Teen Bodybuilder -- Part 6, Conclusion, by swimmboy4@aol.com

This story contains scenes involving sexual contact between college-aged males. If you do not enjoy such stories, or it is illegal to read such stories in your jurisdiction, please do not continue reading.

November was going to be a killer month for sure. Term papers to finish up, exams, swim practice, swim meets -- where would I find time to do everything? It was much the same for Tyler -- he had the National Junior Bodybuilding Championships in just a couple weeks, and his training had taken on a new intensity. His body absolutely glowed, radiating power and strength. You would think I would have grown accustomed to seeing him in his little briefs, muscles bulging to ridiculous proportions, sweat shining on his powerful physique. Yet every day, it was like I was seeing him for the first time. The spread of his sweeping lats, his swelling delts, his quadriceps quivering with the strain of his leg workouts. I could simply stare at him for hours on end and never grow tired of the wondrous site before me. He would catch me eyeing him, and smile that warm, handsome smile I had come to love. I used to blush and turn away, but now I would just smile back, shaking my head in disbelief that anyone could be so strong, so muscular, so beautiful.

Sometimes, when Tyler stood flexing in front of our full-length mirror we had mounted to the wall in our dorm, popping his huge "guns" or bouncing his mighty pecs, I would jump in front of him and flex myself! I would flex my biceps, doing a "double biceps" pose. I was an athlete, and it showed -- my upper arms were a good bit larger than most guys' on campus, our swim team weight room program showing definite results. I would stand there with both arms up, my bis raising nicely. Then Tyler would appear directly behind me, doing the same pose. We were virtually the same height, so my head and face would block his. But behind my little Appalachian Mountain biceps there suddenly rose the Rockies -- no, the Himalayas - towering, peaking, swollen with muscle and might. His massive upper legs appeared behind mine -- his powerful thighs surrounding mine, bulging far beyond the sides of my narrower, slimmer ones. Behind both sides of my chest spread his giant pecs and huge lats, overpowering my smaller form. Behind my waist -- well, there was nothing! His narrow, V-shaped torso tapered down to a tiny waist that easily hid behind mine. I wasn't fat, I just didn't have the perfect waistline he had. And that bag of chocolate chip cookies on my bed wasn't helping me any!

Tyler wouldn't laugh at my smaller, weaker body. In fact, he always praised me. He claimed he was seeing certain improvement, and frequently commented on my bigger forearms, my growing calf muscles, etc. Although I always scoffed at his compliments, I was secretly thrilled that this musclegod had noticed my modest physical improvements and development. I don't think I was being narcissistic, I just felt proud that my body was taking on new definition and strength, and Tyler had noticed that.

Jimmy and a few of his "entourage" were usually in attendance for his late afternoon workout, spotting for him or helping move his equipment, refilling his water bottle, and sundry other things just to help out their friend, and have an excuse to be near him. I would often get back to the dorm from afternoon swim practice about the time Ty was finishing up, and his "posse" was dispersing to their own rooms. We would go to the dining hall, or maybe a nearby restaurant for dinner. Tyler was pouring the protein on, eating healthy meats, veggies, fruits, while I just sought out calories wherever I could find them. Practice usually burned 4,000-5,000 calories a day from my body, and I needed to replenish that lost nourishment. Tyler would eat skinless chicken -- I would munch deep-battered fried chicken by the plateful! Steamed vegetables for him, mashed potatoes with gravy for me. I loved desserts -- the `chocolatier' the better. No, or very few sweets of any kind for the bodybuilder, who had to worry that the ounce of fat would hide the curve of his sero-gluto-quadri-something or other!

One evening, I did convince Ty to accompany me to a small ice cream shop near campus. I ordered a hot fudge sundae -- no nuts, extra syrup, please. He ordered one, just one, scoop of plain vanilla in a small bowl. The middle-aged woman behind the counter took one look at his bulked size which his windbreaker in no way concealed, and commented, "Honey, you're a big boy! You sure that's all you want?" "Yes, ma'am," he answered politely. "Well, I'll just give you the biggest one scoop I can scoop up!" she told him, as he smiled shyly. As we ate, three guys I would call "toughs" came in and placed their orders, then sat loudly talking and boasting at a table not far away. They frequently eyed Tyler, nudging each other and nodding his way. I was growing uncomfortable, remembering the incident with the drunken frat boy earlier in the semester, and wanted to leave. Tyler seemed oblivious to them, however, and continued to chat idly with me while eating small spoonfuls of the ice cream, his windbreaker still on. As I feared, the three quickly finished their desserts, then strolled over to where we sat. The apparent ringleader said to Tyler, "You look pretty strong. Care to show me your guns?" As he said this, he removed his own jacket and popped his right, tattoo-covered biceps for all to admire. It WAS big, certainly bigger than mine, but it was soon to be "outgunned". Tyler had finished his last bite, so he slowly stood up, slipped off his jacket, and, smiling slightly, showed these new boys what a real man's arm looked like. The three of them simply stared, slack-jawed and speechless. One let out a low whistle while the ringleader simply uttered, "Oh man." "Have a good night," he said politely, as he headed for the door, his buddies in tow.

"Maybe I should get a tatt," Tyler said to me once we were back in our room. "Why?" I asked. "Well, it looks kinda cool -- if it's the right pattern or design. What do you think?" I looked him in the eyes and gave him an honest answer. "I wouldn't get one if I were you, Ty. Your body is already a complete work of art -- a work you have created with your own hands, sweat, pain and determination. A little picture or pattern would only detract from the essential you. So no, I don't think you need or should get a tattoo. That's my opinion, anyway." He looked at me with a bemused expression, nodded his head, and went down the hall to the men's room to get ready for bed.

As mid-November rolled around, our swim team was showing a few signs of fatigue from the hard practice sessions the coach had been giving us. Pete, the team co-captain who had, well, given me my "team shave-down", was even surlier than before. He was constantly snapping at other guys, picking at them over the smallest thing, name-calling, instigating. Occasionally he would snap at me, but I just ignored him and got along as best I could. His worst invectives were saved for Jimmy -- our team manager -- "that little fag who cleans up after us" as Pete called him. It always surprised me to see and hear my much-smaller dormmate give as good as he got. He never just accepted Pete's attacks -- he always had a smart-ass retort or withering comment -- one I was sure would send Pete flying into a total rage one of these days. Instead, something completely unexpected was about to be revealed to me.

One Friday afternoon after swim practice I headed to an off-campus store for a new calculator. The store was just outside the northeast corner of campus, and I walked quickly in the gathering gloom, hoping to get what I needed and get back to the dorm to meet Ty for dinner. This side of campus was not busy -- the physical plant department had a bunch of old buildings there filled with snow plows and lawn equipment. But there was a pretty little park area here with benches beneath thick evergreens. I had seen the spot once, but usually just hurried by on my way off-campus, as did most of the few students who passed this way.

We had had a very tough practice set -- 30 x 100 yards on 1:05 at the end. Then, Pete and Jimmy had nearly come to blows over some stupid thing in the locker room -- Jimmy had mopped and hosed the floor down, and it was still wet when we staggered in from the pool. Clumsy Pete had nearly slipped, and blamed Jimmy for "fucking everything up in here." Jimmy defended himself by saying he had sprayed the floor with disinfectant to prevent athlete's foot, and had just finished spraying it off with water. One ugly comment led to another. Pete called Jimmy "our cleaning lady", and lewdly grabbed his bulging Speedo-covered crotch, taunting Jimmy with statements like, "You know you want this, cleaning lady -- come and get it. I've got something you can polish!" Others on the team told Pete to cut it out, and several thanked Jimmy for taking care of our locker room for us. Pete kept teasing and picking at Jimmy until the smaller boy finally yelled at Pete, saying, "Go ahead, keep groping yourself -- that's the only action you'll get this weekend. In fact, that's the only action you'll ever get -- nobody else could stand to be around you long enough for it to even get hard. Just get changed, go back to your dorm, and beat your meat like you always do. You are just a cruel and pathetic excuse for a human being who will end up bitter and alone your whole life."

I thought this was it -- Jimmy was going to get killed by the bigger, stronger swimmer. Instead, Pete went to his locker, stripped off his suit, put on his boxers, sweatpants, sweatshirt, shoes, and jacket, and quietly walked out the door. I kept thinking how odd Pete's behavior had been as I walked past the small park in this deserted part of campus, how strange it was that he didn't explode in anger at Jimmy. As I passed the evergreen-shaded spot, I distinctly heard a muffled sob from behind the thick firs, where the benches were located. I stopped and listened -- there it was again. Curious, I stepped off the main path and headed into the dark, scented refuge. And then stopped dead in my tracks. There sat Pete, rocking on the cold concrete bench, with his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms hugging his legs close to his body. Another soft sob escaped him -- his head was down, so I couldn't see if he was crying, but the sobs were unmistakable. I stood there for at least a solid minute, afraid to go forward, and afraid to turn around for fear of drawing his attention. So far, he had not noticed my presence.

