basic idea, and those who were more experienced in swimming had already started a few sets of 50 yard sprints the coach had assigned. Bryan easily won the sprints, though they were not really racing at all, just working steadily to increase heart rates. The slower learners did participate in some 25s, however, but because of their extra struggling in the water, their heart rates were actually higher than those of the better swimmers!
Finally, it was time to leave the pool. Many of the guys admitted they had enjoyed the workout more than they thought they would, and the coach told them they would be coming back to the pool perhaps once a week as part of their training. While Coach Weber exited the water to dry off and change, the boys remained for several minutes, practicing some of the techniques they had learned, or just winding down. Finally, the group climbed out of the water and headed back to the locker room.
"Well, that was different, I'll say that much," said big Bryan, the B-Man. Jamie, still in his extremely small and revealing Holden College team Speedo, started to walk by him, when B-Man suddenly wrapped a beefy arm around Jamie's chest and under his arms, then hoisted him several inches off the ground. "So, big guy, how did you like that little Speedo?" he said, as Jamie struggled to get free. Several of the boys gathered around the pair, always up for some good old-fashioned horseplay.
"Let me go, man!" yelped little Jamie, as he twisted and turned futilely in the bigger wrestler's grasp. B-Man only laughed, and hoisted Jamie even higher off the floor, thrusting his large thigh under Jamie, forcing the smaller wrestler to lean back, which thrust his barely-covered groin out. Jamie's tight, muscular torso was completely exposed, and his small swim suit had slipped down a little, exposing just a tuft of his dark brown pubes. Joining in the fun, Luke sauntered over and began to playfully tickle the little guy's exposed abs and sides, causing poor Jamie to squeal and laugh. The smaller wrestler was totally helpless, as B-Man outweighed him by perhaps eighty or ninety pounds of pure muscle. As Luke continued to tease his torso, touching and flitting his fingers softly over Jamie's body, Jamie began to feel a strange tingling sensation in his testicles. Luke's fingers continued to tease him, and once -- and then again -- they `accidentally' brushed a little too far down, swiftly, teasingly brushing lightly along Jamie's rapidly lengthening penis where it pressed against the suit's thin fabric.
"No, no," Jamie's mind screamed, as he realized what was happening. He was getting excited -- DOWN THERE -- IN A SPEEDO -- in front of his teammates! "This can't be happening to me!" he thought, as he tried without success to twist away from Luke's agile fingers. He fought to maintain control, but he knew it was no use when he heard those dreaded words...
"Dude, are you getting a boner in that little suit of yours?" said one of the chuckling observers. Immediately, a dozen pairs of eyes dropped from Jamie's face to his crotch -- and remained there, watching with amazement and amusement as poor Jamie's body began to respond to the torment his buddies were putting him through. And when Jamie saw that all eyes were on his groin, watching the show his genitalia had decided to put on -- without his permission -- he knew his body would not disappoint them. Instantly, he felt a new surge of excitement, as blood rushed to his sex organ, filling, plumping, then hardening it in a matter of seconds. Within moments, his erection was obvious as it strained against the tight, shiny red fabric encasing it. It was his worst nightmare come true -- totally exposed, totally helpless, and totally erect in front of every guy on the team. What was worse, he could feel the head of his dick pressing right up against the waistband, where he had just untied the drawstring a second or so before B-Man had grabbed him. Now, suddenly, he felt it happen -- his cockhead slip past the slightly loose waistband, and snake outside his Speedo and reveal itself to the waiting crowd. "Oh damn, he does have a boner, and he's decided to share it with us," said Luke, who had suddenly stopped tickling the boy, but whose fingers now hovered menacingly close to Jamie's hard dick. A movement of mere inches would place his fingers right on the shaft, or right on the pink head that was now winking at the admiring throng like a one-eyed snake that had come out of the ground for a breath of fresh air.
Poor Jamie was totally mortified, yet helpless to change his circumstances. He was under B-Man's control, held perhaps a foot off the ground, his legs kicking weakly while his upper body was immobilized by Bryan's strong arms. Luke was standing before him, snickering at his predicament, and now focusing everyone's attention on Jamie's hard, throbbing dick -- a dick that had made an uninvited appearance above the waistband of his small suit. Jamie tried to twist again -- but stopped instantly when he felt the waistband rub against the sensitive underside of his shaft, causing him to shudder involuntarily with desire. The guys around him had stepped a little closer, and now formed a semi-circle of ogling, horny young males who were themselves becoming aroused by their teammate's excited condition. Several of the guys were inadvertently touching their own manhoods, gently squeezing themselves, or plucking furtively at the fabric of their board shorts in an attempt to create a little expansion room in the wet material. As Jamie realized his own erection was generating similar hardenings in the young men around him, it only fueled his own libido, causing his cock to begin jumping and twitching with excitement. The small Speedo slipped yet a bit further down, allowing more of his boner to stretch forth, with now a good three inches of his `pocket rocket' protruding into the open air above the waistband. `Oh, no, no," groaned the helpless wrestler, as he now felt dampness on his cockhead. Glancing down shamefacedly, he could see a large drop of precum oozing from his piss slit, glistening in the light as it clung to his mushroom-shaped cap.
The other guys were now nearly beside themselves, their own sex-drives revving into high gear at the site of one of their own so erect, so sexually charged. The corner of the locker room had grown warm, and quiet, as each wrestler became lost in his own needs, his own desires. Only the faint gasps from Jamie, as he still struggled to free himself yet also maintain control of himself, could be heard, though each boy would have sworn the pounding of his own heart was deafening. And then it happened. Luke, entranced by the sight before him, tentatively reached out and gently brushed his index finger across Jamie's slick knob. And with that, Jamie lost all control. His dick throbbed mightily, then, trapped against his lower belly by the suit, began spewing his jizz upward in ropy white arcs onto his chest and tummy, even splashing onto B-Man's brawny arm.
