To the Mat

To the Mat Pt 6

To the Mat -- Pt. 6, Conclusion, 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.

"Dude, I need some extra cash -- FAST!" said Bryan Carmichael to Cody Fox, as the two young men walked across campus to the dining hall after a late-afternoon wrestling practice. "The stipend we get from our scholarship covers room and board and classes, but what about all that other stuff we need? Who's going to pay my cell bill? For my clothes? My new sneaks? My pizza bill when we go out to Marco's? Man, that money my folks send me once in a while just isn't cutting it! If I only had some other source of revenue..."

"I've got an idea," said Cody. "Remember `Todd the Bod' -- that senior on the swim team? You know who he is, Bry -- you follow swimming more than I do -- he broke the team record in butterfly against Muncie College recently." As Bryan nodded in recognition, he chuckled, remembering how he and Cody had nicknamed the guy `The Bod' because of his muscular physique, and the way he wore Speedos about two sizes smaller than decency would dictate. Oh yeah, Bryan knew EXACTLY who Todd was... "and I was talking with him in study hall a few days ago," Cody continued, as Bryan's brain suddenly caught up to the conversation, "and he was telling me about how he was scoring some extra dough off-campus."

"Wha...what? What did he say?" said Bryan, finally turning his full attention back to what Cody was saying. "Did he know of some off-campus jobs or something? Quick, tell me -- I'm desperate!"

"Yep, he told me of a place where maybe we can get some cash, but we gotta do it on the quiet side. Can't let everyone in on the secret," Cody replied.

Bryan looked skeptical, wondering if the suggestion involved something illicit, or even dangerous. Seeing a wicked smile on Cody's face, Bryan was immediately fearful of what the new job might entail. Suddenly remembering something he'd just read on the internet, he blurted out to Cody, "NO! No way, dude! I read about that porn service -- two wrestlers from a school in the Midwest just got booted off their team for posing nude on one of those sites, and, and, well, I think they did other stuff, like maybe jackin' off in front of a camera -- or maybe jackin' EACH OTHER off on screen! NO, Cody -- no way in hell would I do that, I don't care how much money they pay! Damn, Cody," Bryan continued babbling, as Cody walked beside him, smiling to himself, "damn it, you know how shy I am about nudity! It's hard for me to strip naked even in front of you -- and look at all the stuff we've done together! All the intimate stuff, and, well, the sexual stuff. And you always laugh at me because I still blush when my underwear comes off! I can't do that stuff on camera! I won't do it!" Bryan stated emphatically.

Cody just laughed out loud, amused by Bryan's sudden outburst. Finally regaining his composure, he put a comforting hand on Bryan's shoulder, then explained. "Well, it IS sort of sexual in nature, I have to admit. And I KNOW you'll have a good time doing it. But it does not involve performing on camera for a bunch of guys lewdly drooling over their monitors. It's more of a `banking' job."

Now Bryan was totally confused. "A banking job? What the hell are you talking about? What kind of banking job is available to us? You mean, like, working as tellers at a bank window?"

Cody just smiled and shook his head. "No, Bry, another type of work. You'll find out this Saturday." And that was all Cody told him, as he refused to answer any more of his buddy's questions.

Saturday arrived soon enough, and after morning practice, Cody took Bryan by the arm and led him to the parking lot where they climbed into a car Cody had borrowed from a campus friend. About thirty minutes later, they had reached the suburbs of Fort Wayne. Retrieving a paper from his pocket, Cody followed the directions he'd written down, and soon pulled into the parking lot of a modern, two-story building -- an office complex of some sort, Bryan realized, as he looked side-to-side for the bank. Suddenly, a small sign in one window caught his eye. "Midwest Cryobank Services". Cryobank, cryobank -- the word registered in Bryan's brain -- he knew he'd heard it before -- but where? Cody parked, and together, the two handsome athletes walked up to the door and entered. Glancing around, Bryan was surprised to see the comfortable, pastel-decorated waiting room with a pretty, friendly receptionist behind a window along one wall. It was very similar to a ... doctor's office. And suddenly, Bryan remembered exactly what a `cryobank' was -- a sperm donor clinic! His mouth open in shock, he whirled to face Cody, just as Cody greeted the receptionist and told her he and his friend would like to be screened as potential donors!

Bryan could only stare at Cody standing beside him -- he was too mortified to even glance at the young receptionist, who appeared to be only a couple of years older than the boys. Bryan wanted to say something, maybe to scream something -- anything -- and to grab Cody by the neck and drag him back to the parking lot. But no sound was forthcoming, and his body remained stock-still. Moments later, he found himself and his teammate seated at separate desks, pen in hand, staring at a six-page questionnaire. Like a robot that had been pre-programmed, he began to answer the questions. He wasn't sure WHY he was answering them. But he was afraid if he refused, that would draw unwanted attention -- stares -- whispers -- and he must avoid that at all costs. So he dutifully replied to questions about his health, his family's health, his ethnic heritage, socioeconomic characteristics, educational levels completed by himself and his parents, etc., etc., etc. >From time to time, he would glance across the room at Cody, who was busy scribbling answers. Soon, the receptionist came to him and escorted him into an adjoining room, where she took several facial photos, then a shirtless photo. When finished, she escorted him back to the desk where he had been minutes before. A short while later, the receptionist approached him again, and asked if he had completed the forms. Shyly nodding in the affirmative, he handed the papers to her -- and from her, he received a plastic cup, with lid, with a label for his name and special ID number. He stared at the cup blankly, unsure what it was for. Quietly, she said, "Take this specimen container down the corridor to Room 214 and, once you've deposited your specimen, leave the cup on the shelf by the sink. Then please let me know you are done, so I can retrieve the specimen, and you are free to go. You should hear from us in about four or five business days." She then thrust $75 cash into his hand. Bryan looked up at her slowly, and simply said, "Huh?" She repeated the instructions as Bryan slowly rose from the chair and walked dazedly down the hall, finally going into room 214. He sat down on a chair, noticed a stack of what appeared to be porn magazines nearby, but was simply unable to move. Instead, he held the specimen container in his hand and simply stared at it...

Cody had completed his forms and photo session a few minutes after Bryan, and had taken his container into room 217, just down and across the hall from where Bryan sat staring into space. Noticing the skin mags, Cody dropped his jeans and pulled his hefty cock through the fly of his boxers. Flipping through the pages, he felt himself begin to stiffen -- slightly -- at the images of voluptuous young women finger-fucking themselves, squeezing their breasts, and generally toying with their shaved twats and ass-pussies. Glancing further down into the stack, he saw something that made his heart jump, and his dick stiffen even more. A magazine with "Bondage" in the title showed a muscular, crew-cut blond stud -- in a wrestling singlet! He was shoving some little twink `emo' kid aside, as if to say, "Outta my way, punk!" As he began turning pages, Cody knew he'd found just exactly what he needed.