I knew I had to say something. "Pete," I called softly. He snapped his head up and around, a look of alarm on his face, his eyes red. "What the...go away!" he hissed, alarm replaced with anger -- or was it fear? "No," I said brazenly, "I'm not leaving until you tell me why you are sitting here alone in such obvious anguish." "None of your damn business, Donnelly. Just leave me the hell alone!" he shot back. Instead, I took a seat on a bench facing him, folded my hands in my lap, and waited. He roughly wiped his sleeve across his eyes, trying to hide the tears that already streaked his face. "Leave me the fuck alone," he growled harshly at me. But I didn't move, and said to him as gently as I could, "Why are you so angry all the time? So bitter toward others? What makes you drive people away instead of seeking out friends?" "I don't want -- or need -- friends. You or anyone else." He turned away and started to get up to leave. Wearily, he muttered, "You wouldn't understand. You don't know what it's like. God, I wish I were dead."

Those last six words cut through me like a knife. Back in high school, there had been a boy who was something of a loner. A nice enough kid, but not popular or well known. One warm, sunny day, he had committed suicide, something that had shocked our small community. Nobody had really even known him -- some said we should have reached out to him more, others said it was his fault for not reaching out to us. There was speculation from a few that he was "odd", maybe "gay", and he simply couldn't cope with it anymore. In any case, a human life was tragically lost, wasted really. An image of that kid floated before my eyes as Pete's words echoed in my head. I looked into his eyes and simply said, "I don't wish you were dead." He glared at me for an instant, then quietly said, "You would if you knew about me...about what I am. I can't take it anymore." He started walking out of the little copse where we were, and a thousand images rushed into my brain -- Pete fondling me in the pool the day I was late to practice, his constant taunting references to Jimmy's "homosexuality", his overly macho persona, his lack of a girlfriend and apparent lack of interest in having one, his eager participation in the shaving of my body, and, well, the subsequent masturbation he and Kevin performed on me, and suddenly it hit me. He froze in mid-step as I said the words I never thought I would say aloud: "I'm gay, too."

Pete stayed still, just standing motionless, for what seemed an eternity, but was probably thirty seconds. Then he slowly turned to face me and said quizzically, "What did you say?" I repeated my words, louder this time. He looked me in the eyes and said, "Well, I'm no fuckin' fag...I'm no queer! I...I...can't stand to...I...," and then a great sob shook his body as he fought to keep control. He suddenly crumpled to the ground and curled up in a ball, moaning and crying, saying, "I hate myself. I hate what I am. God, just let me die..." I went over to him and touched his shoulder -- he jumped up and gave me a pained, miserable look. "Get away from me, Donnelly! I hate you! I hate myself. I can't live with this anymore -- I WON'T live with this anymore!" Again, he was wracked by sobs as he stumbled away from me. Then he said to me, "You don't know what this hell is like -- to be different from everyone else. To be a damn fag! How did you know I...well, how did you...oh, I don't give a damn how you figured it out. It doesn't matter now anyway, it's too late." He started to walk away again, then turned and mocked me, saying, "I can't believe you would say that -- `I'm gay too' -- bullshit! You're just making fun of me. I oughta beat the hell out of you right here!" He angrily raised a fist, but I didn't flinch, nor raise a hand to protect myself. I simply said, "That won't change who or what we are."

Pete just stood there, glaring at me. Then his face softened, and he seemed to physically shrink before my eyes. A look of utter sadness spread across his face, and he sat on a bench and put his head in his hands, mumbling, "I can't take it. I hate the way I am -- what I am. Oh God, why can't I just be normal?" I walked over and sat next to him, but did not touch him. I just sat there, waiting. He finally lifted his eyes and looked at me, whispering hoarsely, "How did you know?' I answered him honestly, saying, "I didn't know -- not until just a few moments ago. All this pain and anger you have -- at yourself, at God, at everyone -- it just reminded me of what I went through a couple years ago when I first started to accept what I was. All those questions -- you know, why do I have these feelings? What's wrong with me? Why am I not like all the other guys? All the anger you have, well, I had it, too." He looked at me intensely and said, "I don't believe you're gay. You're too, well...um...too normal. I mean, last year I stood outside one of those Gay and Lesbian club meetings here on campus - the guys were so, well, gay -- all soft voices and limp wrists. It made me physically ill that I was anything like them -- I just turned and left. Donnelly, you're not like that at all -- I mean, you're just an average guy. You're bullshitting me when you say you're gay. If you're gay, I'll eat that pine cone over there," he said, pointing to the ground.

I reached into my backpack and produced a half-full bottle of sport drink. "Here," I said, "this will help wash it down." He sat there, looking stunned, for quite some time. So many expressions flashed across his face -- sadness, anger, curiosity, bitterness, confusion -- I couldn't keep up with his emotional roller coaster if I'd wanted to. I just sat there, waiting. Finally, he looked at me again, then quietly said, "So, you've had, well, you know, sex with other guys?" "I've never gone 100% of the way -- not yet," I answered. "But there is one guy on campus I've been very close, well, intimate with." Pete looked shocked at this revelation, and said, "Shit dude, you'd better not let that big roomie of yours find out. He'd beat you to a pulp in no time. Why, he'd prob..." I don't know if my expression revealed anything -- I was certainly trying to be non-committal, but he continued. "Wait a minute. Your roommate -- the bodybuilder -- don't tell me that big dude is gay? A fag? NO WAY! Oh, damn, that is unbelievable. Oh damn, I don't believe it. The two of you?" He started to chuckle, then laughed out loud. I was at a loss for words, fearing the more I denied anything, the worse I would sound. Then he surprised me by saying, "I guess some guys go for those big boys. Not me -- I like the little guys -- the ones smaller than me." He was blushing as he said this, and it was my turn to laugh as I said, "Hey, to each his own."

We continued to talk quietly, awkwardly, for several minutes. Then he stunned me speechless by saying, "Do you know who I really like? Well, I'm going to tell you. Jimmy." When I regained some composure, I said, "But you treat him like hell! Like dirt!" "Yeah, I know," he said sheepishly, "I say stuff to him just to get a rise out of him. Just to get him to notice me, to say something -- anything -- to me. God, how pathetic am I? Every time I grab my crotch and offer it to him, I'm secretly hoping he'll accept. What an ass I am." "Well," I said, "if you made the offer in a nice way, he might just accept." "What? Are you saying he really IS gay? Bullshit, Donnelly -- next you'll tell me coach is gay, Timmy is gay, Daniel is gay, the whole fuckin' team is gay, every guy on this campus is gay! You're full of crap!" he shouted.

"I think coach has been happily married since, like, forever. And Daniel -- with his hands all over his girlfriend 24/7, well I don't think so. Timmy -- definitely not gay. In fact, if the 10% rule applies, that would probably make the two of us the only queers on the team. Statistically speaking, of course." Pete looked suddenly sad again, and said, "How do you just accept it? My parents will hate me. I just can't face it." I told him, "Look, take it day by day. I haven't told my parents yet, but when I do, well, they may be disappointed, but they won't hate me. And yours won't hate you, either. But Pete, stop beating yourself up. Go out and just live your life. Reach out to people -- straight or gay -- seek out friends you trust, people who are honest and good. Don't give up on life -- especially when you haven't even started living! Maybe you'll fall in love tomorrow, or maybe not for five years. But don't give up without trying to be yourself, or trying to find happiness. It's not always easy, but it's worth the effort."

We spoke a few more minutes -- small talk, mostly -- then I glanced at my watch and said I had to get to the store before it closed. I started to leave when he stood next to me and reached out to shake my hand. "Thank you, Eric," he said firmly. "But, for right now, could we just keep this to ourselves? Until I can sort all this out?" "Of course, Pete, you can trust me, just as I am trusting you." Pete suddenly grabbed me and pulled me into a hug -- nothing sexual, just a firm, manly hug. He smiled -- the first true smile I'd seen on his face -- and walked out of the trees and back toward campus. I hurried on to the store and got back to the dorm in time for dinner with Tyler. I did tell Tyler a little about my encounter with a teammate who was struggling to deal with issues of sexual orientation, without naming names. Tyler nodded his head knowingly and simply said, "Just like all of us."

A new Pete showed up at practice Saturday morning, and at every practice after that. Gone was the surliness, the bitter sarcasm, replaced by a shy, if hesitant, smile, and words of courtesy. The team was surprised, a couple guys whispering, "Pete must finally be getting some!" But I knew the truth -- he was slowly facing his demons and beating them back one by one. When Pete thanked Jimmy for his hard work and dedication to our team, Jimmy began to back away from him, as though one of those horrible monsters like in the movie "Alien" was going to jump out of Pete's space-pod body any minute. "Um..., you're welcome," Jimmy finally croaked.

The following weekend was the Junior National Bodybuilding Championships. They were being held in a city about 250 miles away. Tyler and I had no car, and were too young to rent one. Just as we were heading for the bus station for tickets, the guy from down the hall with the old, beat-up, raggedy car so many had made fun of in September came to our room with the keys. "Here, guys," he said, placing the keys in Tyler's hand. "Just bring it back unscratched -- well, with no more scratches than it already has -- and with a full tank." We were overjoyed -- we had our own "ride" to the championships! We loaded the car after class on Thursday and took off. Coach Wilson was not thrilled I'd be missing two days of practice, but I told him there was a city recreation center a few blocks from the hotel with a twenty-five yard pool, and I promised to do the workout he kindly wrote down for me. Tyler was especially excited, not only to be heading for the big bodybuilding championship, but also because his big brother was flying in from the University of Texas to support him.