"Oh, fuck..." sighed one witness, as another said, "Damn, look at the kid spooge himself." Luke simply said, "Look at him shoot his load," as Jamie continued to ejaculate jets of white-hot sex juice, coating his muscular torso with ribbons of his own cream, one drop landing directly on his hard brown left nipple.
Suddenly, a voice from nearby called out. "You guys coming yet?" It was Coach Weber, who had popped his head through the door at the far end of the locker room. To no one in particular, Jeremy Gasconde quietly stated, "One of us just did," a statement that caused several of the other guys to laugh nervously. Too far to see what was happening, the coach simply stated, "Hurry up and change! I want to meet with the team briefly before we end practice for the day."
The spell had been broken -- shakily, the group pulled apart as B-Man lowered his weakened and drained smaller teammate to the floor. Quickly, Jamie tucked his still-seeping cock into the small suit as best he could, then ran into the nearby showers to clean off, refusing to look either right or left as he went, his face beet red. The other athletes hurried to their lockers, trying their best to hide the large tents in the fronts of their own suits. Conversation and crude jokes soon returned, as each tried to put aside the unusual events that had just transpired. Yet some of them did not attempt to put aside all such memories, but instead locked them away in the darker corners of their minds, knowing that later that night, there would come a time to replay the scene that had unfolded before them, to relive the events, and to enjoy themselves in that way young, healthy males in their prime so often do.
Gathering back at the bleachers on the pool deck, the coach began telling the group about the next week's schedule, including the season opener against cross-state rival Terre Haute Tech. Suddenly, he stopped speaking, and walked over to where Jamie sat quietly in the front row. Placing his palm on Jamie's forehead, he said, "Knox, are you feeling well? You look a little flushed, maybe a little drained." The comment brought a round of snickers and guffaws from the assembled athletes. Luke piped up, saying, "Uh, yeah Coach, the swim workout really drained the little guy -- it was a bit more than he bargained for." More laughter ensued, causing the coach to look at the group with a puzzled expression. "I'm...I'm alright coach. I'm fine," said Jamie. The coach concluded his talk, then dismissed the team.
As the group was leaving, Luke Collins hurried over next to Jamie and fell in step beside him. Once outside, he paused, and asked Jamie to stop for a moment. "Um, Jamie, I just wanted to say something to you. I wanted to apologize for, well, you know, for what happened back in the locker room. I can't really explain it, I mean, well, we didn't mean to do anything...I mean anything to hurt you or embarrass you or anything. I don't honestly know what came over me, tickling and touching you that way, and, well, making you get so excited and everything. I'm just sorry that things went farther than they should have."
Jamie pursed his lips, then looked up into the taller boy's eyes. "Luke, I know you guys meant no harm, but it was so humiliating. I honestly don't know how I can face any of guys again. I am so ashamed, and so embarrassed." When he finished speaking, Jamie just hung his head, a look of resignation on his handsome face.
Putting an arm around Jamie's shoulder, Luke spoke honestly to his teammate. "Jamie, we all just got a little excited -- hell, you weren't the only guy in that group with a hard dick. Every one of us was throbbing, ready to pump. It was just so, well, stimulating I guess is the best way to say it. You in that little Speedo -- damn, Jamie, I'm straight, at least I was until this afternoon, but you looked so fuckin' hot in that swimsuit, so, well, sexy is the best word I can think of. I...I can't really explain it, maybe it's just your nice physique, the way that little suit just exposed your body to public view. It just got me, and I think many of the guys, sort of worked up or something. Now I can see why society frowns on Speedos so much -- damn, if more guys like you wore those little things in public, it might drive most all of us `straight' guys over to the other side of the tracks, if you know what I mean."
Jamie had to chuckle at Luke's remarks, as he shook his head smiling. Luke continued, saying, "Listen, man, don't feel upset about what happened. I can promise you NONE of the guys on this team think anything bad about you. Hell, Jamie, we love having you on our team! You have no idea how many guys on this team look to you to spark our energy when we are behind in points. Your enthusiasm, your dedication -- everyone loves that about you. It's not you who has to worry about facing us -- we are the ones who should worry about facing you, and we can only hope you will accept us as your teammates, and not be angry with us for what happened in the locker room. Do you think you can forgive me, forgive us?"
Jamie smiled shyly, then nodded his head, saying, "Yeah, let's just forgive and forget. We've got Tech to face next week -- no use worrying about the past!" The boys walked on across campus, Luke resting an arm fondly around the shoulders of his smaller friend.
The following week, the team continued to train hard for the upcoming meet on Friday against Tech. It was the season opener, and all the guys were really pumped about their matches. The team from Tech was unpredictable -- one year they were up, loaded with tough talent, the next year they were down. Rumor had it they'd had a good recruiting season, but as this was the first meet for both teams, nobody had any `advance' information on what to expect. But the team that strode into the Holden College Gymnasium was nothing the Holden boys were prepared for. Somehow, the Tech coach had recruited a few guys from Eastern Europe -- and these were men, not college boys. While Division I colleges had strict limits on athlete eligibility, few limits existed at the lower divisions. The Holden boys found themselves facing a team stacked with tough, grizzled men -- men with suspiciously muscled bodies, surly attitudes, and vicious demeanors. "Who are those guys?" whispered Carter Jacks to senior Mark Jamison. "Are they collegiate wrestlers?" Mark just shook his head, wondering.
