College Swimmer and the Twins, Pt. 3
The following fictional story includes sexual acts between young males. If you do not enjoy such stories or it is illegal to read such material in your jurisdiction, please do not continue.
Pete sliced his powerful arms into the water rhythmically, feeling his muscular body racing toward the wall for his flip turn. It was near the end of morning practice -- he had swum over 6,000 yards -- but still he did not feel tired. He felt fast and strong, which was a good sign. Mike had told them this would be their last hard practice -- now, they would begin the process of tapering, a swimmer's term for reducing yardage and gaining more rest in these last days leading up to the early summer championships. Peter was quite familiar with tapering, since he'd done it back in February for his college conference swim meet. Oh, how good it felt to be packed with pent-up energy just waiting to explode off the blocks at the championship! He loved tapering! Then again, what swimmer didn't?
As he neared the end of his set, he thought back to the moment the twins had walked into the natatorium some two hours earlier. He had been stunned to see how they had grown, their bodies swelling with new musculature, though still retaining the adorable `gangly' awkwardness so dominant among early teens. "Geez, how old are Jason and Jeremy now, anyway," he wondered. Maybe 14? Yes, that would be about right, since the previous summer they had just entered the competitive 13-14 age group. What he found even more amazing was how remarkably handsome the two kids had become! No longer kids, he reminded himself, they were practically young men! Already in high school. Fourteen. "Hmmm," Pete thought, "when Kevin was that age on my high school team, he hadn't even had his first cum! I wonder if the twins have had...Whoa! Where was THAT thought coming from?" Pete scolded himself for such notions. These two had practically grown up in front of him. He had no right to think of them...well, in that way.
Yet, now at the end of practice, as the two younger boys walked along the pool deck, returning their kick boards to the storage bin, Pete found his eyes wandering down to their wet swimsuits -- suits that hugged their young bodies in ways that brought stirrings to Pete's groin. The small suits -- faded by hundreds of hours in the water -- in no way concealed the obvious fact that these boys were, indeed, on the verge of manhood. Pete could plainly see their surprisingly large shafts resting snugly against the thin fabric, their heavy ball sacs beneath, swelling the suit between their upper thighs. "Stop it. STOP IT," Pete's mind screamed. "Don't look at them that way, you perv! They're just kids!" Yet, he continued to look, glancing each time he stroked toward the wall, almost running into the wall headfirst in the process.
When Pete reached the locker room, Jason and Jeremy had already changed, and were chattering in front of the mirror about some video game they wanted to buy. Pete was glad they were dressed, since he feared his eyes might stray again had they all showered and changed together. Their mom wouldn't be there for another fifteen minutes to pick them up, so the two gathered at the shower door, badgering Pete with questions about college life, his car, college parties, swimming, etc. Pete suddenly felt self-conscious -- always before, he had thought nothing of stripping off his suit and showering nude in front of the twins, or any of the other boys on the team for that matter. Yeah, he knew they would secretly (or sometimes not so secretly) check him out. He was the oldest guy on the team, and it was natural for the younger teens to look, just to see how their own bodies would change and mature in the next few years. Now, however, Pete felt odd, almost like an exhibitionist. Should he remove the suit, or just rinse off, wrap a towel around his waist, and slip the suit off that way like the younger guys always did? But wouldn't that be too obvious? Wouldn't they wonder why he was suddenly so shy in front of them? Wanting to act natural, and pretend nothing was out of sorts, Pete simply stripped the small suit down his thighs, then kicked it up and caught it as he had done so many times before. The boys, who admired this trick of his, clapped and laughed at his perfectly executed performance. Pete smiled at them, but felt an odd twitching `down there' as he noticed the twins once again, as they'd done so many times before, admiring his masculine attribute. Their blue eyes seemed to drink him in, almost ravishing him as he stood before them. He quickly turned his back to them, shielding them from seeing how his member had begun to harden and rise.
"Pete, do you have a hot girlfriend on campus?" Jason asked. "No, no one special," replied the college athlete, his back to the boys. "Oh, I know, you're just playing the field," snickered Jeremy. "Yeah, yeah, you know it," said Pete, grabbing his towel from the hook and quickly wrapping it around his waist as he hurried to his locker. The twins followed him, as they'd done for years, and sat on the bench across from him. Pete did his best to cover himself as he quickly dried off, then pulled on his underwear -- a pair of black boxer-briefs. "Oh, cool underwear," Jason said admiringly. "Our Mom still buys us just basic white briefs." "Nothing wrong with briefs," Pete responded, his mind suddenly filled with images of the youths in little pairs of tighty-whities. "Where is this coming from?" Pete wondered. "Am I somehow feeling attracted to these young guys? What the hell is going on?"