We reached the host city for the championships that evening, having stopped along the road for dinner. The hotel was quite nice -- certainly more expensive than two college kids could afford on their own, but Tyler's folks had sent him some extra cash to cover the costs, so we were set. The room we got was spacious, with two double beds. We would be there three nights, since the preliminary rounds were Friday evening, the finals on Saturday. Tyler's brother Jason would fly in Friday morning, in plenty of time to help Ty prepare for prelims. Since he was another "broke" college guy, he would be sharing the room with us. I asked Tyler if we should order a rollaway bed, but he said no, he and his brother would just share a bed and I could have the other. He had not told his brother of our special relationship, and was not yet ready to cross that bridge. Therefore, after Thursday night, we would not be sharing a bed.

Tyler was already pumped for the competition as we headed for bed that night. He was so excited, so animated -- full of nervous energy and youthful exuberance. It was a joy just to be around him -- sharing this experience with him. That evening, we'd met a few of the guys who were staying down the hall, also here for the competition. One kid was named Jeremy -- a farm boy fresh off the fields of Iowa. He was just a bit younger than we were -- a senior in high school. His body was absolutely fantastic -- a life of hard work on the farm had given him an awesome physique to begin with, and the past couple years he had fine-tuned his body into something spectacular. He wasn't quite as developed as Tyler, but was still an awesome sight in his tight jeans and tee-shirt. Tyler and I were immediately taken by him -- his sparkling eyes and quick, warm smile could capture anyone's attention. And his innocent, lost-boy-in-the-big-city naivete made us draw close to him, and he became virtually attached to us at the hip within an hour of our hallway meeting. Jeremy had been a district wrestling champion the previous year, and would vie for the state title later that winter. I'd always thought of wrestlers as being somewhat gruff, rather cold and impersonal, perhaps due to the nature of their sport. How could someone who was such a stand-alone athlete, who had to test his very body, strength, and courage against another, afford to be warm and amiable? Yet Jeremy was as open and sweet natured as anyone I'd met, and as trusting as they come. His room was next to ours, and we were always in his room, or he in ours, that first evening. We were amazed his parents had let him come all this way by himself -- he said the trip was actually a birthday present, paid for by his grandparents. His own folks had been reluctant to let him go alone, but his dad was struggling to keep the farm running in his absence, and his mom was terrified to fly. And it was the first time in his life he'd been away from home, so was eager to "be someplace on his own", as he put it. Reluctantly, his parents had okayed the trip, warning him to "be a good boy" and do what the adults at the competition told him to do.

That night, Tyler and I crawled into the roomy bed together. We laughed, whispered, and giggled, just relishing the thought of being there together. I stroked his forehead, tousled his short hair, "oohed" and "aahed" over his big muscles -- doing anything I could to help him relax and stay calm. He would jump out of bed and scamper across the room to the writing desk in his little briefs to jot down a reminder of something he needed to do, then hurry back into my arms. Just as Tyler had respected my need to save my energy the night before a big meet, I had assumed he would feel the same -- he would have no desire to be "drained", so to speak, before his big competition. But I couldn't have been more wrong. Tyler grew frisky, playfully grabbing at me, tugging at my own snug briefs, wrestling me, pushing himself against me, climbing on top of me - anything to touch me, stir me, excite me. As the evening progressed, he grew yet more urgent, touching me in my most sensitive places, kissing my neck, licking and sucking my nipples. We were both fully aroused, two college boys, two jocks in heat. "Ty," I whispered, "don't you need to save your strength for tomorrow -- focus your energies on the competi..." I couldn't complete the sentence, for his lips pressed against mine, his tongue hungrily probing into my mouth.

I surrendered to him. His ardor was too strong, his desires too great. He continued to kiss me and nuzzle me, his tongue licking my eyes, my cheeks, then going to my armpits and licking there as well. His hands slipped down my torso, stroking and teasing me as they went, until they reached the waistband of my bikini briefs. He quickly slid them down my thighs, then roughly began to squeeze and fondle my maleness. My cock was already hard as he began to slide his thumb along my tender undershaft, rubbing me in that oh-so-sensitive place that he alone knew about. Within moments, I could feel my nuts begin to tighten and draw closer to the base of my shaft. Now, there was no more foreplay -- it was just Tyler and my cock. I had tried to reach out and stroke his cock through his straining briefs, but he had gently pushed my hand away. Sliding lower in the bed, he placed his lips around my cockhead and licked and sucked the tender glans, all the time continuing to roughly rub the undershaft with his thumb. The sensations were overwhelming, and I lost all control. With a loud, long moan of ecstasy, I began to ejaculate, my dick erupting and spraying seed in a frenzy of throbs and squirts. Some of these Tyler captured on his tongue, while others shot futilely onto my belly and abs.

Tyler was lost in a sea of lust. Once he had milked me, I thought the evening would settle down, but it was not to be. He kissed me again, the taste of my semen shared between us as our lips and tongues came together. "Raise your legs," he said quietly. I did so, and he reached to the nightstand and dipped his finger into a small jar of lubricant I hadn't even noticed was there. Insistently, he placed the digit against my rosebud and began pushing his way inside me -- not forcefully, but not gently, either. I opened myself to him, and his finger made its way inside me, probing and touching me most erotically. I squirmed on the bed, trying to make things more comfortable for both of us, as Tyler cooed softly to me, saying, "You like this, don't you? When I touch you here? Or here? Or when I do this?" With each question, his finger was touching me in a different place, stirring new sensations within me, bringing me once again to a full state of sexual excitement. Soon -- too soon, it seemed -- he was tickling my prostate, causing me to grunt and writhe beneath him. Just as suddenly, he removed his finger, then whispered into my ear. "Eric, I want to go all the way tonight. I NEED to take you tonight, if you'll let me. But I won't do it if you say no."

I was confused. Why was Tyler so aroused, so aggressive this night? At first, it didn't make sense, until I began to think about the competition. Tyler would literally be putting his body -- his strong, beautiful, muscleboy body -- on the line. For him, this was it -- like the anchor swimmer in a relay who knows his team will win or lose based on what he does in the next forty-five seconds or so. This competition was not just a relay, it was the whole meet for Tyler. Everything he had done or accomplished with his bodybuilding would be on that stage tomorrow night -- his naked muscles exposed for all to judge, to compare, to analyze, to criticize. He desperately needed to FEEL powerful and strong and invincible. He needed to reinforce his feelings of strength and might, and part of those feelings involved his need to dominate me tonight, in this bed. And I knew I would willingly allow him to do so.

I looked into his eyes and said, "Tyler, what you want is what I want. I am ready and willing for you to go all the way with me. I am yours tonight." He reached over and grabbed the jar of lubricant and liberally applied it to his hard, quivering penis that jutted obscenely from his groin. Then he firmly placed the tip at my trembling anus and very, very gently began to push against the opening. My natural reflex was to block this invasion, but I overcame my fear and opened myself to his manhood. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed within me, allowing me time to adjust to the new sensations before pushing a little farther, then a little farther. It was painful for me -- Tyler was well endowed, and his large cock felt huge, raw, as it entered me. The lubricant did help -- he would push to a certain extent, then gently ease backwards and forwards a few times, slicking my insides with both the lubricant and the sex juices leaking from his piss slit. I was moaning in both pain and pleasure -- a few times he asked me if he should stop -- was he hurting me too much? Each time I shook my head no, and he would continue. Before I knew it, he was completely within me, and his glans was rubbing across my aching prostate, his small thatch of pubes tickling my anal opening. He was on top of me, my legs forced up and back. My hands were pushing against his chest, and I remember feeling the light, short coating of hairs there and thinking how I would need to shave his body before the competition. Strange what thoughts entered my mind as he fucked me. Soon, he was long-stroking me, sliding well into, then backing out of me, before plunging in yet again. It seemed like a long time, but was probably only a couple minutes before I heard an animal growl escape from his throat, felt his long, hard cock grow even harder within me, and felt him begin to shoot his sperm inside me, grunting with each rapid-fire pulse of his dickmeat. I could feel the warmth of his fertile seed spreading within me, coating my sensitive insides. And just like that, Tyler had taken my `cherry', and I was no longer an innocent, curious boy, but a man who had now had full sexual relations with another man. Moments later, he withdrew from me completely, and collapsed on the bed beside me, breathing hard. I felt something warm on my belly and was amazed to find I had shot another load of my own teen spunk during the height of our intercourse. I hadn't even noticed when it happened, so caught up was I in the pleasure and pain Tyler had brought me.

He reached over and brushed my forehead, then caressed my cheek. "Are you OK, Eric?" he asked softly. "Yes, Tyler, I'm OK," I replied, then said, "Oh, wow." This statement struck his funny bone, and he began to giggle, then laugh aloud. "Wow?" he said, "Damn right, WOW!" And he pulled me closer to him, smothering me with kisses, his eyes shining, his laughter contagious, his ecstatic excitement matching my own.

As Tyler registered for the competition Friday morning, a huge, powerful man of middle age had stood off to the side, talking quietly with some people who appeared to be judges or officials. Tyler had grabbed my arm and breathlessly said, "Do you know who that is?" I didn't know, of course, so Tyler explained it was Bruno something-or-other, who had apparently been Mr. World or Mr. Universe for a bunch of years in the late 1980s. He was still a powerful, powerful man, and was scheduled to be a deciding judge in the weekend's competition. Tyler was in total awe of him, and could recite his titles, accomplishments, workout routines, etc., as if he was reading them from a cue card. "Maybe I should ask him for his autograph, or just shake his hand, or just...oh, I don't know. Where's the camera? I could take his picture, or, Eric, you could take our picture together!" Tyler was babbling like a kid at his first carnival, and it thrilled me to see him so happy. But Bruno walked quickly away, and we didn't have a chance to meet him, much to Tyler's chagrin.