Before the meet, both teams had to report to the locker room for a weigh-in, supervised by the referee. Weigh-ins were always a trying time for wrestlers -- a pound over weight and you would be ineligible to wrestle in your weight class. Years ago, wrestlers had literally done almost anything to insure they would `make weight' -- they would get onto scales in another room just before the official weigh-in, and if they were over, they would only have a short time to quickly drop the extra pound or two. Some would wrap themselves in heavy sweats, and exercise to near-exhaustion, wringing the pounds out of their bodies in sweat. Some would hurry to the bathroom, gagging themselves to purge their stomachs of any excess food. Diuretics were taken -- and abused -- in an attempt to lose that last pound. The situation had become so drastic that colleges and high schools and finally stepped in, monitoring athletes' behavior in an attempt to protect their health. This had forced wrestlers to be more careful, more watchful over what and when they ate, how they exercised, how they monitored weight gain and loss. Now, as the teams from Holden and Tech lined up, there was little concern of being over.
The teams had their line-ups set in advance, and each wrestler would get a chance to see his opponent as they made their way to the scales. The smaller guys went first, and all went well. It was in the middle and upper weight classes that things got ugly. Bryan Carmichael was not scheduled to wrestle that day -- Cody would be wrestling in the 174 pound class, and he was summoned to the scale. His opponent was called -- the first name was Boris, the last was something the ref could not seem to pronounce. From the Tech team stepped a man with hard features and cold, empty eyes. He walked up and stood next to Cody, sizing Cody up and down, smirking, then blatantly spitting on the floor only inches from Cody's bare feet. Cody stood silently, his singlet covering him. Boris was also in a singlet, but when he was called first to the scale, he yanked the singlet down and stepped out of it, completely naked. And every eye in the room was on him as he stepped onto the scale. They could not help but look, for between his legs swung a massive cock -- certainly the largest in the room. Cody had never seen a `larger' man, and despite himself, he began to feel his own body respond awkwardly, his penis beginning to stretch inside his own gear.
The ref meanwhile was taken aback -- he couldn't help but look -- for a few moments -- but then, regaining composure, he stated the wrestlers needed to be clothed for the weigh-in. An assistant had already set the scale, and found the man to be at exactly 174.0 pounds, but the ref was insisting the athlete must be clothed, and the singlet might nudge his weight over the maximum allowed. The Tech coach stepped up, demanding his wrestlers could indeed be weighed in the nude -- the rulebook, which he suddenly produced from his pocket, stated "the athlete should be weighed prior to the match in an undergarment of his choice." The Tech coach pointed out that the rule said "should", not "must", therefore allowing the athlete to be naked if he so desired. Several minutes of consultation between the ref and others ensued, and finally it was determined that nudity was allowed.
The wrestler named Boris had been waiting, completely naked, the entire time, standing on the scale facing Cody. He had noticed the stirring in Cody's singlet, and was now playing mind games with the college junior -- occasionally reaching between his legs, hefting and scratching his large sex organ, sometimes pointing it in Cody's direction, smirking at Cody, intimidating him, threatening him. Cody had never been so blatantly -- and sexually -- challenged by another wrestler, and he was not prepared for such behavior. It angered him -- but also scared him a little -- to be so directly challenged. It was as if his opponent was taunting him, threatening him with - what? Threatening to sexually dominate him -- to, to even rape him on the mat? As Cody watched, half mesmerized, the man's long organ began to harden and stiffen, pointing straight at Cody like a missile or weapon that the crude man was planning to use on the handsome college boy. Cody found himself both shocked and aroused, amazed the brute would care nothing for the fact that a room full of athletes, coaches and refs would see him so sexually excited while totally nude. Boris was trying to intimidate Cody, and it was working.
The weigh-in was finally completed, and the wrestlers began stretching and preparing for the meet. A crowd of parents, friends, and fans began to filter into the gym, taking seats in the bleachers along the walls. The match began well for Holden -- both Jamie Knox and Joey Mangini topped their opponents in points, though neither managed a pin. Freshman Zach Crisswell was next on the mat, and he faced one of the scowling Slavic wrestlers -- a man who was wiry and agile, and looked to be well into his twenties. Zach had been a highly ranked wrestler back home, but he was no match for the trained, rugged brute he now faced. The man would lock his arms around Zach and simply refuse to let go -- despite being warned for stalling by the ref. A couple of quick moves, and he scored one, then another take-down in quick succession. Zach did his best, even scoring a point for an escape, but this only seemed to anger his foe, who now began to take the match to another level. He suddenly swept Zach off his feet and slammed him viciously to the mat. Zach tried to escape, but it was no use. His opponent was stronger, and had excellent timing. He gained the upper hand and about halfway through the second period, he had Zach on his back, struggling futilely, desperately twisting his upper body, trying to prevent his shoulders from being pinned. As the ref hurried to reposition himself for a better view of Zach's shoulders, the brute -- knowing the ref was not looking -- delivered a quick, nasty punch to Zach's kidney area, causing the boy to wince in pain and gasp for breath. And just like that, the ref slammed his hand to the mat -- Zach had been pinned.
Coach Weber, who had seen the punch, protested adamantly to the referee, but the man could not call what he didn't see. So the match moved forward, with Josh Rettig narrowly losing to his opponent by a score of 8-7. Carter Jacks also ended up on the losing end, 8-4. Luke Collins was next on the mat, facing another of Tech's `imported' wrestlers. Luke was ahead going into the third and final period, but suddenly, his foe performed a wrenching move that seriously twisted Luke's right leg, causing the young wrestler to groan in agony and sink to one knee, unable to stand. The referee stopped the match while Holden's team manager, trainer and Coach Weber rushed to Luke's side. The boy was in agony, desperately trying to hold and massage his upper thigh region, the victim of a groin pull. Unable to continue, Luke had to forfeit his match.
