by J

One thing that he doesn't get enough of, Jesse thinks to himself, is sweat. Doesn't hear about it enough, doesn't see it enough in movies. But he likes sweat. He likes being sweaty, likes the way sweat smells. People never sweat in movies, and people never sweat enough in porn. But they ought to. It's natural; it's sexy.

That's what he's thinking while he stands in front of the mirror, listening to his shower run. Both of his flatmates are at swim practice, but he opted to stay home this once, and all he's doing is studying the bathroom, noticing the ugly green wallpaper and the weird tiles, thinking about sweating. The bathroom is steaming up, the mirror slowly gaining a coating of condensation, obscuring Jesse's view of his lean torso. He watches the steam cloud around the rusted corners of the mirror, feels the sweat gathering under his arms, sees his strong biceps slowly fade from view.

Jesse smiles and sees the corners of his mirror-self's dark red lips twitch upwards, and feels his two-day's growth of facial hair crinkle against his cheeks. His skin's tanned, but his face is narrow and sharp-featured, he thinks to himself, big lips and big dark eyes, but everything else just ordinary. He wishes he could grow a full beard, even though his coach would make him shave it, just to have something to draw attention to the endless eyes, get people past how quiet he sometimes can be. He's not noticing how his straight hair shoots out over his forehead, perfectly framing his face, blonde and short but cut exotically, almost. He's not noticing how his shoulders are broad but lead down to a narrow waist, with abdominal muscles that are tightly coiled, ready to propel him forward in the water. He knows he's attractive, but he forgets, sometimes.

The bathroom is growing hotter, and Jesse feels the sweat running down his chest. He watches it in the blurring picture in the mirror, sees the bead of sweat run between his pectorals, making it through the few dark hairs, and cavorting amongst the shorter hairs that trail downwards, to lodge in his bellybutton, thwarted, as he tightens his stomach muscles unconsciously. He scratches between his pecs, and brushes his right nipple with the base of his thumb, softly, the dark red circle sensitive to his touch. He reaches up his other hand and pinches his left nipple, alternating back and forth between them, enjoying the mixed feelings of slight pain with pleasure. The nipples perk up, harden, and Jesse squeezes his pecs softly, feeling the strong muscle underneath. He rubs around his left nipple with his fingernail, pushing down the dark hairs that surround it.

Jesse grins as he feels his penis begin to swell. It's amazing, he thinks to himself, when you can get a hard-on just from enjoying your own body. He rubs his chest, softly, barely touching his fingertips to his skin, and shivers. He brings his hands to opposite shoulders, and rubs the strong muscles there, the muscles on his biceps, enjoying the feeling of power they give.

He spreads his index finger and middle finger to form a V, and slides it down the centre of his body until the skin that joins the fingers rests against the base of his penis, his coarse pubic hair scratching at his palm, trimmed short but thick. He squeezes his fingers together slightly, and his penis jumps, so that it's stretching almost straight forward at mirror-Jesse, on its way to being completely hard.

Jesse leans back against the wall, his back muscles tensing at the cold, and he pinches his left nipple, hard. His cock twitches upwards, and he squeezes the base again and holds his fingers tightly closed, feeling the blood rushing against his fingertips. Jesse releases his hold and brings his hand down to cup his balls, rolling them against his fingers as his cock engorges with blood, lengthening to its full eight inches, the tip peeking forward out of its sheath.

With his left hand, Jesse caresses his chest, feeling as his muscles tense and relax. With his right, he squeezes his cock from beneath, and then slides his hand slowly, achingly, along the top of his cock, heading towards the tip. His fingertips brush against the skin ever-so-slowly, and it occurs to Jesse just how long it's been since he had an orgasm almost a week. He slows his breathing deliberately, brushes his blonde hair out of his eyes. As he calms himself, he stops to look at his dick, noticing the upward slant that helped him to hide his erections when he was younger, the thick vein that runs along the underside, the tight foreskin that wraps the head like gift-wrapping on a present. He squeezes his cock, now, tightly, and watches it throb, feels the sweat under his balls, and enjoys the girth of his cock, its color, the heft of it in his hand. He revels in the joy of having a penis, of getting to enjoy his cock.

Jesse slides back his foreskin, revealing the tender head of his dick, glowing dark purple. He slides the skin forward slowly, against damp skin, until a drop of precum swells at the tip. Jesse rubs the liquid with his thumb, gasping softly at the contact and spreads it out over the head, like applying a primer of paint. He repeats the whole procedure, his eyes closed, feeling the sensation of jacking off with his entire body. With his other hand, he squeezes the lower shaft of his dick, slipping his pinky finger under his balls, which hang low and heavy right now. He clenches the muscles in his ass, and increases the rate of his stroking.

With his ass tight, each stroke feels more powerful, and Jesse releases the base of his cock to rub his chest again, his arms, and then to lightly touch his cockhead, each contact sending shivers through his body. He rubs the soft globes of his ass, the muscles tight, and strokes hard, throttling his cock like his hand might go flying off with each stroke. Stroking a big cock means you've got to keep your hand moving, formed into a fist around the girth, and he can hear his balls slapping against his legs, his breath coming short, and feel the sweat trickling under his left arm, between his legs. With his right hand, he rubs his balls again, squeezing slightly, and then pinches at his nipple, hard, his other hand flying on his cock, the foreskin sliding over the shaft `till it almost feels like it should hurt, and then Jesse's eyes are open, bright and shining, and his cock spurts the first shot of its load, a thick stream of cum that flies onto the floor before him, and then another, and another, and Jesse slides down the wall, spent, sweaty and tired, and not at all thinking about cleaning up the bathroom before his friends come home.

That's it. If you liked it, or if you didn't, send me an email -- avatar_of_truth at yahoo dot com. Any thoughts are great.