We returned to our room after registration, and Tyler stripped down and began to do a light workout with some weights we'd brought from the dorm. A sharp knock sounded at the door, and Tyler, thinking it was Jeremy, yanked the door wide open. He stood there in his little white bikini briefs, muscles bulging, as the young maid on the other side of the door dropped her load of towels to the floor, her eyes flying wide open in shock. Tyler looked at her, looked down at his nearly-naked self, said "Oops," and slammed the door, his face as red as it could be. I burst out laughing, then went to the door and asked the maid to come back in a few minutes while Tyler cowered, red-faced, behind the door. "I...I...thought it was Jeremy," he said by way of explanation. "Don't worry about it, Ty," I said, "you probably just gave her the thrill of a lifetime!" Tyler donned some shorts and a tank top, then returned to his workout. The maid came back soon afterward and straightened the room, looking at us oddly when she noticed only one bed was disturbed.

Once she was gone, he was back to just his briefs, much to my delight. He had dedicated so much effort to this competition, and it showed. As he did some curls, I could only stare in amazement at the specimen before me. His body gleamed with a glow of health and vigor I'd never noticed before. He was so cut -- every muscle showing incredible definition in his arms, legs, and torso. His body was simply stunning -- ripped and powerful, swollen with muscle, ready to conquer the world. Once again, I felt myself grow aroused at the very sight of him, so masculine, so...my reverie was interrupted by another knock at the door. I opened it a crack, then stepped back to gaze at the site before me. A young man, well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and chest, stood before me, clutching a suitcase in one hand, a bag from a local pharmacy in the other. His face was oddly familiar, as was the voice when he asked, "Are you Eric?" "Jason? JASON!!" I heard Tyler shout. Indeed, it was none other than Tyler's brother Jason, the swimmer from Texas I'd heard so much about. Tyler ran to the door and nearly knocked the taller Bradwell down as he wrapped his arms around Jason in the open doorway. The maid was in the hall a short distance away, and watched, stunned, as the bikini-clad bodybuilder hugged his brother warmly, showing no concern that he was almost naked and visible to anyone in the corridor.

"Who are you?" asked the tall youth. "Where's my little squirt of a brother?" Then he dropped his bags and placed his hands on Ty's shoulders, holding him back at arm's length while he surveyed the musclegod before him, whistling softly under his breath. "Shit, Ty -- look how damn big you are! I can't believe it! You are a monster!" he exclaimed, before pulling Ty to him and hugging him in return. The brothers continued to exchange hugs and back slaps as introductions were made. Jason was about 6'3", and had the perfect swimmer's build -- long torso, powerful chest, narrow waist, and long, strong legs that I could see from the shorts he wore, despite the cool November temperatures. "So you're Eric the swimmer," he said to me, as he pumped my hand and firmly squeezed my biceps with his other hand. I suddenly felt shy, a little intimidated beside this college senior. "Yes, I'm...I'm Eric," I stuttered, "but I'm nowhere near the swimmer you are. Dude, I saw your times online from that Texas A&M meet last weekend -- you were absolutely amazing." Jason beamed proudly, then turned to Ty and said, "Hey, I like this guy already!" as he fondly patted my shoulder. "And thanks for the compliment, but your times aren't too shabby -- Ty e-mails me after every meet you swim with the results." I was astounded -- I'd had no idea Tyler was sending my results to his brother!

Jason turned his attention back to Tyler. "OK, let me look at you, little bro," he said. Tyler stood back as Jason scrutinized him, his little bikini the only covering he had. "Damn, look at these pecs," he said, feeling and caressing Tyler's manly chest. "Your triceps have absolutely exploded since I saw you last summer," he observed, as he tenderly squeezed Ty's upper arms. Tyler simply stood there as Jason scrutinized his muscular development, commenting favorably on the progress the musclestud had made in the intervening months. Jason now sat on the edge of the bed and spread his legs wide apart, then commanded Tyler to stand between them. From this angle, he explored Ty's rippled abs, then hunched down to examine the bulging thigh muscles Ty offered for his inspection. I stood back toward a corner of the room, enjoying the spectacle of an older brother -- a serious jock in his own right -- exploring and touching his sibling's virtually nude body. I found the scene to be quite erotic, and was ashamed to find myself becoming stiff and aroused. After a few quiet moments of further inspection, Jason announced his verdict: "Fucking A, bro -- you are unbelievably cut. This contest is yours!" Tyler smiled, seemingly embarrassed by his older brother's words, yet he held his head high, proud to bask in the glow of his idol's compliments. For it was easy to see how highly Ty regarded his brother -- the adoration in his eyes was unmistakable.

It was almost noon, and we decided we would get a late lunch around 2, then come back to the room to begin preparing Ty for the show. With a couple hours to kill, Tyler wanted to take a nap, so Jason asked me if I'd brought a swimsuit -- if so, we could go to the nearby city pool for a workout. Seems he'd checked out pool availability the same as I had! I said sure, so we grabbed our stuff and walked the four or five blocks to the pool -- a fairly new facility, with several lanes set aside for lap swimming. Changing in the locker room, I couldn't help but steal a peak at Tyler's older brother as he skimmed off his boxer briefs and pulled on a very small, snug TYR racing brief. He was, to say the least, a healthy male, a fact the small suit in no way concealed. He had awesome shoulders, and I could see how powerful he would be in the water, and why he was a nationally ranked swimmer. He agreed to do the workout my coach had written for me -- but his speed was simply well beyond my capabilities, and he usually ended a set quite a bit earlier than I did. I was a little embarrassed to trail him as much as I did -- not that he left me in the dust -- he simply outswam me, and would have to wait for me to catch up. By the end, I was barely able to catch my breath. He was breathing hard, but was nowhere near as winded as I was. "Wow, Jason," I said, with admiration in my voice, "you are so smooth, so powerful in the water. It's an honor to even be in the same lane as you." "Eric," he said, more out of breath than I had thought, "if we don't stop now, you're going to have to carry me back to the hotel!" Though he had been faster in the sets than I was, it pleased me to see he'd had to work hard to do it! We changed and headed back to the hotel, roused sleepyhead Tyler from his slumbers, and went to the hotel restaurant for lunch. By three o'clock, we were back in our room. Jason pulled out the bag he'd brought from the pharmacy, and began to remove razors and shaving cream. "I think it's time to shave down my baby bro!" he said enthusiastically.

Just then, we heard a knock at the door, and Jeremy's voice asking, "Are you guys in there?" I opened the door to admit the teen wrestler/bodybuilder, and introductions between him and Jason were made. Jeremy noticed the razors and cream and asked if Tyler was going to shave for the competition. When Tyler said yes, Jeremy asked if Ty would help him shave --seems he'd never shaved his body before and was unfamiliar with the process. Jason then proposed a shavedown party -- he got towels from both our room and Jeremy's and spread some of them on one of the beds. He filled the ice bucket with warm water, opened the can of cream, and set some razors next to the bed. It was decided Jeremy would go first, so he removed his shirt and stood before us in just his jeans. Jeremy had very little body hair -- even less than Tyler. His back was fine, and his chest and tummy were also hairless. Only his arms had a light coating, and Tyler and Jason made short work of those. A small treasure trail of hair led teasingly from just below his navel into his jeans. Jason told him to drop his jeans -- when he did so, he was clad in a pair of silly Spongebob Squarepants cartoon boxers -- it amused me to see this man's muscular body in a pair of `little boy's' underwear! We had Jeremy hop onto the bed and lie down -- his legs were a little hairier, and it took some work to scrape his skin smooth.

"Well, we only have your upper legs and lower abdomen left to do," Jason told the boy. "Do you want to pull off your boxers, or should we strip them off you ourselves?" Jeremy blushed furiously, stammering, "I don't have anything on under them." Tyler asked where his posing suit was. "In my room, in my suitcase," came the reply. Tyler then asked if he had a pair of bikini briefs or something equally small to wear, so that we could shave him without getting his posing suit wet. He shook his head no, so I pulled out a white string bikini from my bag and told Jeremy to go in the bathroom and put it on. A few moments later, Jeremy emerged in the tiny thing, nonchalantly trying to conceal his privates with hands crossed in front of him. It was obvious the poor kid was suddenly embarrassed to be seen -- and shaved -- in something so skimpy, but we had no time to consider the matter for debate. Jason ordered him back on the bed, and we went to work -- Jason on the treasure trail, Ty on one thigh, me on the other. We spread the foam across his bulging thighs, while Jason foamed and scraped the wispy trail into oblivion. I could definitely see the outline of young Jeremy's cock, barely covered by the thin pouch. We were only half way through working on his thighs before he was fully erect, his dick straining the filmy fabric. His face was beet-red as Jason snickered, "Are you having fun, Jeremy? Seems like you are liking this!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't seem to help it." he whispered huskily. "I ...I don't have much self-control, you know, down there. Seems like I'm always gettin' a woodie. I, um, I don't know what's wrong with me. Sometimes, well, sometimes my dick just seems to have a mind of it's own. It gets hard at the most embarrassing times. Well, I mean, sometimes I want it to get hard. I, uh, mean sometimes, well, like you guys have your hands all over me down there. Sometimes I like to, um, well, to touch myself, you know, down there...and, um...well, I mean..." Jeremy's face grew redder as he became more tongue-tied, trying to explain things, but not sure just how to say what he wanted to say. We stopped our shaving, which was virtually completed anyway, and sat with rapt attention as the muscular wrestling bodybuilder continued rambling. "It just feels really weird to have you guys touching me around there, I mean, it makes me feel, well, sort of, I don't know, sort of maybe sexy or whatever. I feel like, well, like if you don't hurry and finish, I might, well, um, I might really lose it soon and then, well...um...I might not be able to stop from squirting that sperm stuff. I mean, I mean, well gee, sometimes when I touch myself there...well, haven't you guys ever done that? Like, you know dudes, just touch yourself down there until you just can't hold it back anymore? Until you just gotta shoot that stuff out or you'll go crazy? I mean, well, um, I don't do that every day...I mean I do have some control...but sometimes, I just gotta, well, I just gotta..."