Then came the match between Boris and Cody. >From the very start, everyone knew it would be a brutal, bruising clash. The European had no reservations about attacking, sweeping at Cody, trying to trip him, to throw him, to hurt him. Cody was able to avoid the charges at first, but soon the quick foreigner made a sudden dive, wrapping his large arms around Cody's thighs and lifting him high with relative ease, then slamming him forcefully to the mat. Momentarily stunned, Cody found himself in danger of a pin -- only at the last second was he able to spin out and escape the grasp that had been so crushingly tight only moments ago. With another quick spin, Cody had scored a reversal, and the score was tied 2-2. But try as he night, Cody could not get a good hold on his opponent, who slipped from his grasp like an eel, then, enraged, charged at Cody with such force that he literally lifted Cody off the mat and hurled him outside the legal circle, where he landed with a thud on the hard wooden gym floor just off the edge of the mat. Bruised and shaken, Cody stumbled to his feet, only to be once more swept off his feet and thrown to the mat -- hard -- on his back. Cody was dazed and weakened -- he had never in his life faced someone so strong, so undisciplined, so ruthless. He could hear and see his teammates, especially Bryan, cheering him on, yelling his name. He tried to draw strength from that, and began to struggle against his tormentor. He was certain the first period must be nearly over, but couldn't see the clock. Suddenly, he found himself in a death grip -- Boris was atop him, forcing his shoulders to the mat. In desperation, Cody arched his back, doing a back bridge, raising his shoulders off the mat a few inches, just enough to prevent the pin. He was near the edge of the mat, and suddenly heard Bryan's voice in his ear -- "Just twelve seconds, Cody -- hold on!" Bryan was telling him only a few seconds remained in the period -- Cody knew he could hold the bridge for twelve seconds -- what was it now? Ten? Eight? Six? Yes, he could hold out -- until, in a rage, Boris brutally slammed his arm into Cody's upraised, exposed crotch -- causing the Holden athlete to collapse in agony to the mat, as Boris smirked above him, pinning his shoulders.
But instead of the ref's hand smacking the mat, the ref's whistle blasted shrilly, for he had witnessed the vicious smack on Cody's genitals, and immediately disqualified the Tech wrestler, giving Cody the win. But Cody could only lie on the mat, wincing in pain, holding his hands over his groin, trying without success to ease the sickening pain Boris had inflicted on his privates. Coach Weber and the team trainer, who had been trying to tend to Luke, now ran to Cody's aid, though there was little either could do. The fans were in an uproar, Holden's team was out of their chairs yelling and shaking fists, and Boris, furious with rage, stormed off to his team's side of the gym. In blind anger, he grabbed the edge of a table and flipped it into the air, sending coolers of water, Gatorade, paper cups, bandages, and other items flying in all directions. Unintelligible words and grunts flew from his lips as he cursed and swore at the "stupid American judge", as he called the referee. His own coach and teammates backed away from him, afraid to draw near and incur his wrath. As things finally began to settle down, the match continued, with Mark Jamison narrowly losing by just one point. "B-Man" Bryan Bingham was last up, and he scored a victory for Holden, but it wasn't enough, and Holden fell to Tech for the first time in a decade.
The Tech team quickly exited the Holden gym, not even showering -- they simply put their sweats on and hurried to their waiting bus, even avoiding the traditional meet-ending round of handshakes. It seemed nobody was in the mood to shake hands anyway, judging by the scowls and catcalls so prevalently seen and heard in the gymnasium. Tech's coach briefly knelt next to Coach Weber and whispered a short apology for his wrestlers' unsportsmanlike behavior, then he reached down and softly squeezed Cody's shoulder as a way to apologize for the `below-the-belt' attack the youth had suffered. Then he and his team were gone, leaving pandemonium in their wake -- fans and family in consternation, a ref wondering where and how to file protests, and two Holden athletes injured.
Bryan Carmichael rushed onto the mat and sat down next to Cody, who had finally caught his breath, though he was still gingerly covering his injured maleness, trying to gently rub away the pain while not appearing to be fondling himself in a public place. Bryan whispered to Cody, "What can I get you? A bag of ice? Should I bring the team trainer over here? How can I help you, Cody?"
Cody smiled weakly, then shook his head. "I think I'll be alright -- in a little while. But my nuts'll be sore for a day or two!" Just then, the team trainer -- a grad of Holden's kinesiology program -- stepped over to Cody and suggested he be examined in the back room. But Cody insisted he was feeling better, and promised to contact the Sports Medicine department on campus if he noticed any lingering pain or bloody emissions from his male organ. Bryan helped Cody to stand, and together, the two of them headed for the team lockers and showers. But on the sidelines, Coach Weber, after assuring himself that Cody was alright, turned his attention once again to Luke, who was still suffering terrible groin pain. The trainer offered to help him, but Luke said, "It's OK -- Coach will look after me." The coach instead told a couple of the wrestlers to escort Luke back to the small prep room next to his office where the massage table was located. As the team walked in groups of two or three back to their locker room, Mark Weber hurried to the prep room to check on Luke Collins.
"It just really hurts, Coach, really bad," gasped Luke, as he tried to massage his own upper thigh and groin area. Still clad in his wrestling singlet, Luke was struggling to slip his hand into the leg opening and up along his own thigh, trying his best to ease the pain. The coach stepped up next to him and gently pulled his hand and arm away.