The next page showed the twink on the floor, glaring up at the muscled jock with a massive bulge at his groin, as he strode past. Then, the next page showed twinkie leaping on the back of the jock, holding a cloth to the kid's mouth and nose. Subsequent photos showed the jock `out like a light', only to awaken to find himself cuffed by wrists and ankles to a wall (though how the skinny squirt had lifted the heavy, ripped athlete up and cuffed him was, mysteriously, not shown). Now at the twink's mercy, muscleboy was in trouble. Flipping the pages faster, Cody followed the storyline -- as twink rubbed the stud's nipples through the singlet, the jock's hard cock began to grow and swell beneath the tight spandex fabric. And Cody's cock expanded right along with it.

Soon, jockboy was hard as steel, his dick threatening to rip through the thin singlet fabric -- so thin Cody could see the veins and flared cockhead on the kid's donkey-dick like he was naked. Twinkie had now stripped the singlet down, exposing the glistening, muscled torso of the stud, while he tweaked the hard nipples, even nibbling on the nubbins until they were red and tender. The hard, throbbing dick was still encased -- barely -- by the singlet, but the next photo showed a huge wet spot where the wrestler's piss slit strained against the material, the kid now so aroused he was oozing sex juice. And as the boy in the magazine oozed, so oozed poor Cody, who was now breathing heavily as he fondled his own stiff member. The next picture gave just a hint of things to come -- the singlet had slipped even lower, and the wet mushroom-shaped cap of the jock cock was now protruding above the edge of the singlet, pressed against the guy's muscled abs. Another picture and, like magic, the singlet was around the boy's thighs, his heavy nutsac hanging low, his dick arching from his groin, swollen, engorged, ready to just pump out a huge load as twinkie fondled the fat rod of his captive. More pictures -- twinkie licking the kid's cock-cap, tonguing his low-hanging `nads, nibbling and biting at his thick pubes, as wrestler-stud strained his cuffed body, his face grimacing in anger and ecstasy. The next photo set showed the twink smearing shaving cream on the studs thick, curly pubes, then manhandling the swollen cock to and fro as he shaved the cuffed stud, stripping his man-hairs from his pubic region, leaving him hairless and silky smooth above his cockroot. With shaking hands, Cody flipped yet another page -- or tried to, it seemed to stick a little. Finally separating the pages, which seemed to have something splotched on them, Cody opened the magazine to a vision of sexual climax. Wrestler-boy was simply unloading on the smiling, scrawny twink -- several photos, from all angles, showed the stud gushing his seed all over the fucking twink -- cum arcing onto the boy's upturned face, into his hair, shooting onto his chest -- just buckets of white-hot sperm shooting and dripping onto the kid, glazing him like a donut dipped in honey! And at that moment, Cody grabbed his specimen container in the nick of time, shooting huge gobs of his own spunk into the cup. He was sure the container would soon be full to overflowing as his organ twitched and pumped, again and again, and he struggled mightily to keep his randy shaft inside the container so he wouldn't shoot across the room, leaving his little tadpoles to slip and slide down the far wall.

Cody was sobbing with sexual release, still struggling to catch his breath, when he looked into the container, surprised to see it was only half full. "Damn," thought Cody, "I was sure I'd fill this thing to the brim." He snickered a little to himself as he pondered the notion that maybe -- somewhere -- there WAS a guy who could, indeed, fill the entire damn thing! Regaining his senses, he cleaned himself in the small adjoining lavatory, straightened his clothes, left the specimen container on the designated shelf, and headed back toward the reception area, his cash tucked safely into his front pocket. He smiled when he saw Bryan waiting for him there. Neither boy spoke as they walked toward the car. Cody started the engine, backed out of the parking space, then headed back down the road which would take them out of Fort Wayne and back to Holden College.

After a few blocks, Cody turned to Bryan and said, "Damn, I'm feeling good! $75 crisp, new dollars for a few minutes of jerk-off fun! Is this a great country or what-the-fuck!" Bryan smiled wanly, but said nothing. Cody continued, saying, "Dude, what ya gonna do with your `earnings'?" then chuckled to himself.

Bryan looked over at Cody, then quietly said, "Well, um, I don't have the money. I mean, well, I left it there." Cody hit the brakes, swerving quickly into a fast-food parking lot, ready to turn around and go back for Bryan's forgotten cash. Instead, he pulled up short when Bryan said, "I gave the money back. I, well, I couldn't do it."

"What? What did you say, Bry?" Cody asked. "Did you say you couldn't do it? Couldn't get the flag to full mast? Oh, dude -- I had no idea you'd have a problem on that front! They should've let us go into one room together! You NEVER have a problem `rising to the occasion' when you're with me! Damn, the friggin' loads you've squirted me with have been so huge, I was concerned they might need to give you two of those cups! Why, I was just thinking..." Cody happily babbled on, at first not noticing the look of consternation on Bryan's face. When he did glance over, he stopped speaking immediately, realizing something was terribly wrong. Gently, he reached over and took Bryan's hand into his own, and asked softly, "What is it, Bry? What's wrong?"

Bryan looked solemn as he turned in the car seat to face Cody. "Well, it wasn't that I couldn't, you know, perform, Cody. I could -- I mean, I could get myself hard and deposit my, um, my specimen, as they called it. But - oh, please Cody, don't laugh, please -- I just couldn't do it...for moral reasons."

A puzzled look clouded Cody's face, and it was his turn to utter the infamous phrase. "Huh?" he said.

Looking deep into Cody's beautiful eyes, Bryan explained. "I, well, I started thinking about, you know, babies and stuff. How would I feel if I walked down a street in Fort Wayne in a few years and saw a little boy with his mom -- and he looked JUST LIKE ME at that age? What if it WAS my son? Cody, someday, somehow, I think that maybe I might have a kid -- a son, or daughter -- or maybe a whole family of kids! I want to BE THERE for him, or her, or them! I don't think it's right for a child not to know his dad. If I am that dad, I want to know it! To be there, to be a dad -- not just some anonymous `sperm donor' who left a specimen in a cup one day. It just didn't seem right to me, Cody. Gee, I know you must think I'm a big fool, and maybe I am. I don't know, maybe I'm just old-fashioned or something. Anyway, I just left the cup on that shelf, with the cash next to it, and I walked back to the waiting room to wait for you. Then we left," Bryan said, as he shook his head and stared down at his lap, afraid to meet the gaze of the boy he loved, fearing he would see mockery there.

Instead, he felt Cody squeeze his hand firmly. Looking up, he saw only admiration in Cody's eyes, and his heart leapt when Cody leaned over, and, in the parking lot of a Burger King in Fort Wayne, Indiana, kissed his cheek, then whispered, "My God, if you only knew how much I love you, Bry. If you only knew..."

* * * * *

The team was preparing for the upcoming Divisional championships, scheduled to be held in Indianapolis in just two more weeks. The mood was lighthearted in their practice room -- for months they had sweated, lifted, dieted, drilled, lifted some more, practiced, swam, jogged, cursed, cried, vomited, and lifted some more. The freshmen boys had become solid, muscular young men, emulating the physiques, the outlook, and -- but to a lesser extent -- the maturity of the older wrestlers on the team. The squad had become a unified team, a team that worked together and played together.