Jason interjected at this point, trying to help the poor kid out of his `sticky' predicament. "You mean sometimes, you just gotta beat your meat?" Jeremy seemed to melt into the towels and bedspread on which he was lying. "Yeah," he said quietly, "sometimes I do that." This innocent, boyish admission from the teen stud -- that he sometimes took pleasure from touching and arousing his own virile body -- made me catch my breath. Glancing around the room, I felt like an invisible witness to a primal male rite of passage. In the room were four healthy young men, and, judging from the obvious tenting occurring in Jeremy's bikini, and in Jason, Tyler and my shorts, there were four very hard, straining cocks, yearning to blast their loads. Jeremy looked suddenly shy, younger than his seventeen years, naïve and pure. But his long, throbbing penis, now looking as though it would rip a hole through the briefs I'd loaned him, told us this was a man, not a boy, on the bed before us. Jason said in a low voice, "Dude, it's no big deal. Every guy whacks his stick once in a while. Nothing to be ashamed of." Jason then put a comforting hand on Jeremy's shoulder, letting him know we understood, that we were all brothers in the end. Then he announced that the shaving was all but done, breaking the sexual tension with a few final razor swipes across Jeremy's rippled abs.

We finished a few moments later -- and just in time I thought, as I saw a small damp spot appear where Jeremy's cock slit pressed the bikini fabric. He was so aroused, he was beginning to leak pre-cum, and I found myself wondering if the young wrestler ever became equally aroused in the revealing singlet he wore for his matches. Apparently he felt a bond with Tyler, and asked him if he needed to shave any of the hair around, as he put it, "You know, my crotch area." Jeremy glanced at me and Jason, and his look indicated he would prefer it if we would step away, and just allow Tyler to help him there. We did so, and Tyler only needed a few minutes to complete the removal of any stray hairs that might pop out during the posedown. With Jeremy now clean-shaven, he stood up and examined himself in a full-length mirror. He flexed and preened proudly, running his hands down his smooth-shaved arms and legs. Tyler had meanwhile slipped into his own baby-blue string bikini to prepare for his own shaving. We heard Jeremy's stomach growling loudly, and Tyler asked if he'd eaten lunch. "No, I'm too nervous to eat." "Dude," Ty said, "go and at least get a salad or something in your stomach. You will need it to stay relaxed before the competition." Jeremy agreed to do so, but wanted to ask Ty for some posing tips before he left. They stood in front of the full-length mirror, which was near the window of our seventh floor room. Jason and I sat back on the bed, watching them.

It was a sight to behold -- two muscular young bodybuilders in little bikinis, muscles popping and flexing before our eyes. At one point, Tyler stood behind Jeremy so both could look into the mirror, his body pressed against the wrestler's as he reached around him to show him how to raise his arms. I found it highly sensual to witness these two young men being so close, so intimate with one another, their muscles touching. At another point, they stood directly facing each other as Tyler helped Jeremy position his upraised arms for another pose. With the window backlighting them, Jason and I could plainly see their large bulging pouches pressing against one another, their bodies so close together. The two studs seemed oblivious to this contact, their minds focused on the work at hand. But for me, it was the most erotic sight imaginable, and I noticed Jason licking his lips, trying to look away, but unable to do so. All too soon, the show ended, and Jeremy was in the bathroom changing into his boxers and jeans. He brought the string bikini over to me, and thanked me for letting him use it. Shyly he whispered to me, "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I left a little wet spot -- that stuff just sort of leaked out, like it does sometimes." I assured him it was no problem, and urged him to hurry downstairs for that salad before he starved to death. He thanked us again, and agreed to meet us at 6:30 to go together to the contest. As he closed the door, and as Tyler and Jason were engaged in conversation, I took the small bikini back over to my suitcase, but, for some reason, before putting it back, I snatched it to my nose and quickly inhaled the scent of the wrestler/bodybuilder's body -- a scent that still clung delicately to the cotton fabric.

Now, it was Tyler's turn. Jason worked on his lower legs, while I did the arms. Tyler chatted quietly about general things -- school, the competition, what he wanted for dinner after the contest, etc. As I finished his arms and started on his chest, Jason began smoothing the shaving cream on Tyler's thighs -- his strong but sensitive thighs. Within moments, Tyler was as erect as Jeremy had been earlier. I heard Jason start to chuckle, and was shocked to see him playfully use his index finger to poke and prod Ty's bulging pouch. "Just as horny as last time I shaved you, huh, little bro?" "Cut it out, Jay" Ty snickered, his cheeks beginning to blush. "Aw, don't be so shy in front of your roomie, Ty," Jason replied. "Or I may have to tell him about the week we spent at Uncle Vic's cabin." I felt Tyler's body freeze beneath me, but he didn't utter a word. I had to ask -- it came out of my mouth before I could stop it. "What happened at your uncle's cabin?"

Jason began to chuckle wickedly, as Tyler's blush turned crimson. "Well," said Jason, "when I was about fifteen and Ty was twelve, we spent a week visiting my uncle at his summer cabin by the lake. We fished and swam and hiked and played with Uncle Vic's dogs and just had a blast. The cabin only had two bedrooms, each with just one big bed, so Ty and I had to sleep together. About the third day there, Uncle Vic had gone to town and I thought Ty was outside with the dogs. I was feeling a bit, well, like my dick needed some attention, if you know what I mean. I was just stroking and working it up real good, and just as I climaxed, I heard a noise and saw Tyler standing in the doorway staring at me. His eyes went from my face to my dick, just as I started shooting my wad all over my stomach. There was no way I could stop it -- I'd gone too far. I was blasting and trying to cover myself at the same time, to no avail. I finally got my underwear pulled back up, but Ty charged into the room, demanding to know what I was doing, what was that white stuff -- you know, just all kinds of questions. The little squirt hadn't reached puberty yet, so didn't hardly know what a dick was for anyway. Well, I brushed him off and went outside to swim and cool off. But that night in bed, he started on me again -- asking questions, wanting to see my dick, asking how long did it get, how hard. Next thing you know, he's trying to `de-brief' me -- yanking at my underwear, pulling my briefs down. I tried to resist, but didn't want my uncle to wake up, so was afraid to make too much commotion."

"His left hand was on my cock -- I'd get that one off and his right hand was there to take its place. Back and forth we went, me growing stiffer all the time -- I couldn't help it, you know, with all that going on down in my crotch." "Ha, you sure didn't try too hard to keep me away," snapped Tyler, now staring at his brother with an amused expression. Ignoring the comment, Jason went on. "Well, soon enough, I was hard as a rock. Tyler kept touching it, rubbing on it, squeezing it. One thing led to another, and then -- wham! I blew my load! And Tyler went crazy -- shrieking that he'd hurt me or killed me or something, until I could cover his mouth and quiet him. I explained what had happened, what that `white, gooey stuff' as he called it, was. Man, Eric, for the rest of that night -- hell, for the rest of the week, I hardly got any sleep. As soon as we'd turn out the lights, this little guy was on me - playing with me, stroking me, just anything to get me worked up and shooting another load." Jason shook his head, laughing at the memory, while Tyler remained quiet, a small smile on his lips. Then Tyler said, "Yeah, that was a special week. The last night we were there -- remember Jason? I got you to touch me the way you touched yourself. I'd been getting stiffies for awhile, but that night, you gave me my first handjob, and I had my first orgasm." It was Jason's turn to smile and nod knowingly, the memories flooding back. Gently, almost proudly or possessively, he placed his large hand on Tyler's huge, swollen, bikini-clad bulge, and gave it a fond, familiar squeeze. "Yeah, little bro, I remember," he said softly

I was barely able to catch my breath and my heart was pounding madly. In my mind, I could see the two young brothers together -- touching, exploring, learning, teaching -- coming to know about the raw, urgent demands of the male body. A wave of sadness suddenly swept over me, wishing I could have been there, or had an older brother to teach me, or a younger brother to learn from me. I remembered my own confusion about my changing body, and my fear of mentioning the changes to my father. My own scare when I first ejaculated, wondering what I'd done to myself, how I'd damaged myself "inside" or "down there", yet not asking anyone for fear they would know what I'd been doing, or how I'd been touching myself that evening. Seeing the warmth between Jason and Tyler made me long for a brother of my own once again, just as I'd done for years growing up alone. Then I realized that Tyler was more than just a college roommate I'd fallen for -- he was like the brother I always wanted and needed. And I wasn't sad anymore -- my brother was right here, lying in a little string bikini, waiting for me to shave down his treasure trail as I'd done the night before the Hot Bod Contest! I burst out laughing, thrilled to be here with him and Jason, and feeling so alive and happy! They both looked at me quizzically, and I just said to Jason, "Let's finish this shaving so Tyler will be ready for the contest. He's counting on us to get him ready to win!"