Dressing quickly, the three swimmers walked outside, and soon Pete waved good-bye to the twins. Driving back home, he started to reflect on his college days. When he had arrived at State, he became immersed in the world of academics and athletics. He had become a serious student-athlete, determined to make good grades and excel in his sport. While many of his fellow students -- even fellow swimmers from the team -- had looked forward to weekend parties and socializing, Peter had doggedly pursued his goals. His grades were good -- not 4.0, but good enough for the honor roll. His swimming steadily improved, his times dropping by decent intervals. That first year, and his second as a sophomore, had been good for him. Solid grades, growing athletic reputation, making a name for himself on campus. It was rewarding for him -- accolades from his family and friends. Even Aunt Maggie had flown in to join his family in cheering him on at the conference championships! Peter was successful, talented, on his way. Only one thing bothered him, and it was something he shared with no one -- no one in his family, on his team, in his classes -- no one. It was the loneliness, the crushing bitterness of having nobody special in his life. Since that night with Trevor, then the strange "initiation" he had endured, Peter had retreated into a world of confusion and conflicting emotions, allowing no one to enter that world and fill the aching void.
Peter had come to realize he was gay -- a fag, a queer, a homo. And he struggled with those feelings day in and day out for the first two years of his college life, feeling defiantly proud one minute, hating the shameful feelings he endured the next. Oh yes, he had fallen in love those first two years, but the recipients of that love knew nothing of their admirer's devotion. There had been Jon, senior captain of the swim team when Pete was a freshman -- Jon, the tall, masculine jock Pete secretly worshipped that first year. Jon, the guy who always had a kind word for Pete, no matter how well or poorly he swam at a particular meet. How Pete envied Katie, Jon's girlfriend. She would come to the natatorium most evenings, and they would walk to the dining hall together, Jon's arm around her shoulders. Pete would fall asleep at nights, hugging himself, imagining Jon was there, holding him...
There was Tommy, the kid from his sophomore math class -- Pete never spoke a word to him, but would always sit near and a little behind him in class. Tommy always wore jeans or shorts -- never a belt. His tight tee-shirts would slide up, revealing his toned, tight body, and always a teasing and extensive view of his underwear. Tommy seemed to prefer briefs, and a brand called 2Exist, a brand Pete had never heard of. Pete found the same underwear at a local department store, and bought some for himself. Whenever Tommy wore his, Pete would slide his own shirt up, hoping Tommy would look around, notice his sag, and comment on his underwear. But it never happened -- the semester ended, with nary a word exchanged between the two young college studs.
During the spring of his sophomore year, at athletes' study hall, Pete met Brian, a sophomore on the college wrestling team. Like Pete, Brian only had a partial scholarship, covering tuition, but not housing costs. Both boys became fast friends, meeting to study together, play Frisbee, or just hang out. Brian was straight -- or so it seemed -- he had a different girl every couple weeks. The boys stayed in touch over summer break, and when they returned to campus in the fall of their junior year, decided to try and save some money by renting an off-campus apartment together. As luck would have it, Brian found a place near the west side of campus, location of most university athletic facilities, but it was a three-bedroom unit, which was more than they could afford. However, Brian had a buddy who might be interested, and sure enough, the dude was happy to become the third member of their triumvirate. His name was Curt, and Peter found him to be both exciting and mysterious.
Curt was tall and blond. He was not a varsity athlete, but should have been. And would have been, had their college fielded a men's volleyball team. You see, Curt was an insatiable volleyball player, always participating in pick-up games around campus -- at the gym, outside the dorms, down on Fraternity Row -- anyplace there was a net and a few people willing to hit a ball around! As a swimmer, Pete had to be careful of extracurricular activities that might injure a shoulder muscle, or tear a ligament, but he sometimes went with Curt anyway, just to hang around his crazy, happy-go-lucky roomie! Brian sometimes went as well, though not as often, his smaller (5'8") size perhaps making him feel inadequate at the game.
