After a quick breakfast Dave and Jimmy jammed their gym bags into the trunk of Ty's Honda and jumped in. Jimmy rode shotgun while Dave stretched his long legs out in the back seat. Even though none of them knew exactly what to expect from this weekend in the company of a bunch of strangers, they were pumped at the prospect of getting it on with guys like them who liked to rumble and tumble.
Jimmy kept up a lively commentary on a wide spectrum of topics: how much he dug the house and the campus; his conquests at the community college; cool lyrics (he and Ty would occasionally break into what passed for a male duet, mostly old stuff. Their mom, it turned out, directed the church choir back home); football; sex jokes; family stuff. Dave mostly listened, enjoying the repartee between two brothers who were obviously proud and enamored of one another. "Blazing Saddles" must have been their all-time favorite flick, because lines like "Where de white women at?", "I hope you brought enough for everybody," and "It's twoo, it's twoo!" kept inserting themselves into the conversation, triggering giggles, laughs and punches. Dave only wished that his own family were half that outgoing and entertaining.
Jimmy sprawled sideways so he could address Dave. "Is there gonna be stuff to drink up there, you suppose? Or smoke?"
"What do you think?" said Dave. "We're expected to bring our own and share. We can pick up stuff on the way. You're not into anything heavy, are you, Jimmy?"
Ty broke in, "He better not be, or I'll stuff his balls up his ass. These guys may be just off training, but I bet there won't be a doper in the crowd. You clean, Bro?"
"Better believe it. I didn't even bring no weed with me, man. That's why I can out-run, out-lift, out-box and out-screw you, daddy."
Ty and Dave whooped derisively, while Jimmy pantomimed his athletic prowess. He turned to Dave again. "You think there's any chance I might get me some nice tight ass this weekend?"
"Christ, baby boy, these guys are veteran rasslers. It's you who better worry about protecting your precious rump."
"Yeah," Ty chimed in. "That little thang between your legs wouldn't intimidate a freshman towel boy, let alone one of them varsity studs."
"Little thang?! You blind, man, blind." Thereupon Jimmy began pawing the crotch of his sweats and then lowered the waistband to exhibit the onset of a handsome black boner. Dave leaned forward and peered over the back seat at the impromptu strip show. "Pretty little, alright. You ever try a vacuum pump?" Jimmy swung at him, but Dave pulled back out of reach.
Ty stopped laughing long enough to tell his brother to pull his sweats up. They were in fairly heavy traffic, and he didn't want some elderly lady in a passing car to have a heart attack. His brother was actually generously endowed, maybe a tad bigger than he.
Hours later they were honking at the curb outside Mike Simmons' Bloomington apartment. He ran out, was introduced to the brothers by Dave and then asked them into the building. They met his folks, then lugged boxes of food, beer and liquor to Ty's trunk. Jimmy got in back so that Mike could guide Ty north to the summer lakes. As they drove they exchanged encapsulated life stories, and quickly became buddies. Dave could see that Ty and Mike really hit it off, because by the time they arrived at the field behind the cottage Mike's knee was pressing against his seat mate's leg, and Ty was doing a lot of smiling back at him.
Jimmy was not nearly as subtle. As soon as they were under way again he began instigating little fights, jabbing at Dave, challenging him to small feats of strength and occasionally capturing his head to apply a Dutch rub. Dave gave as good as he got: pressure points, slaps, a sudden incapacitating arm bar which forced a complete -- though only temporary -- capitulation of his new younger buddy. Mike took it all in, smiling broadly, and assured Jimmy that his aggressiveness would have plenty of outlets and more challengers than he could handle once they were at the cabin.
There were already a half-dozen vehicles parked in the field when they pulled up. They emptied the trunk and lugged everything down a path through barren trees. The shingled cabin sat back from a good-sized lake which disappeared around bends at either end. Dave could see a few other summer cottages along the lakefront, and smoke rose from one or two chimneys.