We finished the work quickly. Tyler unashamedly removed the little string bikini to allow us both access to his groin region. His stiff dick arched upward, pulsing with each beat of his heart. Jason seemed momentarily surprised that his little brother would completely strip in front of me, especially with a raging hard-on. Tyler explained to Jason how I had helped him shave that area for the campus contest, and Jason just nodded his head knowingly. When we were finished, we cleaned up the towels and straightened the bed. Tyler put on his favorite yellow posing suit, then some shorts and a tee-shirt. We sat around the room relaxing, waiting until it was time to go to the competition that was being held in the convention center adjacent to the hotel.

At six-thirty, Jeremy came to our door, and the four of us went over to the contest. Since each competitor was allowed to have one person backstage to help him get ready, both Jason and I accompanied Tyler and Jeremy to the warm-up rooms. The next two hours were a blur of activity. We helped the guys prepare -- there were lots of free weights in the warm-up area, and both of them took advantage of these to pump up their muscles until they seemed to pop through their skin. Neither of them liked the dark fake-tan creams some competitors were lathering on themselves, both opting for a lighter, more natural-looking tan formula. Jason, Tyler and I smoothed the cream on Jeremy, who looked stunning in a simple, plain white posing strap that accentuated his smooth, powerful muscles. Then, Jeremy helped the other two of us do the same to Tyler. Both young men were now ready, waiting anxiously for their turn on stage. They warmly shook hands, wishing each other luck, then Jeremy suddenly pulled Tyler close to him in an affectionate hug, as he barely whispered "Thank you, Tyler," in Ty's ear. Jason and I took seats in the audience and waited for the show to begin.

And just like that, it was over. A parade of some thirty-six pumped and buffed bodybuilders had come out on stage in groups of three. They performed the required poses -- almost mechanically, woodenly -- some seeming quite nervous, others relaxed and calm. Jeremy was in the fourth group. Tyler was in the seventh. It was plain to Jason and me that they were both the most developed in their trio, and the reactions from the crowd seemed highly favorable for them. The judges nodded, pointed, made notes, consulted one another, and after watching the twelve sets of three, made their preliminary decisions. The twelve finalists who would return for the following evening's championship were selected, and read in no particular order. Jeremy's was the very first name they called. Then another, and another, and another, but no Tyler. Finally, it came down to the last name, and the audience cheered when they heard the name "Tyler Bradwell" announced, and Tyler stepped forward, his face wreathed in a huge smile.

On the way out to dinner, Tyler and Jeremy were both pumped, and couldn't stop jabbering about the contest. Jason and I fell in step behind them, talking to each other about swimming, teammates, coaches, goggle styles, etc., as our big muscle boy Tyler and his friend drew stares of admiration from passersby on the sidewalk leading to the restaurant. After a fairly light dinner, we were back at the hotel. The door between our room and Jeremy's was propped open as the wrestler beat a path in the carpeting between his room and ours. Jason had brought his laptop computer, and Jeremy showed us his high school web site, and pictures of his teammates, as well as some pictures from recent matches. One picture showed Jeremy, his hand held high in victory by the ref, his red singlet stretched over his muscular body. "Dude," I said, nodding at the screen, "there's no doubt in anyone's mind that you're a male athlete. That singlet doesn't leave much to the imagination, does it?"

Jeremy innocently blushed, then said, "Yeah, I know. I wish the school photographer would take this shot off the site -- it's a little too revealing, I think." But Tyler spoke up, saying, "Man -- forget that -- here's the reason they need to leave this picture up -- you are so awesome, so ripped in this shot. Look at your calf muscles and quads -- look at your triceps, the way they are flexed, and, and, wow, look at your delts! Shit, this picture is absolutely amazing! Jeremy beamed proudly, then Jason clicked on another thumbnail -- it showed a wrestler trying to flip Jeremy, his hand plainly planted between Jeremy's legs. "Whoa, dude -- what the hell's that guy trying to do to you -- grab your family jewels in a death grip?" asked the Texas swimmer. Jeremy snorted and giggled, then became suddenly serious. "That's Tommy Wilshire -- a champion from the next county over." Jeremy glanced at each of us, then his voice lowered as he related the story. "He's a tough wrestler, and a dirty one. He loves to grab you between the legs -- mash your nuts -- try to put the squeeze on you there if he can. Nothing is too low for him to do."

"Don't the refs call him on it?" I asked. "Well, once in a while -- but not often. See, it's hard to tell whether he's just trying to turn you, or if he's really hurting you. Many times, the ref can't see what he's doing anyway. He's good at hiding or covering his dirty moves." Jeremy grew quiet, then continued. "Last winter, at the district championships, he really did one on me. He just kept on squeezing and rubbing me between the legs while pretending he wanted to flip me. He knew what he was doing -- every time I'd get away, he was back on me, fondling me there, touching me in, well, in a sexual way. Before I knew it, I was getting hard. I was losing my focus on the match, worrying about his hands always on my genitals, wondering what he was going to do next. Once I was hard, he kept rubbing my dick, then grabbing at my singlet, making the fabric rub back and forth across the underside of my cock. I'm so sensitive there -- I guess a lot of guys are -- and he just kept doing it and doing it, making me so hard, so turned on. I whispered to him to stop, but he just smirked at me, knowing he'd found a weakness he could exploit. I could feel my muscles weakening as the blood left them, flowing instead into my dick, making it hard, and to my face, `cause I knew I was turning red as hell. You know, the embarrassment and shame of it all. He almost pinned me, but I escaped at the last moment -- the points I got for that escape were the only thing that saved me, as I ended up beating him by one point. When the ref raised my hand, I almost died when I glanced down and saw a couple wet spots on my singlet where my dick was touching it -- some of that stuff was leaking out of me uncontrollably. My teammates could see what was happening, and a couple of them were teasing me when I got back to our side of the mat. Oh, I was so humiliated -- glad I'd won, but humiliated at the way he'd nearly made me shoot my wad in front of everyone. But what's going to happen when I face him this coming winter? That's what I'm worried about. What will he try? What will he do to me?"

Jason was quick to answer. "First time he tries something, as soon as the ref is out of view, nail him in the nuts -- hard. Let him know what's going to happen to him if he keeps messing with your privates!" Ty and I agreed, and Jeremy seemed to think it might come down to that also. I told him: "Dude, maybe he won't try anything this year. Either way, don't let him get in your head already -- you haven't even faced him yet and you're already letting him take a dominant position over you. Don't let him mess with your mind -- just go out and wrestle the hell out of him!" Jeremy smiled and said, "Thanks, guys - I appreciate the advice. And it's good advice, so I'm going to follow it!"

That night, Tyler and Jason shared one bed, while I had the other. It didn't surprise me to hear Jason tease his little brother, saying, "Now, Tyler, no repeats of our week at Uncle Vic's. You and I are too old for that stuff." Then I heard Ty yell, "Stop. STOP! Jason, cut it out -- you just said we were too old for that, so stop grabbing me there." Then they would both burst out laughing, as they squirmed and twisted in the bed, trying to get comfortable. "Eric," Jason called over to me, "if you want to join us, just come on over!" "Ha Ha," I responded. If he only knew ...

Saturday seemed to fly by. Neither of our guys needed another shavedown -- their skin was still silky smooth. In the afternoon, Jason and I headed over to the pool for another practice, as I had promised Coach Wilson I would do. We were both surprised when Tyler announced he would go with us. He said the swim would help him relax. I didn't know he had had brought the little red Speedo I'd given him, but there he was, strutting on the pool deck, looking awesome as always. Jason was astounded to see the improvement in Tyler's fly, as Ty and I had been working on his stroke for weeks back on campus. Jason raved about Tyler's powerful pull, his awesome dolphin kick, his hip flexing -- all key ingredients in the butterfly. He fondly tousled Ty's hair after complimenting him. When Ty said all the improvement was thanks to me, Jason came over and warmly shook my hand, then reached up and tousled my hair for good measure!

Back at the hotel, Tyler said he was going to nap for awhile, as Jeremy was doing in his room. Jason and I went out for a walk, looking at store windows and just hanging, almost liked we'd been best friends for a lifetime. When we returned to the room, Jason was just about to swipe the card to unlock the door when I grabbed his hand and said, "Listen." From inside our room came the sounds of someone -- yes, it was Tyler's voice -- saying, "Don't. Please, please don't. I can't believe...don't, no, no..." Jason and I looked at each other, then opened the door. What we saw left us both frozen at the threshold.

Tyler was in his little yellow posing suit -- barely. He was backed against the wall, both his strong arms locked straight above his head. Holding his arms there was a thick, beefy, hairy arm -- an arm belonging to that guy Ty had told me was Bruno, the former world champion. Bruno held Tyler's arms firmly against the wall with his left hand, while his right was yanking down Ty's tiny yellow strap, then grabbing and pulling Ty's flaccid cock -- pulling it, stroking it, snatching at his exposed testicles. All the while Ty struggled feebly against the large man who was using his weight and size to incapacitate the younger teen. "Don't...don't..." Ty said again. Jason and I must have stood there a good ten seconds before regaining our composure. "What the HELL are you doing to my brother," Jason yelled. "Get away from him!" The man whirled around, losing his grip on Tyler. He grabbed a notebook off the bed and hurried toward the door, bullying past both Jason and me. In another moment he was in the hallway.