Oh, that junior year, now just ended, had been such fun, Peter thought. He remembered how the three boys had adjusted so readily to one another those first few weeks of living together. Pete smiled to himself, thinking how the tall, well-endowed volleyball player would stroll nonchalantly between his bedroom and the bathroom, completely naked. Curt would stop and talk with you in the hallway, chatting about the most innocuous things, while his large cock rested serenely on a pair of the biggest testicles Pete had ever seen. Pete would try so hard not to look -- or at least not be obvious about it -- as Curt would innocently, naively reach down and scratch his nuts or adjust his shaft, as if touching oneself there in front of another guy was the most normal thing in the world. Brian, on the other hand, was never seen naked -- he would always wrap a towel around his waist, or don a pair of shorts before leaving his room or the bathroom.
By later in the fall, Brian -- already in heavy training for wrestling season -- would push their few pieces of beat-up furniture back to the walls and challenge his roommates to impromptu wrestling matches right there on the living room floor! He would pester and tease Peter or Curt -- sometimes play-slapping them or calling them names -- until one or the other would consent to a few minutes of grappling, after making Brian promise not to hurt them too much. Most of these matches would occur on days when Brian came in from afternoon wrestling practice, still charged with energy and vigor, ready to go just `one more round.' Apparently, he avoided the team showers on campus, for he often reeked of sweat and musk. At first, Pete thought it would be distasteful to be holding and wrestling a guy with such body odor, but he was shocked to find how arousing Brian's sweaty pit odor was to his senses. Brian seemed to sense that his pit smells stirred something in Pete, and he would frequently grab the swimmer in a headlock, forcing Pete's face under his arm, giving his roomie a good long whiff of his b.o. Pete was forced to inhale his buddy's heady scent, but secretly he enjoyed it -- it seemed to stir feelings in him both primal and sexual.
At first, the boys would just wrestle in shorts and tee-shirts, though shirts were quickly discarded to prevent tearing. But one day, Brian told Pete to wait a minute, and he quickly disappeared into his room, only to return moments later in his old high school wrestling team singlet. Brian had put on quite a bit of muscle since high school, however, and the snug lycra hugged his taut, muscular body like a second skin. The arm openings were wide and low-cut, leaving Brian's sides exposed, and his large pecs swelled the chest area so much that his large, brown nipples poked provocatively from the sides. The straps of the singlet rubbed tightly against those nipples, arousing and hardening them. Glancing toward his groin area, Pete was amazed at how revealing the singlet truly was -- Brian's male organ was accentuated, not covered by the garment, and it was easy for Pete to see exactly how the wrestler was `positioned' in the singlet. The seam of the fabric seemed to lift and separate Brian's hefty nuts, giving his opponent a clear view of how the singlet snuggled his large testicles. His shaft pointed straight up, and appeared to be semi-hard, much to Peter's surprise. He could see the length and girth of Brian's shaft, and could even make out the ridge of his mushroom-capped cock head where it flared against the tight lycra. But -- no more time to look -- for Brian was upon him! He lifted Pete off his feet and put him on his back in a split second. Pete, still in baggy gym shorts, began to twist and struggle, rolling onto his side, grabbing Brian's left arm and pulling him down toward the carpeting. Back and forth the match went, with Brian, as expected, maintaining the upper hand. Trying to roll Brian onto his back, Pete brazenly reached between the wrestler's legs, desperately attempting to get a grip -- any grip -- on his foe. The inside of his forearm pressed against Brian's crotch, and Pete could now feel the hard thickness of Brian's dick, now erect and swollen.
"Is Brian getting turned on by our match?" Pete wondered, as he strained to get a better grip, allowing his arm to press even more firmly against Brian's maleness. "And what's this?" Pete asked himself -- "why does the inside of my arm feel wet and sticky?" While he pondered these thoughts, Brian suddenly switched positions, trying to grab Pete's legs and turn him onto his stomach. Pete reached out and snagged the wrestler's left leg, sending him sprawling down on top of Pete. Now, Pete found his face virtually buried in Brian's groin. And he could distinctly see a large, dark wet spot on the lower front of the singlet, right where the tip of Brian's cock pushed the fabric outward. Pete's last thought before feeling his shoulders pinned to the floor was that he couldn't believe Brian had become so excited that his dick was leaking onto the singlet! Then he felt his shoulders pinned, and he heard Brian begin to gleefully count out: "One...two...thr..." before suddenly Brian's weight was off of him, then Brian was beside him on his back. "Oh no you don't," shouted Curt, who had just entered the fray after coming back from the library. "This time, wrestle boy, YOU'RE out!"