"First, let's strip this singlet off you," said the coach, slipping the shoulder straps down along Luke's muscle-packed upper arms, then sliding them over his hands. Luke was standing next to the table, so it was easy for the coach to then grasp the athlete's uniform by the sides and tug it downward, past his hips, allowing the red outfit to fall to the floor. Luke now stood before his coach in just his wrestling shoes and a pair of light gray CK bikini briefs. "Can you hop up onto the table, Luke?" he asked quietly. When Luke was seated on the table, his coach knelt before him and untied, then removed his shoes and socks. "Now, please lie back for me," Coach Weber stated. "I've treated such injuries more times than I can count, and I know exactly how to make you feel better." Luke stretched out on the massage table, and Mark Weber placed his warm hands directly on Luke's right upper thigh. He then began kneading the taut muscles, firmly and deliberately isolating various tendons and muscles in the young man's thigh, then expertly squeezing and soothing the injured area. He worked the quadriceps, then lifted Luke's knee and began massaging the hamstring area, before slipping his hand further up the large thigh. Now, he began to massage the adductor muscles. Using just one hand, the coach softly but firmly massaged along Luke's inner thigh, starting at the knee and going toward the pubic area. As his hand approached Luke's `private parts', he cupped the full pouch of Luke's bikini and gently lifted the athlete's genitals up and away with his left hand, while his right continued the soft massage. Luke remained quiet on the table, though his heart did begin to pound when he felt his coach's hand lifting and holding his male organ safely aside as the massage progressed. Slowly, the pain began to ease as the coach allowed his thumb and fingers to work the sore, strained muscle. This went on for several minutes. And during this time, Luke's bikini-covered sex organ remained safe and snug, clasped in Coach Weber's large hand.
Luke could feel the pain easing, but he could also feel something else -- a growing sense of arousal as he lay on the table, his very maleness cradled by the coach. The erotic symbolism, the very intimate nature of the way Coach was touching him, began to impinge on Luke's thoughts, and he felt a blush spread across his cheeks as he realized his male organ was beginning to stir within the small bikini pouch. As the coach's fingers tenderly rubbed his sore muscle, easing the pain, Luke's `love muscle' began to force itself to the forefront of his attention. It continued to stir like a snake awakened from a bask in the early spring warmth, moving, growing, slipping, lengthening beneath the thin cotton of his little bikini. Luke wanted to control it, to keep his straining organ in check, but he knew it was no use -- Coach could feel the beast straining in his hand -- could sense the growing, surging power of the wrestler's cock.
Mark Weber had known this would happen. He had known it from the moment Luke had said those fateful words, "Coach will look after me." For you see, this had happened before -- seven times to be precise. As a freshman, maybe two months into the first semester, Luke had injured his left hip during a training mishap. It had only been bruised, but Luke had insisted Coach should look at it -- he had come to Mark's office and stripped to his Hanes `tighty-whities' briefs so the coach could assess the injury. A cursory exam told him nothing was seriously wrong, but to appease the worried kid, he had stretched him on the massage table and gently began to rub the area for a couple moments. Almost instantly, Luke was sporting a long, prominent erection which began to throb and twitch in his underwear. The boy insisted the pain had somehow `moved' to the front of his hip, causing Mark to now begin massaging the left front of Luke's hip, his hands and fingers mere inches from the athlete's hard-on. The more he rubbed, the more the wrestler moaned and sighed, but whether from the relief of pain or for some other reason, Mark wasn't sure. Suddenly, Luke had twisted his lower body slightly, sliding his hips an inch or two to the left -- leaving his coach's hands directly on his hard shaft. Mark had quickly withdrawn them, only to have Luke say quietly, "No, please don't stop. Not yet." Lowering his hands again, Mark had proceeded to gently rub and fondle the priapean offering, basically masturbating the young stud until he had ejaculated a large, sticky load of cum that soaked the front of his snug underpants. Though he had known it was wrong to touch his youthful charge -- a member of his team -- in such a blatantly sexual way, Mark had been unable to resist. His years of self-denial, his enforced celibacy, his wall of resistance, had been breached by an eighteen year old boy in a pair of white briefs.
Immediately, Mark had felt utter shame and humiliation, and he had stammered a profuse apology to the teen, claiming it was all a mistake, he had never meant to touch him so intimately, it would certainly never happen again, please forgive him. Before his eyes, Mark saw his coaching career coming to a crashing end, his name in the papers for molesting a student who had turned to him for aid, perhaps facing jail time for his crime. His life was over, his name ruined, all for what -- one simple jerk-off he'd performed on a boy who had trusted him, needed him. He was, therefore, astounded, when a smiling Luke had sat up, hopped off the table, retrieved a pair of shorts out of his gym bag and pulled them over his soiled underwear, and turned to him, saying, "Thanks, Coach -- I'm feeling lots better now. See you tomorrow." And with that, Luke had walked out of the prep room, whistling a tune on his full, pretty lips.
That evening some three years earlier had been one of total fear and confusion for Mark Weber. Had he been `busted' by Luke? Was Luke at that very moment recounting the massage table events to a listening police officer, perhaps with a tape recorder running, documenting what had transpired between coach and athlete? Mark had not slept that night, tossing and turning, expecting the tell-tale pounding on the door at midnight, then 2 a.m., then 4 a.m. for certain. But there had been nothing -- no police, no call from the Athletic Director -- nothing to indicate anything was awry. The next day had been a Friday, and the team -- including Luke -- had shown up for practice as usual.
Afterwards, Mark was shocked when Luke came to him, explaining he still had some soreness in his hip, though Mark had seen no sign of this alleged pain during the hard practice Luke had endured that afternoon. Mark was unsure what to say or do, but did not object when Luke followed him to the prep room. Closing the door, Mark turned around to find Luke already stripped to his briefs, looking all innocent and sexy and horny as he waited by the table for Mark to come over and `massage' him. "Please, Coach -- you made me feel so good yesterday. Can you help me again today?" Luke said, shrugging his shoulders shyly, tilting his head to look at Mark, his eyebrows raised in sweet innocence. Mark simply could not resist -- for so long, he had denied himself the full pleasure of holding and touching another male. Now, here was prime, Grade A All-American beef offering himself willingly, eagerly. Mark realized that Luke needed to be touched, to be loved, as badly as he himself needed to touch and love. Mark indicated the youth should hop up onto the table, but Luke had other ideas.