Tyler still stood against the wall, his arms still locked above his head, his posing suit still down around his thighs, a look of total shock on his face. We rushed over to him, gently grabbing his shoulders and helping him toward the bed. He sat heavily, glancing from one of us to the other, saying nothing at first. Finally, he whispered, "I was asleep, when I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it, he was standing there -- a man who was world champion -- a man I have idolized. He asked to come in, and of course I said yes. He said he had some tips for me for tonight -- how I could ensure myself a high placing in the finals. I...well...I thought he meant he had some posing tips, or muscle poses I should use. When he told me to put on my posing suit, I was really excited -- a world champion was going to give me some inside tips! I am so stupid!" he said, suddenly lowering and shaking his head, sobbing. "Then what happened?" Jason prodded him. "Well, he told me to stand against the wall -- he said it was good practice for balance on stage or something. Then he said to raise my arms. When I did, he locked his hands around my wrists. With my arms raised like that, I had no leverage -- no power. And then, and then, well, then he just grabbed my crotch and started to squeeze and fondle me roughly, then started pulling down my suit. I couldn't believe what was happening -- I was so shocked. And then I heard Jason yell something, and he left." He looked from me to Jason, then back to me, tears streaking his cheeks. "That big shit," Jason said. "He was going to get you a top finish IF you'd let him fuck around with you. What a sick freak -- I'm going to report him." Jason put his arm around Tyler's shoulder and gave him a hug. But the hug lasted only a moment, as Tyler then pulled away from him and leaned toward me, placing his head on my shoulder and sighing softly as his breathing returned to normal. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close, soothing him. A strange look swept across Jason's face for just a moment, and he looked deeply into my eyes. I returned the stare, daring him to say anything. He didn't speak, but I could tell that he knew -- in that one instant, he knew. A loud thud from the room next door brought all of us back to reality.

The door connecting our room to Jeremy's was suddenly flung open, and Jeremy ran into our room in his white posing suit. "There's a man...he's...he's trying to...I hit him," was all Jeremy said. Glancing through the doorway, we saw Bruno on one knee, shakily trying to stand. Jason roared, "My brother wasn't enough? You had to go after another kid? You sick bastard." I grabbed the room phone and dialed the front desk, asking for hotel security. Bruno had staggered back into the hallway, but security quickly arrived and grabbed him. After telling them what had happened, the local police were called and Bruno, who remained sullen and silent, said nothing as he was taken away in handcuffs. Soon, officials from the competition arrived, falling all over themselves apologizing for what had happened, promising Bruno would be removed from the sport's ruling board and judges' panel. Both Tyler and Jeremy were shaken, but said they still wanted to compete that night.

And compete they did. Forgetting the afternoon's altercations, they both nailed pose after pose, flexing and showing muscles so eye-popping, so freakin' huge, the audience was cheering and screaming for them. Of course, a few others did equally well, and when it was all over, Tyler had placed second, and Jeremy fifth. Both boys admitted the winning trophy had gone to the right man -- a kid from Pennsylvania who had a physique that made even Tyler's jaw drop in awe. After the competition, both Ty and Jeremy spent several minutes with the winner, comparing routines, talking about nutrition, etc. Though competitors on stage, these young men had so much admiration for one another that they became instant friends once the curtain came down.

Back in the hotel room, Tyler and I sat on one bed, Jason on the other. He kept looking at us rather strangely, then said, "So, um, Tyler, how's your love life back at State U.? Didn't you e-mail me something about some girl named Jessica?" Tyler blushed a little, then said, "Well, it's coming along a little, I guess." Jason looked from Ty to me, then back to Ty. "Is there something you want to tell me, little brother?" Tyler looked questioningly at Jason, and I remembered the look on Jason's face earlier that day when I'd comforted Ty after Bruno's assault. He knows, I thought again. He knows. Jason spoke again, his voice low and soft. "Is there something between you two that I should know about?" Tyler's head shot up, his eyes fiercely staring at Jason. I said nothing, but gazed calmly at the older athlete, trying not to reveal anything with my expression. Then Tyler suddenly spoke up. "Jason, I...well...I guess you should know that, um, Eric and I are, well, we are more than just roommates. We have grown very close over the past few months. But how did you know?"

"Dude, when you turned to Eric so easily for comfort after what happened with that thug earlier today, and when Eric held you so closely, so, well, tenderly, I realized things were a little complicated between you two." Tyler tried to look into his older brother's eyes, but couldn't seem to muster the courage to do it -- his eyes dropped to the floor, his expression downcast, apprehensive. "Ty," Jason said quietly, "it's OK man. I mean, well, lots of people experiment with stuff. Hell, you know how much I dig chicks -- they drive me crazy!" Tyler smiled at his big brother, then said, "Yeah, I know, Jason. To quote you: `Wine `em. Dine `em. Screw `em. Leave `em.' Right?" Jason chuckled and replied, "Well, I did say that, but I'm not quite that shallow! Still, I've had my share of cunt and then some -- those Texas girls are awful `purdy'! But, I, well, uh, I've done a little other stuff, too. There's a guy on my team -- I won't name him. But we were roomies at NCAAs last spring. Man, we were there for like six nights. By the fourth night in that hotel, I was horny as I could be, and he knew it. He's always been a nice guy, sort of quiet and shy. Well, we were just sort of wrestlin' around in our underwear, playing grab-ass -- you know, guy stuff. And the next thing you know, I've got a fuckin' boner, which was plain to see on account I was only in some boxer-briefs. Anyway, he says he can `help me' with my problem if I want. Well, I'm game -- just out of curiosity, mind you. Next thing I know, he's on his knees in front of me, peels down my briefs, and starts giving me head right there! Couldn't have been more than fifteen, twenty seconds, and I'm shooting a load in his mouth! I have to say, I've had a few girls give me blowjobs, but nobody can suck a guy's dick like another guy. Since then, if I'm in a dry spell or something, I'll sometimes hook up with him. He likes to service me -- what can I say? He likes to..."

"I love Eric." Tyler was looking directly into Jason's eyes, his courage renewed, as he spoke those words. Jason's voice trailed off, his story incomplete. "And Eric loves me. Our feelings for each other are real." Jason nodded his head in an understanding way. "That's cool, Ty," he said, then continued, "and Jessica -- does she even exist?" I felt I needed to speak up, and said, "I do love your brother, Jason. He means more to me than even he could know. But Tyler is still learning, growing, searching for things. Jessica is a girl in our dorm. She's as sweet and funny as any girl at State, and Tyler is, well, exploring options, I guess you could say. They've dated once or twice in the past couple weeks." Again, Jason nodded his head, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "My shy little brother finally coming out of his shell." He suddenly stood and walked over to Ty, then pulled him to his feet and gave him a big hug. "Good luck with your explorations, bro. I'm with you no matter what road you choose." A look of relief and joy spread across Tyler's face, and he said to Jason, "I knew I could count on you."

"So, um, maybe I'll just knock on Jeremy's door and see if I can use the empty bed in his room? That way, you two can..." "Don't be crazy, Jason," Ty replied to the Texas swimmer. "I haven't seen you in like three months. Of course you and I will share a bed again tonight. If Eric gets lonely, he can just hump his pillow until he falls asleep!" We all three laughed, and soon turned in for the night. But sleep was a long time coming, as we talked, laughed, and carried on like Scouts on their first camping trip until the wee hours. Soon enough, morning arrived. We had breakfast with Jeremy at the hotel restaurant, and after exchanging e-mail addresses and phone numbers, said our good-byes to him. Then, in that old, decrepit car, we drove Jason to the airport for his flight to Austin. Handshakes quickly turned to hugs as we bade him farewell, then we headed the car back toward State U.

We reached the dorm by late afternoon. Jimmy and some of Ty's `posse' had followed the results on the web, and knew of Tyler's second-place showing. On our dorm door was a huge sign that said "#2 with the Judges, #1 with Your Friends. Congratulations, Tyler". Ty was deeply touched, and gathered the guys in our room to show them his trophy and give them the `inside scoop' about the competition. Even Jessica and a few of her friends made an appearance. At one point, I stepped out into the hallway for some cool air, and Jessica followed me there. She smiled warmly, and came over to me, coming closer than I expected. "Eric," she said softly, "I want you to know that I know." "You know what?" I asked stupidly. "About your feelings for him. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at him. A girl notices these things. We both care about him. You love him, and I think I'm falling in love with him." I pursed my lips and stared down at the floor, then raised my eyes to meet hers. "I don't know what to say," I muttered. "Let's just say one thing to each other," she said. "Let's promise each other that we will each do our best not to hurt him, not to trick him, not to violate the trust he has put in each of us. Will you make that promise to me?" I looked into her eyes, realizing now what Tyler saw in her. "Yes, I promise," I said. "And I promise as well," she replied. Then, raising on her toes, she planted a small kiss on my cheek, turned on her heels, and went back to the dorm room.