Poor Brian had no chance against the two of them. Within seconds, he was sprawled on the carpet while Pete quickly leapt up to help Curt. Brian struggled valiantly, but in vain. All those years of volleyball jumping and running had made Curt's long legs incredibly strong, and he quickly had Brian in a "scissors" hold -- his legs wrapped firmly around the chest of the prone wrestler, holding him firmly to the floor. Brian's right arm was also trapped down by his side, though his left was still free. Pete grabbed Brian's flailing legs and held them down, finally sitting atop the pinned youth's calves. Thus, Brian -- proud college varsity wrestler -- found himself immobilized by his two roommates, who now had him pinned and at their mercy.
From his sitting position, Pete could look down upon Brian's groin area, where his ample maleness swelled the thin material of the singlet. Indeed, Brian did have a large and growing wet spot. Judging by the hardness of the young man's trapped shaft, Pete knew the kid was sexually aroused, and uncontrollably leaking a fair amount of pre-cum from his turgid cock. Curt, from his position to Brian's side, had not noticed his victim's excited state. He simply snickered in delight at his helpless roomie, and began taunting him. "So, what ya gonna do now, big wrestler? Looks like we sorta cut ya down to size! He was big, Mr. Big Man on Campus, but now he's small. Yep, that's about the size of it --small man -- hahaha!" "Fuck you," Brian muttered, as he continued to feebly struggle. "Fuck both of you," he gasped. "Yep, that's about the size of it -- small!" continued Curt, before hearing Brian's vulgar threats. "Oh?" exclaimed Curt, "Show me how you're gonna fuck us, come on, show me, Mr. Small -- with THIS?" And at that moment, Curt reached around and began to teasingly poke and jab his finger into Brian's crotch area, much to Pete's amazement. Curt continued to jab and taunt, saying, "Show me how you're gonna fuck me -- with this?", his poking finger finally landing directly on Brian's swollen, rock-hard dick. Brian grunted, although whether in pain or ecstasy, Pete couldn't tell. When Curt realized he had jabbed Brian's sensitive undershaft, he tried to move his finger away, only to stick it directly onto the wet spot, where the singlet was now soaked with its owner's spooge. When Curt's brain finally absorbed what he was touching, and what the dampness had to be, his face began to redden, though not as brightly as the straining Brian's, and he withdrew his poking finger. "Oh, um, gee Bri, I...um...I didn't mean to...um...well, here let me let you up."
Curt unlocked his massive legs from around Brian's chest, and Pete hopped up to release his legs. But it was too late for Brian to regain control of himself -- his two roommates watched as he lay helplessly on the carpet, writhing slightly, as his dick twitched and stretched inside the singlet, suddenly releasing it's pent-up load of seed. The standing boys watched in fascination as the wet spot on Brian's singlet turned white, his semen soaking through the thin fabric and clinging to the outside of the wrestling uniform. Brian tried to roll to his left side, to shield his body from their view, but he was right up against the sofa, and had no place to roll. He weakly placed his cupped hands over his groin, but the singlet was stretched so obscenely, and was so soaked with sperm, that he could not adequately cover himself. He finally was able to scoot into a sitting position, unable to speak to Pete or Curt, and they couldn't think of anything to say. Brian finally stood up and simply dropped his hands to his side - he knew they could see everything anyway. He looked down at himself, red-faced with shame, as the gobs of spunk he'd shot through the singlet began to ooze and drip down the front. He shyly glanced up at his roommates -- his friends -- and simply said, "I guess I got a little too excited. It's been so long since I had any, well, any relief down there, I guess I just lost control."
Curt was quick to speak up. "Hey, Bri, it's no biggie -- you just got a little carried away. I, well, I shouldn't have been poking and jabbing you, well, you know, down there. I'm really sorry man -- I shouldn't have touched you there." Pete interjected. "It wasn't all your fault, Curt. Brian and I had been wrestling for quite a while before you came in. Bri was already, um, leaking down there. I think he was already near the point of shooting his load before you even touched him. Isn't that true, Bri?" Brian just stared at the floor and said nothing at first. Then he spoke. "I think I was already close to cumming. I just get excited sometimes when I wrestle. Even in varsity matches sometimes, I get an erection -- that's why I always wear a pair of briefs under my singlet -- to help hide it." This time, Pete began to chuckle, saying, "Dude, we both came to see you wrestle last week at the meet against Tech. You might need to wear two pairs of briefs. At the end, when the ref held your hand up in victory, we could both see you were, well, excited by the win!" Brian's face fell, and he muttered "Oh, how embarrassing. I wish you guys had told me." Curt said, "Well, we weren't sure how to say it. From the looks of the match, nearly every guy there was at least semi-hard -- we thought it was natural."