"Coach?" said the wrestler, "I know I haven't been working as hard in practice the past few weeks as you'd like me to. I guess I've been slacking a little -- maybe being at college, away from home, partying more than I should, not really having my mind on wrestling the way I need to..." Mark started to reply, planning to tell Luke that his work ethic had been excellent, but Luke's next words silenced him completely, nearly causing him to swallow his tongue. "I, um, understand Coach, that you need to spank me for my poor behavior. I'll try harder Coach, honest I will. But I'm ready for my punishment." With that, the cocky teen dropped his head, a look of sad expectation on his face as he shyly glanced into Mark's eyes.
Mark realized immediately exactly what was being offered -- the chance to `spank' this `bad boy', to dominate him and be an authority figure for him. Mark felt a sudden surge in his loins -- the thought of putting young Luke across his lap and paddling his bottom had an erotic allure that Mark could not deny. However, he was stunned that this strapping jock would be into playing such a submissive role. Nevertheless, he led the athlete, still wearing his tight white briefs, over to a large sofa along the back wall of the room. Mark quickly grabbed a few items off a nearby shelf and set them on a small table near the sofa, then took a seat. Quietly, and rather shyly, Luke climbed onto the sofa and stretched his hard, muscular body out across Mark's lap, his plump bubble butt perched directly atop Mark's thighs, his heavy genitals snuggled down between Mark's legs. Mark began to gently chide the young man, swatting his tight ass firmly, but not painfully. "Harder, please Coach," Luke whispered. Mark increased the tempo and power of his striking hand, hitting Luke's right cheek, then his left. Luke still wore the tight briefs, and Mark enjoyed the feel of the soft cotton fabric as he struck the sweet ass that was offered to him. Soon, however, he had an idea. Slipping his fingers under the Hanes waistband, he slowly tugged the back of Luke's briefs down, slipping them down to the wrestler's upper thighs, leaving his tender white ass naked and exposed. Now, the coach could see some redness on those succulent globes, and soon his right hand was delivering blow after blow as Luke quietly whimpered, apologizing over and over, promising the coach he would be good from now on. Between his legs, Mark felt two hard objects -- his own cock stretching down his thigh under his boxer-briefs, and Luke's hard shaft throbbing against his upper thigh. Moments later, he felt a burst of warmth on that thigh, and realized his pupil had ejaculated a hot load of his fertile manseed. Within a few minutes, Mark was shocked to see the redness on Luke's ass had become angry red welts, and he felt ashamed that his spanking had become something more vicious, more painful. He stopped striking the boy immediately, and reached over to the nearby table to retrieve a tube of medicinal salve he had placed there. Squeezing some onto his fingers, he began to gently massage it onto Luke's sore ass, rubbing the creamy lotion across one cheek, then the other, alternating in a way to bring relief to the poor boy, whom he had never meant to actually injure.
Luke's promises to `be good', and to `do whatever my coach says' were quickly replaced by sighs and gentle cooing, as the healing herbs brought relief to his flaming ass. Soon, Mark's fingers were slippery with the goo, sliding to and fro from cheek to cheek. On a sudden whim, Mark tentatively, and very softly, slipped a finger between the mounds of that tempting athletic ass, gently probing, seeking entry to Luke's virgin rosebud. At first, the ass muscles clenched tightly, as if in defiance of this intrusion. But soon enough, Luke began to relax, and as he did so, his innocent hole began to loosen, and was quickly penetrated by a slithering, eager finger. Mark could not believe it -- Luke was actually allowing him to slide his finger into his quivering rectum. Sensing it was the boy's first time, Mark was gentle -- very, very gentle -- allowing Luke to become accustomed to this intrusion into unmarked territory. Mark began to wiggle his finger, teasing and feeling up into Luke's innocent chute while Luke himself was gnashing his teeth and squirming in excitement, and a little pain, as he felt the alien invade his most private place. Soon enough, Luke was writhing to and fro on Mark's lap as his excitement and arousal grew.
Mark could not believe his good fortune -- that this hot, handsome wrestler was allowing himself to be touched and stimulated so intimately by his coach. Mark could feel his own heart pounding as he worked the teenaged stud into a frenzy of sexual need. Luke was now becoming short of breath, gasping and squirming as Mark inserted a second finger. Reaching and probing still further into the boy's warm insides, he finally felt it -- a hard little knot -- and when he touched it, poor Luke nearly bucked off Mark's lap as his body began to quiver and shake. Again -- and again -- Mark probed Luke's sensitive prostate, teasing it, and driving poor Luke almost insane with desire. "Oh...oh...oh please...oh," was all he could say as his coach worked him over. Luke's cock was now completely out of control, drooling his love syrup in a continuous stream before once again shooting a hot, sticky load of semen -- his second emission in less than fifteen minutes! And still, the torment continued...
Mark could have teased Luke's cute bubble-butt all night, but the boy wasn't exactly light, and Mark's upper legs were screaming with pain after supporting so much of the jock's weight for the better part of an hour, as he had continued alternately spanking (but more gently) and reaming the horny teen. Then he had repositioned Luke on the sofa, knelt over him, and begun to hungrily rim the young satyr, lapping his tongue along Luke's sweaty crack, then pushing it between those glorious mounds and stabbing the tender opening with his tongue until it gave way, surrendering to the incessant pressure Mark's flicking tongue was administering. As he had finally gained oral entrance to the tantalizing love canal, Mark had become so overwhelmed with lust that he had shot his own hefty load of spunk into the front of his wet boxer-briefs. The oral action had also proved too much for Luke, who chose that moment to expel his third creamy load onto the sofa beneath him, which, fortunately, Mark had had the foresight to cover with a towel. Finally, he had allowed Luke to sit up and catch his breath. A noise from the hallway outside had reminded them of their location, and they had quickly dressed, with Luke saying, "Well, thanks again, Coach. I'm sorry I've been misbehaving -- I'll do better now that you've disciplined me. If I don't, well I guess you may need to spank me some more." And then, he was gone, opening the door and hurrying out into the hall, leaving Mark spent and shaken.