The guys had become regulars at the campus pool. They had two team practices a week for aerobic development, and they often found time on their own to swim some laps, or sometimes just to hang together, playing games, racing and challenging each other, often just chilling with teammates and other friends. Although a couple of shy freshmen continued to cling to their baggy, billowy board shorts, the rest of the team had finally moved up to wearing racing briefs. According to Bryan Carmichael's keen `swimmer's eye', a couple of his mates had even downsized a little, wearing briefs that were, well, just erotically brief! Even the Holden swim team had noticed the effort and devotion the wrestlers put into their aquatic training, and many of the swimmers had `adopted' their school's grapplers as swim buddies, and worked with them to improve their techniques and training habits. The two teams had remained somewhat aloof from each other for many years, but now, a new camaraderie had developed -- and Mark Jamison had even begun dating the senior captain of the women's team back in the late autumn. Cody and Bryan had begun spending time with "Todd the Bod", the male swimmer who had first told Cody about the source of quick cash he'd discovered in Fort Wayne. Since Bryan was not interested in pursuing the extra revenue, Cody and Todd had become good friends, traveling to Fort Wayne two or three times per month to make their usual deposits at the cryobank. However, despite Cody and Bryan's difference of opinions on sperm donation, the two wrestlers had grown increasingly close over the winter.

Another relationship had also grown closer -- the one between Luke Collins and the team coach, Mark Weber. Luke had been wrestling superbly all winter, winning matches he would never have won just a year earlier. Though Mark Jamison was the team captain, Luke had become the emotional leader of the team, and the wave he was riding had carried his teammates to new highs as well. The coach admired the way Luke had stepped up to the plate, accepting his role as an inspiration for the Holden team, serving as a trusted mentor and confidant for others in need of an extra boost of confidence or courage. During practice, Luke was treated firmly, challenged with strict, sometimes punishing sets of drills and weightlifting and strength tests. But at night, in Mark Weber's off-campus home, Luke was treated far differently. By now, some of the team had become aware that Luke often spent evenings at the coach's home, though everyone believed it was for extra training and team preparation. None of them knew those `evenings' often stretched into the early morning hours, and that during those cold Midwest winter nights, their coach and their fellow wrestler were often clutching one another in passionate embraces as their bodies became one, and kisses led to heated sessions of lusty, rowdy sex.

One weekend night, just before Divisionals, Mark and Luke were snuggled in Mark's bed, and, as often happened, they had begun to playfully wrestle one another, each trying to gain the upper hand. Mark began to firmly pinch Luke's hard nipples, twisting and squeezing enough to cause perhaps a little pain, but more to cause arousal. From Luke's chest, he worked his way down the hard, solid abs, caressing and fondling as he went, until his fingers finally reached the thick, somewhat unruly bush Luke sprouted above his hardening shaft. "One of these days, I'm going to trim this for you -- even if I have to do it while you are asleep!" Mark threatened, laughing as he kissed Luke's hard pecs and teasingly ran his fingers around the student's pubic area.

"No, you can't," said Luke. "In the locker room, we all change in front of each other -- the guys would notice if my pubes were suddenly trimmed and all `prettied up.' Besides, I kind of like my messy cockhair -- makes me feel all wild and indomitable!" Both men laughed, but Luke's laughs quickly became grunts of pleasure as he felt Mark's lips find their usual place around his male rod. At first gently, then more forcefully, Mark began to nurse on the younger man's long, rigid sex organ, licking along the shaft, nibbling at the head, then engulfing it again and again until poor Luke thought his dick would literally explode from the swelling pressure of his approaching climax. As if on cue, Mark suddenly rolled to the side, pulling the young jock on top of him. Spreading his legs wide and lifting his knees, he whispered to Luke, "Fuck me. Fuck me now, just the way you like to." And without further adieu, Luke entered Mark, plunging his drooling dick into the warm recesses of Mark's waiting ass, then pumping wildly and forcefully until he spewed his precious seed into Mark's love chute, and Mark ejaculated his own sticky load onto his taut belly, where his semen smeared across his abs, then across Luke's, as the younger man collapsed upon his coach and clung to him, breathing hard and nestling his face against Mark's neck. Mark held him close, whispering softly, "That's right, now. That's my champion. My big boy needs some lovin', and he'll always get it from his coach." As Luke's pulse slowed, and his breathing became more regular, he shifted into a more comfortable position next to Mark, then both men fell soundly asleep.

A few hours later, Mark stirred awake, and climbed out of bed, needing to piss. Returning to the bedroom, he found Luke had awakened also, and, for the second time that night, the two men began to cling to each other, their passion building rapidly. In the cool darkness of the deepest hours of night, they made love again. This time, it was Mark's turn to take his pleasures with Luke's hard, muscular body. Pinning the younger jock on his back, Mark began to kiss, caress, and lick Luke's flesh, smelling him, tasting him. Kissing his face and lips, Mark rubbed the stubble of his chin roughly across Luke's hard chest and swelling nips, then began biting playfully at the small nubbins. Moving downward, he licked the athlete's rippled abs, then ran his tongue along the hard, arching penis he found jutting upward from Luke's loins. Then, he kissed and nuzzled those strong, magnificent thighs, driving poor Luke nearly over the edge of lust and hunger and need.

While Luke's lovemaking had been typical of a young jock in heat -- quick and fierce, Mark was older, slower, and took his time in pleasuring the young buck. After more than forty-five minutes of foreplay, Mark took pity on the panting young stud who was now quivering beneath him. Gently, he raised Luke's legs and pushed them back, then slowly, teasingly entered the wrestler's waiting ass. With slow determination, Mark inserted his dripping and swollen organ into Luke's waiting ass, then began to long-stroke in and out of the exposed hole. Pushing himself in until his furry testicles were tickling Luke's soft ass cheeks, he would then pull nearly all the way out, leaving just his cockhead inside Luke's clutching sphincter muscles. Then slowly he would enter again, then back out, then in again, and out. By now, Luke was groaning in ecstasy, licking his dry lips, inhaling rapid breaths. In desperation, Luke's twitching, rock-hard rod, which was trapped between their bodies, ejaculated its second load of the night, spewing great gobs of warm and pungent semen that splattered on his chest and stomach before it was smeared upon his and Mark's bodies as they came together during another thrust. Being older, it had taken Mark a little longer to reach a second orgasm, but when he did, his cock shot hot streams of seed into Luke's warm insides. Luke could literally feel his lover's seed spraying inside him, and he let out a low growl of lust as passion overcame him.

Finally, the two men pulled apart, sweating and gasping for air. For several minutes, they lay side-by-side, whispering soft words to one another, relaxing against one another. Sleep once again overtook their weary bodies, and soon enough, the morning's light was illuminating the room's darkest corners, while two lovers slept blissfully in each other's arms.