Rounding the corner of the building, they came upon a soccer game in progress, six or so guys sweating and cursing as they tried to score through makeshift goals at either end of a large overgrown lawn. Mike introduced his three guests to his teammates, and they were invited to join the game.
"We'll get settled in first," said Mike, and motioned the others inside. Dave had surveyed the soccer players, and actually got a little lump of excitement in his throat. What a terrific-looking crowd to be with for the weekend. The hands which he shook were coarse and manly, and the friendly grins said that they were as glad he and his buddies came as they were to be there. When he gripped the hand of one bull-necked blond, the guy commented, "Nice grip, Dave. We'll have to try a little arm wrestling this evening, OK?"
"Hey, you're on!"
Inside, his excitement escalated. It was only afternoon, but already a couple of chiseled wrestlers were down to their levis and sox, muscling each other around a pile of mattresses in the middle of a big front room. Other guys were slumped on old furniture or standing at the edge of the mattresses, and two onlookers were peeling off their sweat shirts ready to take their turn. Two others on a sofa had their hands locked together, each trying to force the other onto the floor. Dave, standing beside Ty as they both watched, was amused to notice his black buddy trying unobtrusively to adjust a growing bulge in the front of his shorts. Then Dave's glance traveled -- as it often did -- to Ty's protruding ass. "That," he silently declared, "is the meatiest, shapeliest butt in all creation, and it needs a master's drilling before it goes back home."
The kitchen was separated from the front room by a bar, behind which stood the host, Woody, and his roommate Gary, who was the captain of the wresting team. Mike joined them, and the three began preparing the evening meal.
"You guys can stow your gear anywhere you like," said Mike. "There are a couple of bedrooms in back, but most of us will just sack out in here around the fireplace. You can reach the head and wash room out that back door. It's got a cedar hot tub just in case your bods can't take the punishment you're in for."
They tossed their bags in a corner. Jimmy hurried outdoors to impress the other guests with his soccer prowess. The shouts and laughter indicated they were having a gay old time plowing into each other. It had been hours since the last rest stop, so Dave and Ty headed for the facility out back. Dave stood at the throne and let fly with a mighty stream. "Look," he crowed, no hands!" Ty sidled up and bumped against him. "Asshole! Look what you made me do! Now you gotta wipe it off the floor."
"It ain't my piss, Paleface. You wipe it up." They both hurried to zip up, and Ty bolted for the door. Dave grabbed him before he could escape and with a choke hold jerked him down onto his back and sat down on Ty's face. They started to thrash around, but that end of the wash house was narrow. When Dave banged his head against the hard wooden wall they decided to wait until they were in a more commodious environment. They sat on the floor.
"Well, what do you think so far?" asked Dave.
"I think this could be one of the cherriest weekends of my poor, sexually repressed life. I thought our house was a kind of studsville, but there's more prime rib here than in all the locker rooms I ever cased. Did you get a look at the arms on that Gary, their captain? Mr. Minnesota Viking with high cheek-bones."
"Are you going to challenge him?"
"I sure as hell am. You think I could pin him?"
"I doubt it, but you know I know you're strong as hell. And besides, you cheat."
"I never cheat -- unless I'm losing."
"That's not true. When we wrestle you cheat all the time."
"That's because you never let me have what I want."
Dave gave him a crooked smile. "You have to earn it, bud."
They locked eyes for a few seconds, and then Ty leaned over to press his tongue against Dave's mouth. Dave's lips parted and sucked it in. He reached his right hand around and stuck it down the back of Ty's shorts. They both chuckled, but went no further because they still didn't know the ground rules here. There had been no overt randiness so far, and as outsiders they weren't about to initiate anything themselves.
"Thrash you later, Whitey."
"Screw you later, Tar Baby."