Brian smiled slightly, saying, "It can be a little exciting sometimes, I guess." Then, glancing down at his soiled singlet, he added, "Let me go clean up some." And with that, he turned quickly and hurried down the hall into the bathroom. Curt and Pete just looked at each other, arching their eyebrows, not knowing what to say. Brian returned to the living room a short time later, in a clean pair of shorts and a tee-shirt, a half-full laundry basket under his arm. "I think I'll catch up on some laundry," he exclaimed. Both Pete and Curt correctly suspected the stained singlet was buried somewhere in the basket of items to be washed.
In the days following the wrestling match, Pete mulled over what had happened. "Why had Brian become so sexually aroused? Why had Curt so deliberately jabbed Brian in such a private place -- was he trying to `feel him up' or something? Were my roommates secretly having gay thoughts or feelings -- the same feelings that torment me every day and night?" Should he talk to them -- tell them about his own conflicting emotions? What would they say? What would they do if they knew how Pete felt about guys -- even about them?" Pete was about to get a partial answer to his questions in a most surprising and unexpected way.
About two weeks later, Brian was out of town for a weekend wrestling tournament at a distant college. It was late in the afternoon on a warm Friday -- what turned out to be the last warm day of autumn as the first blast of winter hit the campus later that weekend. Pete was in his room finishing an assignment that was due Monday. He wanted to finish it early so he would have the weekend free to hang out with friends. He had enjoyed that afternoon's swim practice -- a fairly short, easy practice, since his team had a meet against a visiting squad the following afternoon. It was close to dinnertime, and as Pete typed the closing remarks on his paper, he heard the door to the apartment open and Curt come in from his usual volleyball game. Pete realized it was early for Curt to be back since he normally came in when darkness called a halt to the game down by Frat Row. Glancing down the hall, he was surprised to see Curt grimacing in pain as he shuffled slowly across the living room. "What's wrong, Curt?" he called to his roommate. "Oh, I ...uh...I sort of got hurt playing v-ball today. I dove for a ball and slammed my hip into that low brick wall down along the field next to Frat Row." Pete walked into the living room and was shocked to see a fair amount of blood on the right side of Curt's white shorts, his friend gritting his teeth in pain.
Pete hurried over and let Curt put his arm around his neck as he helped him to the bathroom. "Here, let me take a look," Pete said, noticing the injury was on Curt's upper right hip, an awkward place for the wounded athlete to reach. As he helped steady Curt against the sink, he had to lower the young man's shorts to get a better look at the injury. Curt stood stoically as the shorts were slipped down his thighs, then dropped past his calves to the floor. But his long tee-shirt kept falling down, covering the injured site, so he raised his arms so Pete could remove it. Glancing back down, Pete was at first excited to see Curt now wore only a small jock strap -- an older, somewhat frayed strap that had known better days. It was probably one the guy has owned since high school, Pete thought to himself. But his attention was quickly diverted by the bloody scrapes and torn flesh on the bruised hip. Pete grabbed a clean washcloth, filled the sink with warm, soapy water, and began to clean and swab the wound gently. His touch made Curt jump and flex -- a natural reaction to the sting of the cleansing soap. Cleaning the area thoroughly, Pete was only inches from Curt's cute, rounded ass -- now exposed for all the world to see, though Pete had seen it a hundred times before as the naked stud had walked from bathroom to bedroom. Trying to concentrate on the task at hand, Pete became aware of the overwhelming scent of Curt's body -- the smell of man sweat from his warm, moist pits, the musky aroma emanating from the jock's ass and groin region. Pete was shocked to find himself becoming aroused, and he fought back the nasty thoughts that suddenly sprang to his mind -- thoughts of what he could do with his jock roommate in a jockstrap.