And then -- nothing. Luke had continued to come to practice, continued to work hard, continued to do well in his matches. But weeks went by, and Luke never asked the coach for any special `massages'. Mark was not totally surprised -- the holidays were a busy time for students at Holden, what with fall semester final exams and such. In January, the wrestling team had to come back early to campus -- at least two weeks before other students, though members of the swim and basketball teams were also back early for winter practice. Luke had not been `distant' -- he was the same outgoing, warm, friendly boy he'd been back at the beginning of the season -- but he just didn't seem interested in pursuing further relations with his coach. And of course the coach wouldn't dare mention anything to the student about renewing their special friendship -- he dare not endanger his job or reputation by recklessly pursuing the teenager. Mark noticed a pretty brunette was now always at Luke's side following their home meets, and he had seen the athlete walking across campus hand-in-hand with the same girl a couple times that winter. So, that was it, thought Mark. Luke had found a girlfriend, who was no doubt sating the youth's need for sexual release.
Mark had been terribly disappointed, but he understood. And, with much struggling and soul-searching, he accepted the situation, and returned to his lonely, celibate lifestyle. It was early spring -- the beginning of April to be exact -- and the wrestling season was over, although the team still did frequent light workouts to stay in shape. Late one afternoon, Luke had tapped on Mark's office door, then entered and explained that he had a `pain' in his shoulder, and he wondered if Mark would take a look? Mark's heart skipped a beat, maybe two, before he told Luke to come in and remove his shirt, which the brawny athlete promptly did. Mark was shocked when he moved behind Luke and placed his hands on the wrestler's shoulders, only to have Luke lean his head back against the man's chest, turn his pretty blue eyes up at Mark, and say, "I've missed your special touch, Coach."
The two muscular men -- one eighteen, the other thirty-four years of age, came together as one. In a frenzy of tugging, pulling, and ripping, Mark stripped the stud completely nude in less than thirty seconds. Once naked, Mark had begun caressing and stroking the young jock's hard body, eager to touch him anywhere, everywhere. But he was surprised when Luke had suddenly thrown his arms around him and pulled him close, holding him close -- almost squeezing the very breath out of him. Then Luke had pulled his head back, and looked deeply into Mark's eyes, choking up as he spoke. "Oh, Coach, oh, I...need...I need this so much." Mark felt tears of joy welling up in his eyes, and he could see Luke's eyes were red as well. Knowing the prep room was deserted, Mark led the big stud there through the doorway from his office. Making sure the hallway door was locked, he took Luke over to the same sofa where they had shared intimacy the previous autumn. And, just as he had some six months earlier, he again explored Luke's luscious young body, touching, licking, and sucking his way along biceps grown larger and stronger since the fall, abs grown tauter and more chiseled, and a cock which was gaining length and girth before his very eyes. Slowly and deliberately, he made oral love to Luke, while the boy clenched and unclenched his fists in a desperate and ultimately futile attempt to maintain control over his own body. But Luke realized soon enough that it was hopeless -- the man now fingering his horny chute while simultaneously licking the bulbous head of his swollen shaft knew exactly what he was doing -- knew exactly how to drive the wrestler to the very edge of sanity, and then push him over the cliff of physical ecstasy.
"Oh, Coach, oh...oh...do it,man. Milk that jizz out of my dick, Coach, please...oh, please, milk me, Coach, milk me dry," Luke whispered, as Mark stopped licking the hard shaft and began to stroke the wet, slimy rod from balls to tip. Within mere minutes, Luke's seed-laden testicles were stirring in their sac as the coach expertly administered a ball-busting ejaculation which drained the white-hot sperm from Luke's reproductive organ, leaving the boy spent and panting for breath.
Suddenly, Mark received the shock of his life when Luke reached forward and began to squeeze and play with the swollen meat hanging between his legs, though still covered by his gray sweatpants. Mark had not expected the young buck to reciprocate -- he felt certain the wrestler would not have been interested in an `older' guy, though he had no problem allowing the older guy to body-worship him. But here was Luke, now snaking his hand down the front of Mark's sweats, wrapping his meaty fist around the coach's rock-hard cock, teasing and fondling it adoringly, a look of wonderment in his eyes. "Oh geez, Coach, yours is so big, so fuckin' big..." said the teenager, totally in awe. Luke's horny words struck a chord in Mark, and the older man felt himself growing aroused quite quickly. He couldn't believe how eagerly his young athlete was groping him, touching his sex organ, playing with it, feeling it. Luke petted the hard shaft with the purplish mushroom-shaped cap lovingly, then wrapped his fingers around the tube of hard flesh, alternately squeezing it and rubbing it, creating sensations that were literally driving Mark into a heated state of sexual desire.