When they returned to the front room the soccer players were piling through the door and the blond with the iron grip was organizing wrestling-type festivities as the pre-dinner entertainment. The bar was also officially declared open, and the big keg had been tapped. There was also an abundance of bottles, both wine and hard stuff. As Ty had predicted, the only things being smoked were cigarettes, and those who did went out on the front porch. By now everyone had arrived, fourteen in all. Dave, Ty and Jimmy were not the only guests. Two were cousins of a team member, still in high school (host Woody had checked their ages), and two more were introduced as university swimmers with friends on the team. Beside Mike, the only one Dave recognized from the tournament at State was a short guy named Willie, who looked and acted like a ripped jungle animal. Willie had peeled off his rugby shirt, kicked off his shoes, and was riding piggy-back on the biggest of the high school jocks.
The blond -- Randy -- had called for "Horse and Rider," and quickly three other pairs joined Willie and his horse in the middle of the field of mattresses. The riders, appropriately, were four of the smallest guys, their legs secured around the necks of their mounts. Randy shouted "Charge!" and they charged, the riders clawing at one another and the horses trying for a trip. The sidelines chose their favorites and cheered them on. In this version of "Horse and Rider," a pair not only had to bring its opposition down (one point), but then had to wrestle them into submission (one point per submission), which meant that the downed pair could still win if they both managed to get submissions off the winners.
Dave didn't remember this particular game from his high school wrestling workouts. They'd had a lot of crazy ones, though, some of them real turn-ons. His favorite had been a free-for-all that ended in a pig-pile. Once they were crammed into that final stack of sweaty warriors, the bold ones would invariably start grabbing for cocks and asses, and he never emerged from the pile without sprouting a donkey. That seemed to be the game by which a guy could identify teammates who would be fun to connect with for some practice on the side, in a basement or a garage or somebody's orchard.
Willie and his high school kid sent their opponents sprawling, and immediately each of them jumped his downed adversary. Willie was a real tiger, wiry and deeply cut, and his challenger never made it to his feet. There were no pins: you had to get your victim to "give" any way you could, short of breaking a bone. They rolled across the war zone, snarling and grabbing. When his opponent went for Willie's hair, Willie kneed him. Finally he locked on a scissors to the head and squeezed until his red-faced opponent blurted out a muffled "I give."
Willie's horse (Brian) was not so successful. The other horse was a State sophomore who had made it past the quarter-finals, and he dazzled the kid with his chain of tried and true maneuvers. Brian was a real scrapper, with great upper body strength for his age ("I'd like to throw a bear hug around that smooth chest," mused Dave). For a moment it looked as if he had secured a winning choke, but the veteran captured his wrists and eventually hammer-locked them both behind his back. Reinforced with a knee to his lower back, Brian was done for. But anyway, Willie and the kid won by a score of two to one.
The other foursome was already through. "Shit," thought Dave, "there's too much to see, and it's only getting started. Even if I could stay awake all night I'd miss seeing most of the good stuff. I need holes in the back of my head."
Jimmy was acting hyper. He longed to be in every match, test himself against all thirteen opponents, wrestle until he dropped from exhaustion. By now he had downed three beers, and fancied himself the Son of King Kong. Dave and Ty informed him: No more beer until you've eaten some dinner.
There was one more contest that afternoon. Gary and Woody were summoned from their cheffing in the kitchen so that they and Randy the blond -- being the three toughest wrestlers on the team - could stand against all the rest. Any number could gang up on the "big three," but the three could not help one another. It was an elimination: any man pinned or made to submit was honor-bound to quit and retreat to one of the sofas.
The mighty Trinity took its defensive position in the center of the mattresses, their broad backs to each other. Ten others encircled them (Number fourteen stayed in the kitchen to tend the lasagna and the pizza). Ty and Jimmy decided to gang up on Gary, but Dave positioned himself in the circle opposite Chuck, eager to match wits and brawn with the handsome blond. As he was limbering up, he glanced up at his target. Chuck was looking straight at him. He grinned and winked, and Dave grinned back. Suddenly somebody -- probably crazy Willie - shouted, "Let's cream `em!" and the attacking savages converged on their prey.