"No, stop thinking that way," he told himself, as he tried unsuccessfully to force his mind away from the sexual thoughts now crowding into his consciousness. "Is it still bleeding?" Curt asked suddenly, bringing Pete back to reality. "Um, no, I don't think so, but we will have to put some ice on this bruise, then a bandage. Here, let me help you into your bedroom." With some difficulty, Pete helped Curt limp down the hall, into the bedroom, and then helped him stretch out on the bed. Rushing to the kitchen, Pete filled a plastic bag with some ice and brought it back down the hall. He stopped at the door to Curt's room, admiring the view of his stud roommate stretched out on the bed on his side, the lightly stained pouch of the jockstrap barely containing the treasures within. The site was so erotic, so enticing to Pete, that he felt his own organ suddenly swell and grow within his boxer briefs. "I can't believe I'm having these feelings for Curt," the swimmer admonished himself. "He needs my help." Walking into the room, Pete sat beside Curt on the edge of the bed and placed the cool bag against the bruised area. Curt jumped at first, then settled down as the ice began to alleviate the pain. "Here, I can hold the ice," Curt said, as he started to reach his right arm down his side to grab the plastic bag. "No, no, you just relax," Pete said. "Let me do this." Pete held the bag with his left hand, and absentmindedly began to run his right hand up and down Curt's powerful thigh. "Did you get hurt anyplace else?" he asked, continuing to run his palm and fingers along the naked flesh, feeling the strong tendons and quadriceps as he went. "No, I don't think so. Just my hip," Curt responded. Pete forced himself to stop rubbing and caressing his buddy's thigh, but simply could not remove his right hand -- he allowed it to rest quietly on Curt's right thigh, relishing the feeling of warmth and strength from the shapely limb.
Was he imagining it, or was the pouch of that jockstrap suddenly becoming much fuller than it appeared a short while ago? Pete glanced at Curt's face -- his eyes were closed -- then back at the pouch. It WAS fuller -- as he watched, Pete could see Curt becoming more erect, his long cock straining against the worn, frayed fabric. His penis was beginning to tent the pouch, pushing it away from his lower abdomen, and stretching it away from the spot where his upper thigh joined his groin. Now, a number of stray pubic hairs were becoming visible -- an inviting tangle of dark blond curls appearing for Pete's viewing pleasure. Pete began to slowly, gently move his right hand and fingers once again along the exposed thigh, softly teasing and rubbing along Curt's large quad muscles. Instantly, the pouch bulged further out, the straining dick beneath twitching inside the small cotton prison.
"I'm sorry, Pete," Curt whispered huskily. Pete's eyes darted from Curt's groin to his face, and he flushed with color when he realized the injured man had caught him staring at his bulging crotch region. "I didn't mean to get a boner in front of you like this. I'm sorry," he said again. "It's no big deal," Pete said hoarsely. "I mean, it's big...uh...I mean...I mean... it's not a problem." Both boys started to laugh nervously at the improbable scene, with Curt finally saying, "I think it's leaking." Pete glanced down at the strained pouch, at the point where Curt's dickhead pushed the fabric outward. "No, you're not leaking -- I don't see any wet spots on your jock, dude." "I meant the plastic bag," Curt interrupted. "It's leaking the melted water on my leg." "Oh, OH, yeah, yeah," Pete stammered, his face turning even brighter red. "Let me get another bag." He hurried out to the kitchen and found a sturdier bag, placing the other one inside it. Then he returned to Curt's room.
Pete stopped in the doorway again to admire the view. Curt was on his side, facing away from the door, so didn't realize Pete was staring at him. And what a sight to see, thought Pete. Curt had a tall, strong body -- not overly muscular, but extremely fit, taut, well-sculpted. Long, powerful legs and arms, trim waist, nice chest. And the way the leg straps of that jock framed his pale, rounded buttocks... Pete forced himself to walk back into the room and sit on the bed. He put the ice bag down on the injured hip, and once again found his eyes drawn to the pouch of the little jock -- still packed with Curt's swollen manhood. He put his right hand back on the exposed thigh and once again, almost subconsciously, hypnotically, he began to stroke the naked flesh. Curt groaned slightly, but said nothing. Within moments, however, he rolled onto his back, allowing the ice bag to slip off his hip and onto the bedspread, while Peter's caressing hand was now rubbing the front of his roommate's leg, fingers brushing gently, urgently against the cotton pouch. Pete saw Curt's eyes were open, looking into his. "The ice won't stay on your hip unless you are on your side," he said. "It doesn't hurt any more," came the reply.