"Slow...slow down there, big boy," Mark finally said, feeling the orgasm that was quickly building within him. But Luke shook his head, saying, "No, Coach, I can't stop. I wanna make you squirt -- make you shoot a load -- just milk the fuckseed out of you like you just did to me. Please, Coach, please let me...please," Luke said matter-of-factly. Mark sighed. Who was he to refuse such a plea? Such an honest, open request? Mark smiled, then nodded approval, saying, "OK, OK, you got me all worked up. Might as well take me all the way." And that was exactly what the young wrestler did -- he proceeded to stroke and jack the coach's cock, scraping his fingernails up and down the long shaft, his face so close to Mark's dick he could feel Luke's warm breath blowing across his sensitive glans. Mark was wondering, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the teen would hesitantly open his mouth, stick out his tongue, and tentatively swab his drizzling cockhead, lapping up the juices Mark's overcharged organ was releasing in oozes and spurts. But it was not to be -- at least not this time -- Luke simply kept up his furious pace of pumping and rubbing and stroking and teasing until Mark's legs began to shake with the tension and excitement. As Luke's thumb rubbed Mark's so-sensitive undershaft, Mark knew that was it -- with a groan of ecstasy, his dick began to ejaculate thick gobs of his semen, which squirted out in arcs from his groin to splatter the floor around the two men. Mark was so overcome with lust and desire that he sank to his knees, leaning forward, struggling to catch his breath.
Then, just as had happened before, Luke was gone, hurrying back to his dorm, then getting caught up in the final weeks of the spring semester. There were finals to take, term papers to complete, and Coach Weber only saw Luke at the team work-outs, which were really just exercise sessions to stay in shape. Then came summer, and the athletes were back home working part-time jobs, vacationing with family and friends. Mark was delighted to receive a phone call from Luke in mid-July, just a quick `how ya doin, see ya in September' sort of thing. Yet it made Mark happy to know the big kid was thinking of him.
Luke's sophomore year arrived, as did Ashleigh. She was a young lady Luke had met in one of his classes the previous spring who had taken a strong interest in the boy over summer post cards and frequent phone calls. September found them constantly together, as did October and November. Mark could certainly see why -- Ashleigh was beautiful, vivacious, and extremely sexy, with a gorgeous figure and legs that seemed to go on forever. It was obvious how smitten Luke was -- he fawned over her, worshipped her. The few minor pains and strains he suffered in practice and early meets were handled by the team trainer, or perhaps by Ashleigh herself, Mark thought ruefully. But in late November, Luke was back in the prep room, sobbing on Mark's shoulder as he told how Ashleigh had dumped him for the handsome, blond quarterback of Holden College's surprisingly successful football team. Luke's sobs had quickly turned into pleas for discipline, admitting to the coach it was his own fault for losing Ashleigh, and that his `badness' needed to be punished severely.
And so it had gone -- for the remainder of Luke's sophomore year, and his junior term as well, the poor boy would come to Mark once in a great while, during some drought between girlfriends, to have a sore muscle massaged, or to be disciplined for some imaginary wrong. Mark, of course, realized the only sore muscle that Luke really had during his visits was a broken heart, but he didn't mind. He knew Luke had to play it `straight' with the other guys on the team. And, in his own mind, Mark believed that Luke considered himself to be heterosexual. Yet he also knew that once in a while, Luke's voracious need for sexual release would bring the wrestler to the prep room, where the two men would enjoy rare moments of total bliss and unbridled passion. Now, it was Luke's senior year, and Mark wondered what the coming months would bring. Would Luke finally find a campus girl who would become his true love? Would Luke admit that he indeed had feelings for another male, and entertain the possibility that perhaps he was bisexual? As Luke's groin pain eased, Mark found himself cradling the young man's genitals, warmly fondling them inside the light gray CK bikini. Knowing Luke was a senior -- knowing this would be his last year on campus -- Mark did something he never thought he would have done in his life. Releasing his hold on Luke's cock, he picked up Luke's right hand in both of his and, holding it tightly, looked into the surprised wrestler's eyes and stated simply, "I'm in love with you, Lucas Collins."
After the turmoil of the day's meet, Cody and Bryan had returned to the latter's dorm room to relax. They had just entered the room when Bryan's cell phone began to ring. "Hello?" said Bryan, not recognizing the return number displayed. A smile quickly spread across his face when he heard Edward's voice on the line. Edward knew via the Holden College athletic web site that the Holden team had their first meet of the season, and he had called to see how things went. The boys chatted for several minutes, and Bryan was greatly relieved to hear Edward's therapy was going well. "It seems I have self-esteem issues, according to my therapist," the boy told Bryan. "But my doctor wears bow ties and sandals, so I sometimes think he needs me to counsel him!" Edward had affirmed, much to Bryan's amusement. When the call ended, Bryan filled Cody in on the half of the conversation he couldn't hear. "I'm so glad Edward is doing alright," he said, and Cody nodded in agreement. "I sort of miss the guy, you know?" Cody smiled understandingly, then pulled Bryan close to him and hugged him tightly, saying, "I know he misses you, too."
Bryan asked Cody how he was feeling, if he was recovering from the blow he'd received earlier that day from his nasty opponent. Cody admitted his nuts were still a little sore, but otherwise he was recovering. Bryan expressed concern that perhaps the punch to Cody's genitalia had possibly caused an injury that couldn't be seen, and wondered if he should yet escort the junior to the health center or maybe a town doctor. But Cody assured him he would be alright -- he'd seen no blood in his piss, so felt sure he would heal satisfactorily. But he did have one favor to ask of his younger teammate. "Um, Bryan, since it does hurt a little to ride my bike -- you know how those bike seats can press against your `nads -- would it be OK if I stayed here with you tonight instead of riding all the way back to my apartment?"
"Of course, Cody," Bryan answered. "I'm glad you want to stay. We'll walk over to that pizza place again, and this time I'll treat you to dinner -- a reward for your battle wounds! Then we can just chill here in my room -- relax and maybe play some cards or a video game -- whatever you want to do."
"That sounds nice, Bry -- just me and you hangin' together. No place I'd rather be tonight," said the older athlete to his excited younger friend.