With only a few days remaining before the team's divisional championships, the boys were somewhat on edge. Like most college athletes, the wrestlers were tapering in preparation for the big meet. That meant they had worked extremely hard during the previous month, lifting weights, exercising, and just driving their young bodies as hard as possible. Now, they had scaled back such exertions, allowing their muscles to relax and recharge. It was a training method they had learned from the swim team, for whom tapering was almost a ritual. Now, the young men had so much pent-up energy, they were just bouncing off the walls, ready to explode with power as the long days leading to the championships seemed to drag by. Josh Rettig had taken to spending more and more time with Joey Mangini. As promised, Joey had taken to calling the freshman squirt `Quickshot', though Joey refused to reveal to anyone on the team just how he'd come up with that nickname for Josh. Josh would insist, "Oh, Joey calls me that because I `m quick with a takedown on the mat -- you know, I'm quick at taking a shot, trying to get a guy around the legs, take him down.' Joey would just smile and nod, winking at Josh in pretend agreement. Joey would never tell how poor Josh had lost control in that hotel hallway, shooting his sperm uncontrollably while the women tormented him without mercy. No, he wouldn't tell...at least for a while...

It seemed Josh was always dating a different girl -- first a campus coed, then a `townie', then another coed. Josh was a horny little devil, Joey thought to himself. Of course, how successful Josh was at getting relief for his manly needs, well, that was the big unknown. In many ways, Josh was the typical freshman -- a mix of shyness and bravado, a little awkward, a little unsure of himself, with a lot of goofiness and silliness thrown in for good measure. Many late afternoons after practice, Josh would accompany Joey back to his dorm room, just to shoot the breeze and hang for awhile. Like the patient older brother, Joey would put up with these intrusions, for one simple reason -- he liked the kid. While Joey worked on assignments at his computer, Josh would sprawl out on Joey's bed. Talking and napping. Normally, Joey hated for anyone else to be on his bed, but he didn't mind when Josh did it. Frequently, Josh would complain about his latest girl leaving him with `blue balls' since she wouldn't put out. Joey would just chuckle and shake his head knowingly. After a few minutes, Josh would doze off, his right hand snuggled down inside his sweats, cupping his manhood. He'd wake up maybe half an hour later, hungry as a bull, and drag Joey off to the cafeteria for some grub.

Now, just three days before they were to leave for Divisionals, Josh had tagged along back to Joey's dorm, plopped on his bed, and promptly fallen asleep. Joey didn't mind -- he had a history paper he was desperate to finish, so he sat quietly at his desk, flipping through books and papers, typing a little here and there. A small groan from his bed distracted him, and he turned to see what had caused the unusual sound. Josh was flat on his back, both hands down at his sides. He was sound asleep, yet seemed to be softly muttering and groaning to himself. His tee-shirt had pulled up to expose his rock-hard abs, which Joey could see were tensing and relaxing. A motion further down caught Joey's attention, and he stared wide-eyed as the front of Josh's sweats began to rise perceptibly, the fabric being lifted upward by an unseen force. Within moments, the younger wrestler was sporting a huge tent in his `Holden Wrestling' sweatpants, his dick obviously struggling beneath the cotton cloth to reach full erection. And a few moments later, Josh was, indeed, fully erect, his cock nearly poking a hole through the thin material. From his position just a few feet away, Joey could see the outline of his teammate's long shaft jabbing the fabric upward. And then...he could see the hard dick begin to twitch and strain, as though it was a living thing trying to break free from its prison of gray fabric. Pulsing with life, Josh's penis continued to squirm and twitch, jabbing and stabbing upward as it stretched to its full seven inch length. Josh was breathing heavier now, his mouth open, sucking in air. His body stirred slightly, but the greatest movement continued to occur in the front of his now straining sweats. Joey stared open-mouthed, shocked and aroused by the spectacle before him. He realized Josh was having a dream, one that appeared to be highly sensual in nature. Joey was mesmerized by the twitching, squirming dick beneath the fabric -- he couldn't take his eyes off of it. And then it happened. Where Josh's dicktip poked the fabric, a wet spot suddenly appeared.

Joey's heart skipped a beat, perhaps several, he couldn't be sure. Josh was muttering, "unh...oh...oh...unh" as his obvious arousal increased. The wet spot grew larger, darker, as his teencock emitted more of Josh's sexual fluids. The cock seemed to vibrate and stir even more fervently beneath the sweatpants as Josh's moaning grew louder. Watching all this, Joey could barely catch his own breath, and he himself was shocked at the wicked thought that flooded into his brain -- the thought of wrapping his fist around that upthrust cock, and pumping the very sperm out of it, milking his teammate of every drop of baby batter he could shoot. "Oh," thought Joey, "to just take hold of that dick and...and..." And then, Josh's eyes flew open, and he sat up suddenly in the bed, his right hand flying to his crotch.

"Oh...oh...I...I need to go to the bathroom -- I'll be right back!" Josh said, clutching his swollen sex organ through his pants as he hunched over, racing for the door. Joey watched him disappear through the door, hurrying for the john down the hall. Regaining his composure, Joey was shocked to find himself wet `down there', a fair-sized amount of spooge having leaked from his own excited organ. During Josh's absence, he put his head down in his hands, sobbing quietly, his mind screaming the question he dared not answer -- "Why did I get so excited seeing Josh getting an erection? Why? WHY?" When Josh returned a few minutes later, neither boy mentioned the incident, though Joey was left wondering why his own body had reacted to Josh, and Josh was left wondering why he'd dreamed of his hated math professor, Ms. Callahan, teaching class in a silky, see-through teddy and stiletto heels, carrying a leather riding crop which she snapped on the desk tops of various males in the class...

The time for Divisional Championships was at hand. The team had reached Indianapolis, settled into their hotel, and had arrived at the large auditorium that was playing host for the three-day meet. Teams from smaller and mid-sized schools from across the nation were there -- dozens of them. Some schools, such as Holden, had fairly large squads of wrestlers who had qualified, while some schools only had one or two athletes who had made the cut. There was a feeling of tense excitement in the air. And just like back at the Holden wrestling room, Cody felt that old familiar stirring in his loins as he inhaled the scent of sweat, sweat from the bodies of muscled young males primed and ready for tough competition. The guys familiarized themselves with the building, learning where the weigh-in room was, the bathrooms, lockers, medical office, etc. There were two floor levels beneath the main auditorium, and some teams went below to locate `personal' space where they could relax, find room to stretch out in hallways or unoccupied corridors, and maybe even locate a bathroom with a little more privacy.

The Holden guys were really psyched for this meet. They knew Indiana Tech would be tough, as it had been early in the season. Rumors had swirled around the mats all over the Midwest about that team -- rumors of steroid abuse involving the harder, older athletes imported from some parts of Europe, the ones the Holden team had struggled against early on. But nothing had been proven, so the suspicions were just that and nothing more. There were a couple of other D-II teams also in the running for the championship title -- a school from Oklahoma, and another from North Carolina. Holden had won the championship title the past two years, but a third win simply seemed beyond their reach.