Suddenly, Curt reached down and grabbed Pete's straying hand. Pete was taken aback, thinking Curt would remove it and push it away with disgust. Instead, he held it under his own, then slowly slid it over toward his groin. Within seconds, Peter found his right hand resting on Curt's bulging manhood. He could feel the shape and size of the large cock still hidden beneath the white fabric of the jock. Both boys stared into each other's eyes, breathing hard, both afraid to speak, until Curt quietly said, "You can rub me here, if you want to."
Pete needed no further invitation. His three years of self-imposed celibacy had created such a need -- such a desire -- for sexual contact, that all his fears and inhibitions were swept aside by his overpowering hunger to touch another male intimately. He began to explore the full pouch, tenderly squeezing the hard shaft, then the large nuts -- playing and toying with Curt's sex organ much as he had his own during those lonely, frustrating nights. Soon, he was fingering the long tube, almost reading its size and shape like a blind man reads Braille. Touching, rubbing, teasing, stroking -- just doing anything to be in contact with Curt's big cock. Soon, he was sliding a couple fingers into the leg opening, and wrapping his fingers around the heavy, hairy nutsac -- the orbed `baby makers' jostling for position in his grasp. Curt now closed his eyes, his neck and back arching as his arousal grew stronger. Moving his hand upward, Pete now felt his fingers running along the bare flesh of Curt's hard love rod, feeling the veins and ridges and the enlarged seminal duct where it ran the length of the undershaft. Both boys were now gasping for air as their sexual needs continued to grow. "Please Pete," Curt whispered, "can you slip my jock off? It's so tight, so uncomfortable." Peter was more than happy to oblige.
Grasping the waistband, Pete tugged downward as Curt lifted his ass slightly off the bed. Pete was careful to peel the pouch over the distended penis trapped within, so as not to snag the protruding member and twist it into an uncomfortable position. Then he slid the leg straps down, until the small garment was around the volleyball player's strong calves. Now, the imprisoned cock was free -- free to arch toward Curt's lower belly, leaving the heavy nutsac to rest on his upper thighs, vulnerable and exposed. Pete found those big, swollen gonads intriguing, and slid his palm under them, allowing his hand to lift and jiggle his buddy's scrotum. "Your nuts are so big, so heavy," he whispered to Curt, as he lovingly fondled the objects of his fascination, before moving his hand onto the turgid pole. "Your dick is so long, so smooth," he crooned, as he rolled the nine-inch prick between his fingers. Noticing a bead of pre-cum pearling at the tip, Pete swiped it with his thumb, then spread it down the shaft for lubrication. Noticing how Curt jumped and grunted at the touch of his thumb on the cock head, he turned his attention to that sensitive area, repeatedly grazing his thumb and fingers across the purple mushroom cap, as Curt writhed beside him, his piss lips now leaking copious amounts of sex nectar. With every spurt of fresh honey, Pete would tenderly spread it down the long shaft, until that love pole was sticky, shiny and glistening with its coating of orgasmic fluid.
It seemed like hours, but in reality was only several minutes, that the two excited youths lay together, Pete slowly working his roommate into a sexual frenzy so powerful, so demanding, that an ejaculation was imminent. Curt was nodding his head from side to side, the pain in his hip forgotten, as new sensations swept him away. He ached for release -- his body demanded it -- and he knew it wouldn't be long in coming. "Please, Pete, please, make me cum. Make me cum NOW. I can't take any more. I...I can't stand this torment anymore. Please, buddy, please...PLEASE!" he hissed between clenched teeth. "Okay, Curt, okay -- here you go, big guy," Pete answered gruffly, barely able to speak aloud. Pete shifted position, taking the long shaft in his left hand, and rubbing and scratching the length of that red, enflamed cock with the fingers of his right hand. Within seconds, Curt's throat emitted a low, almost animalistic groan, his body arched off the bed, and his cock began a rapid-fire ejaculation, shooting gobs of white-hot sperm in lengthy trajectories onto his chest and neck and abs, and Pete's arm and hand. His body collapsed back onto the bed only when the shooting spree slowed to an ooze of boy spunk seeping from his spent organ.
Moments later, as the two rested together, cum cooling in puddles on his body, Curt began to sob softly, small tears squeezing from his eyes. Alarmed and frightened, Pete pulled away, fearing what had happened had opened a door to something tragic and painful in Curt's life. "Oh, God, Curt, are you all right? What have I done to you?" he asked. "It was my first time," Curt replied innocently. "And it was just as wonderful as I'd always hoped it would be."