Finally, the last of the visitors left, and we were alone. Tyler looked at me, smiled, and said quietly, "Tonight, Eric, I am here for you and you alone." We prepared for bed, placing our mattresses on the floor as we had done so many times before. It was a Sunday night -- normally we would be in our own beds, since I had early practice on Monday, but tonight was special. The air seemed filled with possibilities, breathless anticipation. From his suitcase, Tyler pulled out his baby-blue string bikini -- my favorite of his, and quickly changed into it. I was wearing a pair of my -- or was it Tyler's pair? -- of simple white Elance bikini briefs. No words were spoken between us, nor was there any need for words. We stretched out next to each other, and I placed my hands on his strong and powerful body. I gently massaged his big muscles -- his arms, his legs, his chest, his shoulders. I stroked his cheeks and allowed my fingers to dance across his lips. And then I was on top of him, determined to bring him pleasure, fulfillment.

I began rubbing his big pecs, squeezing and kneading them, occasionally flicking a fingernail across his tender nipples, stirring those points of bliss to their own small erections. I leaned down, gently licking his nipples, then suddenly biting them until he grunted with pain/pleasure. I stroked his neck and shoulders, then whispered to him, "Pop your bis for me." He did, flexing those massive guns, his biceps peaking. I began to warmly lick his upper arms, sucking those huge muscles as though I could taste them through his flesh. Then I buried my face in his exposed pits, inhaling the warm smell of his mansweat, then licking him there, tasting him. I caressed his forearms, feeling the mighty veins and tendons. I squeezed and rubbed his triceps and biceps again, thrilled by the power and force they contained. I teased his rippled abs, gently tracing my fingertips along the ridges of muscle there, then made a fist and began to pummel him there, lightly at first, then harder. I couldn't hurt him -- I knew that -- but I wanted to test him, to pound against those muscle mounds. I punched his awesome mid-section several times -- his abs never flinched -- then tenderly kissed those same ridges. I let my fingers play along his hip flexors, where they shaped the mighty "V" leading to his groin. Oh, he was ticklish there, and couldn't stifle a few small giggles, much to my delight. My fingers teased his lower abs and pubic region, slipping under the waistband of his little bikini to toy with the small patch of pubic hair that remained after his shave. His cock was now hard as steel, obscenely tenting the thin blue fabric, lifting the waistband away, allowing me a peek of his pubes and the root of his shaft.

Tyler was moaning softly, squirming slightly beneath me as his arousal intensified. I moved down to his legs -- those powerful tree-trunk thighs, bulging calves, and his big feet. I sucked on his toes, making him giggle again, then kneaded his calf muscles, finally moving onto his thighs. Those thighs -- the hamstrings and quadriceps already quivering with strain and excitement. I ordered him to tense his quads -- he did so, and they jumped out at me like ropes barely trapped under his skin. I softly stroked them, then began to pound them with my fist -- not hard enough to bruise, just hard enough to punish him, to challenge his power, to make him grunt. Then, my tongue replaced my fist, and I laved his thighs in warmth, soothing and caressing him there. Soon, my tongue had found its way between his thighs, and I licked at the cotton fabric encasing his scrotum, poking at the testicles within, stirring his gonads, soaking the material with my saliva. My own dick was leaking now, the white cotton briefs growing dark where my own fluids were soaking through. I quickly stripped them off, then returned my attention to him. His groans grew more urgent as his penis strained mightily against its cotton prison, trying to burst through into the open air. I decided to ease his discomfort, so I reached up and began to pull the bikini down, releasing his huge sex snake. The friction of the fabric rubbing along the underside of his shaft as I stripped it down aroused him still further, and his piss slit opened to emit a huge drop of nectar, his sex organ once again releasing his lubricant for the encounter it was anticipating. I slipped his bikini down onto his thighs, tucking the waistband under his nutsac, leaving his entire sex organ exposed to me. It was as though he was willingly surrendering control of his reproductive organ to me -- ceding to me the power to dominate his most intimate place. It was a gift -- a power -- I was happy to accept.

I licked along his shaft, then swirled my tongue around the spongy cockhead, already slick with his own emissions. I fondled and toyed with his hard, oozing cock, until his penis was throbbing and pulsing with desire, his rod becoming rock-hard, his balls squirming in their sac, eager to fill their master's need for seed. His grunts of satisfaction became whimpers of lust, his breath coming in short gasps as his desires grew. I placed my naked cock against his, and began to hump him, the underside of my own sensitive shaft rubbing against his. Like two steel-hard swords of Priapus, our dicks dueled one another for supremacy, each trying to out-stroke, out-milk the other. Raw, naked manflesh touching, cock-to-cock, drizzling and smearing their love juices on one another. But tonight, I was determined to go further. I slipped my arms under his thighs and began pulling, trying to lift them high, trying to make him raise his legs to expose his sweet ass to me. I did not have the strength to lift them far, but he understood my desire and lifted them himself, pulling his knees upward toward his chest, leaving me straddled between his strong thighs. Now, I placed my finger against his exposed hole. I wiggled it slightly inside, then withdrew it to inhale his musky scent. Then, again I went inside, tenderly stretching him there to allow for a larger entry. He was grunting and moaning loudly, his muscleboy body going into sexual overdrive as I teased and tormented him. His cock was leaking profusely now, and small puddles of his bodily fluids were forming between the ridges of his abs where his long, hard cock was pressed between us. I ran my finger there, wetting it, then inserted it further inside his ass, probing and slicking his love canal. My own needs were now so strong I could hardly control them. After I had added a second probing finger, I felt he was loose enough to take me. Withdrawing the digits, I placed my cockhead against his anal opening and began to slowly push forward. At first, his anal ring fought the invasion, but as my thumbs began to flick his sensitive nipples again, he suddenly opened and allowed entry. I was inside him.

I was determined not to hurt him, at least not any more than necessary, so I held my position and told him, "I will be as gentle as possible, Ty, but this will probably hurt you some, at least at first. He nodded and grunted, preparing himself. Ever so slowly, I entered more deeply, using gentle thrusts. I could feel my cock sliding deeper and deeper, and then felt myself touching his prostate. He moaned in pleasure, and began to thrust his hips, moving in rhythm to my own movements. Suddenly, he wrapped his huge, muscled legs around my back, and used them to pull me closer to him, locking me between his thighs and against his body, our movements becoming as one. He was now at the edge, and I saw his right hand suddenly dart to his crotch, where he grabbed his stiff shaft and began pumping furiously. I reached down and tapped his hand away, saying, "Allow me." I wrapped my fingers and hand around that large, slippery love pole, and began to manipulate it -- stroking and rubbing and pumping in time to the movements of our hips. "Oh...oh...oh...oh," moaned the bodybuilder, as his climax approached, his semen now beginning to flow toward the tip of his penis. And then, he came, ejaculating his precious seed, spraying it upon his abs and chest, and smearing it onto my own body where I pressed against him. And as he came, I came -- shooting my own wads of ropy spunk inside his thrusting body, coating him within, planting my seed inside him. We held each other so closely, it was as though we were one body in motion, all cares swept aside as our desire reached a crescendo, and we sated ourselves with one another. As we slowly descended from the heights of sexual passion, we disentangled ourselves, and I collapsed, physically spent, beside him. Tyler reached his hand to my face, and said, "Oh Eric, Eric" as he caressed my face and neck. Then he placed his big arm over my chest and firmly pulled me tight against him, holding and rocking me gently, kissing my ear and the side of my face closest to him.

I was exhausted the next morning at practice, but thoughts of the night before seemed to recharge me, giving me renewed energy to complete the swim sets. In the locker room after practice, Pete took me aside and told me he and Jimmy had spent a fun evening together at the movies the previous Friday, and were planning to go out again soon. I told him Jimmy had also enjoyed their evening together, based on a few things he'd told me at Tyler's welcome back celebration. Almost like a schoolgirl, Pete started asking, "What did he say? Does he like me? C'mon tell me everything he said!" But I laughed it off, and told him I had to go or I'd be late for class.

It was now early Tuesday evening -- tomorrow, most students were leaving the campus to head home for Thanksgiving. My parents were coming to pick me up. And Tyler's were also on their way, scheduled to arrive around lunchtime. Tomorrow, we would say good-bye, though only for a few days. I knew what I would be thankful for: I had good health, a loving family, good friends, and, of course, Tyler. As the sun was setting, I stood by the dorm window -- Tyler had left exactly three minutes before to meet Jessica. They were going out to dinner and a movie. Looking down from the window, I saw them emerge from the building and begin walking down the sidewalk directly beneath me. I had to catch my breath when I saw them -- they were holding hands. The air was warm, surprisingly so for this time of year, and both carried their jackets, leaving their arms exposed. It was an odd site -- her frail, thin arm clinging to his massive, thick, powerful limb. Holding hands -- something so simple, yet something so forbidden for he and I to do, had we been walking down the same walkway side by side. As they reached the corner and turned to go out of sight, Tyler was laughing and smiling at something she had said. But suddenly, he was looking up at our window. I started to step back into the shadows, but it was too late -- he had seen me. He smiled again, looking up at me, and raised his free hand in a small wave that Jessica didn't seem to notice. I waved back, smiling at him. I was heartened by the fact that even while he was with her, holding her hand, he had been thinking, even fleetingly, of me. They disappeared around the corner, and I went and sat on my bed. Glancing at the clock, I saw that four minutes had now passed since he left the room. Just four minutes, and already my heart ached for him to return to me.

Author's note: Thanks to all of you who have read and enjoyed this story. I hope it was as much fun for you to read as it was for me to write! I have appreciated all the kind e-mails with words of support, advice and criticism. I leave it to you, the reader, to provide your own ending to the story of Eric and Tyler, if, indeed, there must be an ending. As so many have said, true love never dies ...