The matches were, of course, segregated by weight classes, and usually the stronger candidates were initially put up against lower-ranked foes, an arrangement that favored the wrestlers with the better records. But once in a while, a major upset would occur, as some lower ranked `scrub' would surprise one of the big boys and score an unexpected victory. That was exactly what happened on the first day, when Holden freshman Josh Rettig scored a narrow 7-6 victory over a highly-ranked wrestler from a school in the Appalachian mountain region of Virginia. Josh was probably as astounded as the man he beat, and he walked back to his team with a huge smile on his face. His teammates surged around him, wrapping him in hugs and embraces, patting his head, patting his ass, thrilled for his success.

Mark Jamison, Luke Collins, Jamie Knox -- all sailed through their first rounds. Bryan Carmichael and Cody Fox also advanced, though Cody had a bruising battle with a tough kid from Nebraska. `Big B' Bryan Bingham narrowly beat an opponent who outweighed him by nearly forty pounds -- getting the big guy down on the mat was easy, but turning him over and pinning him took nearly all the energy B had. Sadly, one Holden wrestler was not so fortunate -- Carter Jacks. Wrestling in the very last match of the first day, a kid from Alabama scored an escape in the last five seconds, giving him a 9-8 victory. Carter was devastated, but it wasn't all his fault. He'd been struck by a nasty case of bronchitis barely two weeks earlier, and had missed over a week of training. His quickness had come back, but his stamina for a long, drawn-out match simply wasn't there, and the Alabama kid simply wore him down. Afterwards, Carter collapsed at the edge of the mat, sobbing in frustration. But Coach Mark quickly came to his side, assuring him he'd put up a tough fight. Team captain Mark Jamison came over and told him how proud the team was of his performance, and assured him that his next year, as a junior, would be his finest yet.

The boys had a good dinner and spent a quiet, comfortable night at the hotel, then headed over to the auditorium early the next day for the second round of matches. One floor below the main level was a large room which had been designated as the official weigh-in room. The first day had been totally hectic there, with wrestlers in various states of undress, some totally nude, rushing to and fro -- from bathrooms to scales to officials' tables. On this second day, the rush had eased, since so many athletes had already been eliminated on day one. Now, for the first time, the Holden squad got an eyeful of their arch-rivals from Tech. And they were shocked at what they saw. The `roid' men they had faced last fall were even bigger and stronger than before. It didn't seem possible, but it was true. Scowling and angry, they stormed through the weight room, and everyone -- even their other Tech mates -- avoided them. One of the men glared around the room, then seemed to focus on a blond kid from a school in Illinois. The blond was a big guy -- tall, well-muscled -- but he seemed to shy back when he saw the angry looks he was receiving. Cody checked the day's program he was carrying, and realized this kid was scheduled to face the tough Tech guy in less than an hour. Apparently, "Roid Rage', as Cody nicknamed him, was trying to psyche out his opposition. Looking more closely, Cody realized the brute was none other than Boris, the nasty wrestler he had faced at the beginning of the season.

The Illinois kid stripped to a jock strap and stepped on the scale. The official wrote down the number. A moment later, Boris stepped up and brusquely shoved the blond off the scale. With no hesitation whatsoever, the brute peeled off his sweatpants and jacket, then stripped off his small gray briefs and stepped onto the scale. Naturally, many eyes in the room casually drifted to what the dude had between his legs -- it is only natural for a guy to wonder how he compares. What they saw amazed them, for dangling from a mat of thick, black, tangled hair, was a fairly long, pale shaft -- that was rising before their very eyes. As the official checked the weight, the man on the scale stared coldly at the Illinois wrestler now standing nearby. And as he stared, his cock continued to harden and rise until it projected lewdly before him, pointing directly at the blond kid who was doing everything in his power not to glance downward, though curiosity finally won out. Quickly looking back at his opponent's face, he was met with a crude, nasty smirk. Then, the naked stud simply stepped off the scale and walked straight up to the blond, actually jabbing his penis into the kid's hip, forcing him to step back. Licking his lips, the Tech man snarled something unintelligible, then reached down and grabbed his swollen sex organ and thrust it into the Illinois boy's jock-covered groin area, as if to say, "I'm gonna fuck you right out there on the mat." Then he turned and walked back, picked up his discarded clothes, and walked, completely nude, across the room to his smiling friends, his hard dick bobbing before him.

Close by, one of the Illinois man's teammates stood in his briefs, transfixed, watching the exchange as if in a daze. Barely conscious of his own actions, he had snaked his hand down into the front of his underwear and had begun to grope and jerk his own cock until it was hard and swollen, causing the front of his briefs to jut out obscenely. A teammate quickly walked over to him and stayed his shaking arm, whispering to him, "Not here, Brett, not out here in front of everyone." The athlete suddenly realized where he was, and color flooded his young cheeks when he noticed the gazes of several nearby onlookers focused on his bulging groin area. Quickly grabbing a towel from a table next to him, he covered his `privates' and stepped out of the weigh-in line and hurried to a distant corner of the room -- partly in embarrassment, but mostly to complete the action he had started, to satisfy that powerful urge to release that sackload of spunk rapidly building in his gonads.

Whispers could be heard from others in the room, and subtle glances followed the movement of the naked, muscled man who had just mind-fucked the kid from Illinois. And an hour later, the Illinois wrestler lay bruised and bloodied on the mat, having been slammed several times, and finally pinned after trailing 12-0. And Cody knew that if he won his match that day, he would face the same brute tomorrow.

After the other Tech wrestlers had been weighed, the room returned to normal. Bryan Carmichael was wrestling one weight-class lower at this meet, which had allowed him to attend the championship without having to wrestle Cody for the Holden spot. Stripped to his usual bikini briefs, Bryan was weighed and approved, as were the other Holden boys who were still in the competition. Glancing at Bryan in his little briefs, Cody felt a slight stirring in his groin area. He smiled to himself, thinking back to the night when they had arrived in Indy. He and Bryan, were, as usual, sharing a room. For the championships, the college had somehow found enough additional funds to allow just two guys to share a room, instead of four. Cody and Bryan had shared just one bed, and Cody remembered how gently they had come together, nuzzling one another, touching, softly kissing, until their passion had built to a crescendo. Determined not to waste too much energy in bed, they had quietly shifted places until they were in a comfortable `69' position. Once there, they had orally stimulated one another, licking and sucking intimately, finally taking each other's male organs into their mouths, each lovingly draining the other of his seed. They knew they had to save energy for their matches, but they knew that they also had other needs , needs that simply could not be denied.

Cody had a surprisingly easy time in his semi-final match -- his competitor had won his earlier matches by the narrowest of margins, but had not faced as seasoned a wrestler as Cody. The final score gave Cody a decisive 9-3 victory. Bryan, unfortunately, was not so lucky. Try as he might, the young freshman was simply outmatched as he struggled mightily against a talented senior with years of additional collegiate experience under his belt. At the close of his match, Bryan had lost, 10-6, though his performance on the mat had been exemplary. His teammates slapped him on the shoulders, patted his ass, and gave him words of encouragement as he walked forlornly back to the Holden team's seats. Cody grabbed him in a tight hug, and told him how well he'd done, how proud he was of him for making it to the semis.

