To the Mat -- Pt. 5, by

This story involves sexual contact between young males.  If such stories are not appealing to you, or it is illegal to read such material in your jurisdiction, please do not continue reading.

            The bus ride to southeastern Michigan took several hours, but the Holden squad didn't mind.  They had been invited to a major tournament, and the guys were excited to be facing some real competition.  Many Division I schools would be there -- only a handful of D-II teams had received an invitation.  The Holden team knew the odds were stacked against them, since they would be facing some Big Ten teams, several of which were consistently ranked in the top ten nationwide.  While Holden was an exceptionally good Division II team, they were no real match for the D-I teams at the tournament. 

            It was mid-winter, and the temperature outside was only twenty or so, with snow flurries occasionally sweeping across the bleak fields and relatively empty highway.  The small bus was warm, and the guys were settled comfortably in their seats, talking or joking quietly, snacking on fruit, or, as often as not, a candy bar one of them had smuggled aboard.

            "So, what's up between you and coach?"  The words, coming from team captain Mark Jamison, shocked Luke, jolting him wide awake from the quiet solitude he'd been enjoying.  Did Mark `know' something?  Had he and the coach slipped up?  Did others know what was going on between them?  Luke stared at his teammate with a dumbfounded expression on his face, afraid to utter a sound.   "Well," Mark continued, "the past month or two, seems like Coach Weber has been riding you hard -- always on your ass about something or other.  In practice -- during meets -- seems like he's just been harder on you than the rest of us -- a little quicker to snap at you, a little louder with his criticisms, that sort of thing.  As team captain, it's my job to notice stuff like that, and see if maybe there is something I can do to smooth things over -- put in a good word for you, or whatever."

            "Oh, um, well, um..." Luke stuttered and stammered, realizing the secret was still safe, relieved to discover Mark was referring to something other than the personal relationship that had blossomed between himself and his coach over the past months.  Then, almost uncontrollably, Luke started to chuckle, remembering his team captain's words -- coach had been "riding him", "on his ass" -- and the references made him laugh out loud.  If the team only knew!  Finally, Luke answered Mark as best he could.  "Coach told me earlier this year he was expecting great things from me, and to be prepared to push myself to the limit.  I guess he hasn't seen me do that yet, so, yeah, I guess he has been a little quick to snap at me when I don't do my best.  But really, Mark, everything is cool.  Coach and I have a good working relationship."  Mark was happy to hear that, and he let the matter drop as the guys chatted about the upcoming tournament.

            Reaching Ann Arbor, the team went straight to the hotel.  Unlike the big university teams, which had wealthy athletic departments, Holden College had to scrimp and save money where possible.  While the Big Ten schools could purchase large blocks of rooms, with just two wrestlers sharing a room, the Holden guys were packed four to a room, two to a bed.  Such tight quarters did not bother the teammates much, as they had grown accustomed to such accommodations over the years on `away' trips.  Coach Weber had a room, which he shared with assistant coach John Hargraves, a man nearing seventy years of age, who had been an assistant wrestling coach for more than forty years.  Hargraves had never applied to be a head coach anywhere -- "too much paperwork and bureaucratic ass-kissing" -- but he relished his position as an assistant.  He loved the `kids', as he called them, on the Holden team nearly as much as his own children and grandchildren, and the Holden boys thought of him as more of a fatherly, or grandfatherly figure, than as a coach. 

            The team was scattered among a handful of rooms down the hall from the coaches' room.  Once settled, the team headed to a nearby buffet restaurant for dinner, where the staff was kept busy restocking the food for the large group of hungry athletes.  Returning to the hotel, the boys mingled with one another, drifting from room to room to chat, play games, or watch a little TV.  But when the friendly hotel manager notified Coach Weber that the boys in room 312 had placed an order for some `X-rated' in-room video entertainment, the coach was quick to descend upon the miscreants, giving them a severe tongue-lashing.  Carter Jacks finally confessed to placing the order, claiming he thought he was ordering a "pay-per-view boxing match".   "Oh really, Jacks?" Coach Weber said, his voice rising in pitch.  "Tell me this, young man -- how many boxing matches come with a title like `Wendy Does Wichita'?"  Properly scolded, Carter apologized to the coach, promising to be on his best behavior for the remainder of the weekend.  Poor Carter, however, had to endure a weekend of razzing by his teammates, who took to calling him `Wendy Jacks Carter', causing the poor boy no end of embarrassment.

            As a junior, Joey Mangini was expected to help mentor some of the freshmen, and it fell to him to help keep young Josh Rettig in line.  Josh was a walking hormone -- always on the hunt for girls, always on the prowl for a little trouble, a little adventure.  Last fall, Joey had to save the kid from himself on more than one occasion.  Joey remembered a party attended by a large number of Holden jocks -- the alcohol was flowing freely (and the underage kids such as Josh had found ample ways of obtaining their share), and the hottest campus girls were there in droves.  One well-known attendee was a girl named Chelsea -- it was rumored she'd slept her way through the entire basketball team, the entire baseball team -- except for the center fielder, an avowed member of a `no sex before marriage' group, and nearly all the football team.  The older wrestlers knew her well, many of them having `sampled' her wares the year or two before.  Now she'd set her sights on young, innocent Josh, and was hanging all over him at the party.