"Your...your first time?" Pete repeated incredulously. "You mean you had never been with anyone before?" "No, no one. Ever," said Curt. "I was always sort of shy about that stuff. And, to be honest, I was never sure what direction I wanted to go -- you know, I realized a long time ago that I liked guys, but did I really want to DO something with a guy? I just wasn't sure. Until today -- with you. Then I knew." Pete swallowed hard, then asked, "Did I maybe push you, well, push you into something you weren't really ready for?" "No, Pete, no. Not at all. I was ready and willing. I just lacked the courage to pursue what I wanted. But your gentleness and kindness, not only today with my injury, but these past few months of living together -- it made me sure of you. I knew you would be gentle with me -- not push me too far, not hurt me or use me. I knew I wanted you to be my first, and it was perfect, and beautiful, and exciting. Thank you." And with that, he took Pete's right hand into his own, pulled it to his lips, and kissed it romantically. Pete felt his cheeks blushing, his heart touched by Curt's honest admissions and sweet gesture. On impulse, Pete suddenly leaned over and wrapped his arms around Curt, pulling him close, and whispered, "Thank you for giving me the honor of being your first."
After resting a short while, Pete arose and went into the bathroom, returning with a bandage for Curt's hip. He spread a dab of ointment on the wound, then covered it with gauze and the bandage. By now, Curt was becoming playfully giddy with the excitement of what they'd done, and desirous of returning the "favor" with his roomie. Giggling, Pete extracted himself from Curt's clutches, explaining coach had admonished the team about "no sex" before tomorrow's meet, but promising him that once the meet was over, they would have a whole Saturday night to explore new worlds together, and maybe part of Sunday as well, since Brian wasn't scheduled to return until later that day.
Peter couldn't help but grin from ear to ear as he drove home from the pool, thinking back to that weekend some six months before. Man, he and Curt had worn each other out that Saturday night! "That damn Curt was insatiable," Pete thought, smiling goofily to himself. "I sure did open a floodgate of hormones in that guy when I pulled that jock strap off of him," he mused. He and Curt had continued to `explore' new worlds AND new positions the remainder of that school year, learning things neither had known before. They had been careful not to tell Brian -- since his "accident" in the singlet, their wrestling bouts had diminished in frequency. Now, they had to nudge him into a bout, rather than the other way around. And Brian's flock of girlfriends had grown considerably, as he constantly seemed to have a cute coed at his side.
The walls of the apartment were thin, and since Peter's room was next to Brian's, he could sometimes hear the jock making out with his girlfriend-of-the-week late at night. He would hear them giggling, cooing, and even hear the gentle squeak of the mattress springs as Brian nailed yet another hot pussy with his piston-like cock. Pete would picture the wrestler, stripped naked and dripping with sweat, as he plowed into Katie or Cassie or whomever the favored young lady happened to be. Pete would find himself growing instantly erect from the sounds of the lovemaking occurring so close by, and he would fondle and stroke himself into a powerful orgasm as he pictured Brian in the throes of passion, his muscled body tense and aroused, his swollen wrestler's dick probing, seeking, demanding entry into the girl's quivering vagina. But he often found himself wondering what was going through Brian's head at that moment of climax. Was Brian exulting in the pounding of some 115 pound girl into the mattress, or was he secretly picturing himself pounding some hulking, muscular athlete into the wrestling mat -- conquering him and dominating him, until he spilled his copious seed onto his defeated and vanquished foe? Or, just maybe, Brian was imagining himself as all-powerful, forcing his opponent into the ultimate submission of one male to another -- imagining himself ripping and stripping the singlet off his defeated adversary, then raping the helpless jock beneath him -- taking his "prize" as the spoils of battle. Peter would have to stifle his moans of pleasure as he blew his wad, his dick gushing wildly as he lay in bed stroking in rhythm to Brian's frenzied thrusts. Yet, Pete's thoughts would wander as he climaxed -- from Brian to Curt, back and forth, and the young swimmer realized that although he was attracted to Brian in a very physical way, he was also attracted to Curt in a deeper, more meaningful way.
Still, Curt and Pete had come to realize Brian was not `like them', but that was cool -- they thought the world of him, and valued his friendship and camaraderie deeply.
He was more than a roommate, he was their friend.
But for now, Pete had to concentrate on the
upcoming meet. Curt was back in