Luke was on a roll -- he swept his opposition and made it to the finals scheduled for the following day. Mark Jamison barely lost his final collegiate match, 7-6, and the disappointment showed on his face. Still, his 3rd-place finish was the highest he'd ever placed at Divisionals, so he wasn't too sad. `Big B', Joey Mangini and Carter Jacks had also fallen to stronger opponents in earlier matches. Freshman Josh Rettig continued to be one of Holden's surprises -- he had won his matches, and had advanced all the way to tomorrow's finals. At the conclusion of the day's matches, Holden had three athletes poised to wrestle in the finals: Cody, Josh, and Luke. Indiana Tech was the only other school so honored -- all three of the European `imported' wrestlers had also advanced. The Holden team returned to their hotel, ate a hearty dinner, and went to their rooms to try and catch some sleep. Unknown to them at the time, only two of their brethren would actually compete for a title.

The final day of the championships was cold and snowy. March weather in Indianapolis can swing from warm sunshine to heavy snow in any twenty-four hour period. But the auditorium was packed with excited family and fans. Few people left town early, even if their sons or friends had failed to make the finals. Wrestling fans are a special breed of people, and they thrive on the competition taking place on the mat. If their favorite has fallen by the wayside, they will root for his teammate, or the kid from their state, or the guy who has scrapped and fought his way through the long winter months to simply be there, competing, trying, attempting to crown his year off with a championship title.

Luke's match was the first to be held that day. His opponent was a talented wrestler from a school in Alabama. But as talented as he was, the gods were smiling on Luke. Coach Mark Weber knelt at the edge of the mat for the entire seven-minute competition, occasionally clenching his fists or pumping his arms wildly as Luke executed seemingly perfect half-nelsons, hip-tosses, and take-downs. Luke Collins was like wrestling poetry in motion, and the crowd cheered wildly as he won his weight class with a decisive 9-5 victory. Unashamedly, Mark threw his arms around the lean, sweaty young athlete when he reached the edge of the mat, a broad smile on his handsome face. But nobody said or thought anything was amiss -- it was common for coaches to hug their young charges in exultation, often lifting them off their feet as the boys clambered gleefully upon the men who had lead them and guided them and tortured them to the point of victory.

Cody and Josh had matches that were scheduled back-to-back. Josh was certain he had time to make a run to the restroom -- his stomach had been giving him some problems that day, though he hoped it was only pre-match butterflies -- then return to the auditorium before Cody's match would begin. Heading down the two flights of stairs to the lowest building level, he found the restroom he'd spotted on the first day was blessedly empty, and he hurried into the stall, knowing he still had a good ten minutes to get back upstairs to watch Cody's first period of action. But poor Josh's stomach had other ideas, and the wrestler found himself delayed a bit longer than he expected.

The weigh-in that morning had been similar to that of the previous day. The Slavic wrestler, Boris, who had destroyed the Illinois kid yesterday, now turned his attention toward Cody. Once again, he stripped totally nude, flaunting his hard-muscled body for those in attendance. And, as had happened previously, his large cock quickly rose to full length and bobbed before him as he stepped onto the scale. Then, he blatantly sauntered over to where Cody stood in his briefs and sneered at the Holden man. Stepping close, he jabbed his lengthy prick into Cody's naked thigh. Cody glanced down at the offending protuberance coldly, then raised his face and started laughing out loud. Boris was infuriated at this snub, this defiance, and stormed off toward his teammates.

Now, facing Boris on the mat, Cody knew it was time for business. The ref's whistle blew and both men charged at one another. Boris tried to make a quick snatch for Cody's legs, but Cody danced aside nimbly, avoiding a takedown. Coach Mark had told Cody to be aggressive, not to hesitate. Hesitation allowed your foe to watch you, plan his moves carefully, and trip you up. So Mark had said, "Keep HIM off guard, Cody -- keep him guessing. Make runs at him, feints, grab his arm -- anything to keep him unsure, unsteady on his feet. If it comes down to muscle vs. muscle, I'm afraid he will win. But with quickness, agility, and the element of surprise, you can keep the upper hand." So that was Cody's plan -- he did what he could to keep Boris from getting the upper hand. Still, at the end of the first period, Boris was leading 4-2. And then, the strangest thing happened.

As the wrestlers prepared for the second period, with Cody choosing the lower position in hopes of gaining a point for an escape, three men in suits and a well-dressed woman in business attire hurried onto the main auditorium floor and walked briskly over to the officials' table. Two of the men carried manila folders with several sheets of paper tucked inside. The four visitors immediately pulled several officials aside and engaged them in a heated discussion, passing papers from the folders from one hand to the next. The referee's whistle blew, signaling the start of the second period, and Cody struggled furiously to slip out of the iron-clawed grip of his adversary. Moments later, a loud whistle was blown, and both wrestlers looked up to see what had caused this interruption. The referee, now accompanied by two of the suit-clad men, bent down and pulled the wrestlers apart. Both coaches came out onto the mat to inquire what was happening.

"These gentlemen are here from NCAA headquarters," said the referee. "There is evidence that the Indiana Tech competitor, and two of his teammates, have conclusively failed a drug test administered to their team last month. All three tested strongly positive for anabolic steroids -- an illegal substance. They have been suspended, and are not allowed to continue competition at this meet." With that announcement, the referee ordered Boris to leave the mat. The Tech coach scanned the paperwork, and realized that all three of his Eastern European competitors had failed the test by recording dangerously high levels of the banned substance. Grimly, he shook his head and walked sadly back toward his team. Boris, on the other hand, went into a rage, screaming at the referee and officials, spittle flying from his lips. His two suspended comrades went similarly berserk, cursing and shouting, upending a table and several chairs. The Tech coach tried to quiet them, but it was no use, as the three disgraced men stormed out of the auditorium and headed down the stairs, looking for a place to vent their rage. In the meantime, Cody was declared the winner by default, and the referee lifted his arm high as the crowd applauded.

Two floors below, the enraged Slavic athletes found an empty storage room, and they rushed inside to rant and punch walls in anger. But just then, a flash of red caught their eyes -- a young man wearing the red singlet of the hated Holden team was coming down the hallway, oblivious to what had occurred just minutes before in the auditorium. It was Josh, hurrying along the corridor toward the stairs. As he passed the storage area, burly arms and hands were suddenly upon him, and he was dragged into the storage room, the door slamming closed as the three men dragged the startled boy into the center of the room.

Back upstairs, Joey Mangini was looking everywhere for Josh, asking others on the Holden team if they had seen him. "His match starts next -- where the hell IS he?" Joey wondered. Enlisting the help of Carter Jacks, the two began running everywhere in search of their missing friend. Joey suddenly remembered Josh saying something about a `good, private' bathroom he'd found two floors below, so, on instinct, Joey and Carter headed downstairs on the off chance the nervous freshman was still `indisposed'. As soon as they reached the lowest level, the two searchers began walking down the corridor, but the sound of angry voices, accompanied by what sounded like something being struck or pounded, stopped them just outside a door marked "Storage".

The blows had fallen hot and heavy on Josh's young body -- kicks and vicious punches were taking a serious toll, as Josh tried to fend off blows left and right, all the time wondering what on earth he had done to offend the brutes who were now beating him. Standing him up and pinning his arms behind his back, the raging madmen bloodied Josh's face, broke his nose, and beat him until his eyes were nearly swollen shut. Dropping him to the floor, they kicked the now defenseless and barely conscious youth. Suddenly, Boris grabbed the back of Josh's red singlet in his hands and literally ripped the fabric in half, splitting the uniform down the back. Shoving the material aside, he reached down and grasped the waistband of his victim's briefs and yanked as hard as he could, lifting Josh clear off the floor before the elastic gave way. Then the white cotton material tore apart as Josh dropped heavily back to the cold concrete. Stripping his own singlet down to his thighs, Boris pulled his hard penis out, and, kneeling between the legs of the battered boy, he began to push the hard, dripping organ toward Josh's exposed ass. One of his teammates sat on Josh's back, preventing the weakened boy from struggling, and he smiled wickedly as he saw what his friend was planning to do. The third Tech wrestler was standing to the side, laughing and cheering his friends on.

Fighting to remain conscious, his head twisted painfully to the side, Josh saw the nearly naked man out of the corner of his eye. When he felt rough hands pulling at his ass, and when he felt cold fingers probing into his anus, and when he felt something hard and wet begin to push against his sphincter, he realized with shocking clarity that the vicious animal was about to rape him. He tried valiantly to rise, to escape -- but it was no use. He was too weak, and the two stronger men simply had grips that were too powerful. His feeble attempt to rise only brought another brutal kick from the third attacker. Taking their anger and frustration and rage out on Josh, they continued the unrelenting assault, cursing and laughing so loudly that they never heard the door opening behind them. Another nasty kick, and Josh's bruised ribs were now broken. Once again, Boris gleefully lowered himself onto the young freshman and began to push his cock forcefully into the virgin ass. Josh wanted to close his eyes, to shut out the horror that was happening to him, but just then, through the small slit of his eye that had not yet swollen shut, Josh made out something that gave him a flicker of hope. He saw Joey -- and Carter -- rushing headlong toward him.

The two Holden wrestlers had slowly pushed open the storage room door and peered into the dim interior. What they had seen was so shocking and unexpected that they had stood transfixed for several seconds, unable to comprehend what their eyes had revealed to them. The three shamed Tech athletes were holding something -- no, someone, someone bloodied and bruised, down on the floor, and one of them was lowering his body downward onto the victim, ready to insert his hard cock into...into Josh. The torn red singlet underneath the body had told Carter and Joey instantly who the young man on the floor was. With no thought for their own safety, they charged into the room with fists clenched and looks of total hatred on their faces.

The Tech brutes did not know what hit them. Hurling himself at Boris, who was still attempting to force himself into Josh, Joey knocked the man sideways onto the floor. Carter aimed his attack at the standing athlete, figuring it would take the third guy who was sitting on Josh's back several seconds to stand up and get his bearings. The standing man went down with a hard thud, striking his head on a metal cabinet nearby. Getting quickly to his feet, Carter turned to face the third wrestler who had finally jumped up off of Josh and was now charging toward Carter. Carter had never been in a fistfight in his entire life, but somehow, his balled fist found its mark, smashing into the angry face of his attacker. Joey, meanwhile, was pounding and pummeling Boris on the floor next to Josh.

`Roid rage' is a term often used to describe the violent outbursts of athletes who have abused steroids over time. But that rage was no match for the rage which now suffused Joey and Carter as they attacked the men who had dared to hurt their teammate. Blow by blow, the two Holden men began to knock the fight out of their foes, while the third Tech wrestler groggily shook his head, trying to recover from the injury he'd sustained when his head hit the cabinet. He tried to rejoin the fight, but Joey swung his fist into the man's nose, breaking it as blood gushed down the man's face. Returning his attention to Boris, Joey pounded the man's face, his side -- just anywhere and everywhere he could land a blow, until the man was unconscious. Carter had finally subdued the remaining man, shoving him back into a corner, then pulling a cabinet over, effectively trapping the dazed man.

Struggling to catch their breaths, the Holden teammates now turned their attention to Josh. Kneeling next to him, while still keeping a wary eye on his attackers, they gently turned him over. His bruised and swollen face was almost unrecognizable, but his voice was strong as he said, "Tha...thanks, guys." In one quick motion, Joey placed his arms under his beaten friend and scooped him up. Carrying him in his arms, Joey walked slowly out of the storage room, down the corridor, and started up the stairs. Carter pulled the storage room door closed, then hurried to catch up. "Do you need me to help carry him?" Carter asked. "No, I have him," Joey replied. "But run ahead and get the medics."

The ripped singlet and Josh's torn briefs had fallen away on the stairs, so Joey carried him the rest of the way up to the main floor naked, except for the pair of wrestling shoes still covering his feet.

It didn't dawn on anyone until much later to ask Joey how he, at only 134 pounds, was able to carry Josh, who outweighed him by a good fifteen pounds, up two flights of stairs and down the corridor which ran along the outside of the auditorium. Seeing an open massage table, Joey placed his friend down gently, while the few people nearby rushed over to see what had happened. Carter had run out into the noisy auditorium, stopped quickly to tell Coach Weber that Josh was in the outside corridor badly injured, then hurried over to the medical table and asked the attendants to follow him with their bags and equipment. Seeing Carter's bruises, and blood on his clothes, they jumped up and followed him immediately. The announcer, who had been about to declare a `forfeit' due to the fact that Josh Rettig had failed to appear for his scheduled match, was quickly told by someone to announce a delay in the competition instead. Coach Weber had sent Luke up into the stands to summon Josh's parents and sister down to the corridor. Soon, NCAA officials, medics, curious wrestlers who happened to be nearby, and the Holden team were all crowding around the massage table. One wrestler had removed his tee-shirt and placed it over Josh's nude midsection, to allow him some measure of privacy. The medics shooed the curious away, then began to carefully examine the injured youth. Joey remained by his side -- he couldn't leave, since Josh had grabbed his left hand and simply would not let go. Carter had run over to a nearby security guard and explained about the three attackers in the lower storage room, and a mix of security guards and two Indianapolis police officers had rushed downstairs and nabbed the culprits, bringing them up in handcuffs. They were placed in police cruisers and quickly driven away.

Josh's mother became nearly hysterical at the sight of her son so badly bruised and beaten. His father remained stoic, but tears were visible in his eyes. Luke pulled Josh's stunned sister aside and lead her to a chair in a quiet corner. The medics ordered Josh to be taken in a waiting ambulance to the nearest hospital. A policeman offered to drive Josh's family in another car, while Joey was allowed to ride in the ambulance with his injured teammate, their hands still tightly clasped together. Back in the auditorium, word had quickly spread about the vicious attack. The officials were in a quandary. It was decided to complete the last two matches of the competition, but the crowd booed noisily when the announcement was made that Josh Rettig would lose his title match by forfeit, since he was unable to wrestle. However, that decision was quickly overturned when Josh's scheduled opponent, a wrestler from a small college in Pennsylvania, refused to accept the forfeit victory. Having become aware of the events surrounding Josh's forfeit, the young man had personally asked the NCAA officials to declare his weight class title `open', and not give him a forfeit victory over a fellow wrestler who had been so cruelly injured only minutes before his match. When this was announced, the entire crowd gave the young Pennsylvania athlete a standing ovation. In a fitting conclusion to the weekend, after the points were tallied, it turned out that Holden College had indeed won the Divisional Championship for the third straight year.

The injuries Josh had sustained were very severe, but fortunately not life-threatening. The Holden team left Indianapolis the following day to return to campus, though they had insisted the van stop at Mercy Hospital on its way out of town so they could pay a quick visit to their injured friend. Coach Weber had granted Joey permission to remain in the city with Josh's family for a few days. Four days later, Josh was released, and his family drove both young men back to Holden before heading east for the return drive to their home near Akron. For the remainder of the spring, Josh was unable to engage in mat practice with his squad, though the trainer did design some special weight and exercise routines which allowed his healing body to stay in shape. Josh was determined to wrestle again in the fall.

The school semester came to an end that May. Mark Jamison graduated with honors, and was accepted to grad school in California. `Big B' Bryan Bingham was still in need of several credits to graduate, so he would be staying on campus for at least the fall semester, much to the delight of Jamie Knox. The biggest and smallest wrestlers on the team were now inseparable, and though they kept their personal relationship more or less private, their teammates knew how `inseparable' they had really become.

Cody Fox and Bryan Carmichael were similarly attached at the hip -- they had already arranged to stay at Holden for the summer, and had rented a small off-campus apartment for themselves. Bryan did receive a surprise message that spring when he learned that his former roommate, Edward, was planning to return to Holden that September, to resume his studies. This announcement was entirely unexpected, and for some reason, Bryan felt a bit of unease at the thought of seeing Edward again, remembering the drama that had unfolded the previous autumn. He wondered if Edward still had such strong feelings for him, and would those somehow return to complicate his life with Cody. But Cody was unfazed by this development, and assured Bryan that, "All things happen for a reason, so stop worrying about things that haven't even happened yet!"

Coach Mark Weber had been dreading the departure of Luke Collins all spring -- Luke was preparing to graduate and was seeking a job in the field of kinesiology. Most unexpectedly, in mid-April an opportunity arrived which Mark could not wait to share with his young lover. The week before final exams were scheduled to start, Mark's assistant coach, John Hargraves, told him something he had never expected to hear. "Mark, it's time for me to hang up my whistle. The little lady tells me she's grown tired of the cold Indiana winters. Her sister has convinced her Florida is the place we `old geezers' need to be, so she's asked me to think about retiring and heading south. I guess I'm gonna do it -- it looks like you'll need to find a new assistant for the fall." This announcement brought tears to Mark's eyes -- he had never imagined coaching the team without John -- a school legend - at his side, and was at a total loss for words. But John's next words stunned him even more. "I'm thinking you need some young blood, a real go-getter, with a fresh perspective, new ideas, a new outlook. But also someone you can trust, someone you know, someone who will stick by you, work hand-in-hand, so to speak. Someone like young Collins -- a kinesiology degree is a great asset for an athletic assistant coach, don't you think? And I know how, um, close, you two have become these past few years. Could there be a more perfect fit?"

Mark stared blankly into the lined face of his dear friend. He wasn't sure exactly what John meant by `how close' he and Luke had become. Did his assistant know something? It didn't matter -- Mark knew John was too much a gentleman to say an inappropriate word. He started to shake John's hand, then pushed the hand aside and grabbed the older man in a tight hug, which was returned warmly. That evening, Mark made a big pot of spaghetti, Luke's favorite dish, and after dinner, wrapped his arms around the young man and said, "How would you like to stay here at Holden, and be my new assistant coach next year?" Luke couldn't believe his ears. It was like a dream come true. He didn't answer, he didn't need to. He simply placed his lips on Mark's and the two men kissed feverishly, until their passion led them into the bedroom where they made love for much of the night.

Josh was something of a celebrity on campus that spring -- and he ate it up! Everyone knew about the brutal attack he had suffered and the hard work he was doing to get back into shape for wrestling. There was no shortage of pretty young coeds eager to `nurse' him back to health, many bringing him cookies and other treats, or just holding doors for him or walking with him to class. Josh's little black book was soon overflowing with new numbers and e-mail addresses. He reveled in the attention, and had more than his share of dates that spring. Still, the bond between Josh and Joey grew stronger, and it was rare to see one without the other. As May arrived, the guys were packing their gear, getting ready to head home for the summer. Josh was excited, since it would be the first time since the March championships that he would see his family back in Ohio. Joey stopped by Josh's dorm room just before the freshman was scheduled to catch his bus home.

"Well, Josh, are you all packed up? All your stuff fit into these two suitcases?" Joey asked his friend as he surveyed the almost empty room. "Well," Josh answered, "I packed a lot of my stuff in some boxes and shipped them home yesterday." Picking up his suitcases, he started to head for the door. Joey said, "I know it's only a couple blocks to the bus station, but I can drive you if you want me to." "Nah, I've got it, Joey -- everything is evenly balanced in these two suitcases, and I'm going to use them as weights on the walk downtown, pump my arms a little, build up my biceps for next fall. Not that I need to build `em up too much -- they're already bigger than yours!" Josh said teasingly to his best friend.

Joey smiled, desperately trying to blink back the tears that were forming in his eyes. He walked up to Josh and quietly wrapped his arms around the kid from behind, hugging him tightly. Josh suddenly dropped the cases and quickly turned to face his teammate, then enveloped him in an equally strong, warm embrace. "Oh my God, Joey, how am I going to make it through a whole summer without you to watch over me and keep me safe? I'll probably trip over a curb and break my arm -- if you were there, you would catch me, save me, like you always do." Whispering into Joey's ear, Josh said, very quietly and shyly, "I...um, well...I lo...I love you, man."

Choking back a sob, Joey said, "I love you, too, Josh." The two wrestlers pulled away, and Josh, fighting back tears of his own, picked up his luggage and hurried out the door, turning as he crossed the threshold to say, "See you in September, dude!" Joey smiled and waved, saying, "See you then, Josh."

Walking to the window, Joey watched Josh exit the building two floors below, then head across campus toward the town's bus station. Josh had said `I love you', but Joey knew it was the love a man, and fellow athlete, feels toward his fellow man, his fellow athlete. As Josh disappeared around a corner of a nearby building, Joey collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. "How could Josh know that when I said `I love you' back to him, that I meant it in every sense of the word? How can I tell him, and what would he think of me if I did? Oh God, how am I going to make it through four months without him?" Joey's mind cried out, as the soon-to-be college senior curled up against the wall beneath the window, crying unashamedly.