            Joey, who had himself been led astray by the temptress as a sophomore, only to end up broken-hearted and betrayed, was determined to protect his wide-eyed, innocent teammate from a similar fate.  Taking Josh by the arm, he dragged him outside and sat him down on the grass, telling him to avoid Chelsea at all costs.  "Why, Joey?" Josh asked.  "Why do I have to stay away from her?  She's a girl, and she's warm for my form!  She likes me -- I can tell, and I like her.  I'm going back inside to get her, and she's coming back to my dorm room.  I'm gonna screw her -- tonight, in my bed, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it!"  Defiantly, but unsteadily, the drunken youth tried to stand.  "She's crazy about me -- I think she's already fallen in love with me," Josh slurred, as he struggled to escape Joey's grip and return to the party.  "And I'm in love with her, too.  We might get married -- I'll invite you to our wedding!"  Josh continued to babble as he again tried to escape Joey and walk -- or stagger -- back inside.

            Joey believed most of Josh's talk was just silly drunken utterances, but he also remembered how gullible he himself had been to Chelsea's advances.  Completely sure of himself, he grasped Josh's arm and escorted the freshman back inside, saying, "OK, fine Josh, you win.  Let's go back inside and find your dream girl."  Joey knew what he would find, and he wanted to be there to support the poor kid when the inevitable happened.  Back inside, Josh had begun asking his teammates, and anyone else within earshot, "Have you seen Chelsea?  Do you know where Chelsea went?"  A couple of guys nodded toward a room in the back, so both wrestlers headed in that direction.  The room was dark, but, after a few moments of fumbling, Josh found the light switch.  The ceiling light came on, and as it did so, the boys heard a girl's -- Chelsea's -- voice, say softly, "Lick it, stud," before a squeal of surprise escaped her lips as light flooded the room.  Chelsea was completely nude, squatting on all fours.  Beneath her was a guy -- some jock from the football team -- lying on the floor face-up, his tongue flicking the girl's shaved cunt.  Both culprits blinked in surprise, before the randy football player yelled, "Turn off the fucking light and get the fuck out of here!"  The wrestlers backed out of the room and turned around, walking silently down the hall, then back outside.

            Suddenly sober, Josh shook his head somberly, then turned toward his dorm, slowly saying `See you at practice' as he headed down the sidewalk alone, a look of dejection on his face.  Joey suddenly walked up to him, put an arm around his shoulder, and said, "Let's you and me go get a couple of thick chocolate shakes at McDougall's -- we can do an extra fifty crunches tomorrow to work off any extra ounces we might gain!" Josh had readily agreed, and the two teammates had been virtually inseparable ever since that night.

            Now, at the Michigan hotel, young Josh had made an interesting discovery.  It seemed the wrestling tournament wasn't the only activity scheduled in town that weekend.  A district-wide high school cheerleading competition was also being held, and a couple of school teams were housed at the same hotel.  Josh had found this out when he'd gone down the hall for some ice, only to be nearly knocked over by two cheerleaders in uniform who suddenly ran out of a room he was passing.  Josh was a handsome kid, and he was proud of his muscular physique, developed from years of grappling and training and weight lifting.  Shirtless, barefoot, and wearing only  a pair of skimpy gym shorts, the girls who had bumped into him immediately apologized, but also stopped dead in their tracks, blatantly ogling the young athlete's virile body.  And Josh was doing some ogling of his own -- two pretty blondes in short cheerleading shirts and tight sweaters were an attraction sure to catch the eye of a boy like Josh!

            Apologies all around were quickly followed by small talk, as the college freshman and the two high school seniors -- only a year younger than Josh  -- found much to admire in one another.  "We have some ice in our room you can have, we brought way too much back from the machine," said one of the girls as she invited the willing wrestler into their room.  "You look awfully strong," said the other girl, as her eyes drank in the sight before her.  Josh smiled bashfully, then realized his short little gym shorts were not going to hide much if he became, um, excited, by these girls - he wasn't wearing any underwear!  Suddenly, Josh was a little uncomfortable -- if he sat down the wrong way, his shorts might gape open, and a certain part of his male anatomy might sort of `spill' into view!  "Damn," thought the wrestler, "why didn't I put on more clothes before running out into the hallway?"  But it was too late -- he was now inside their room, so he decided to just stand near the door, where he could make a quick exit if needed.  Still, the attention the girls were paying him was enticing, and Josh found himself letting his guard down a little more than he intended.  His natural cockiness began to assert itself as he played the role of `college athlete' for his admiring female fans.

            "So, you're a college wrestler?" said one of the cheerleaders, a girl named Meghan.  "I think that's so cool -- guys who are wrestlers always have the hottest bods!"  Then she giggled shyly, perhaps a little embarrassed by her own pretentious comment.  But her friend Sara had no such reticence, and boldly walked up to Josh and ordered him to flex his biceps for her.  A little embarrassed himself, Josh slowly raised his arms and popped a pose -- only to have Sara reach up and begin to feel and caress his baseball-sized biceps and muscular triceps and delts.  She cooed softly, exclaiming how "big and hard your muscles are, Josh."  The comment brought a flush of color to the boy's face, but he couldn't help but smile with pride at the nice things she was saying.  But her next comment sent a shiver of excitement through him.  "Josh, what else can I feel that's big and hard?"

            Josh was well known among his teammates and friends as a flirt, and on numerous occasions he had been caught leering and ogling various girls both in high school and at Holden.  A couple of times, he'd been flat-out busted by a girl who `felt' his eyes on her ass after she'd walked past him.  Turning suddenly, she would catch him smiling and winking to his buds as he blatantly `checked her out'.  Josh was an `ogler' -- but now, the shoe was on the other foot, and he was the one being ogled!  As Sara continued to touch his arms, then allowed her soft hands to caress his hard, muscular chest and firm, pointed nipples, Josh found himself regretting three things: 1) he wished he'd put on a shirt before leaving his room, 2) he wished he'd put on some underwear beneath his gym shorts, which were rapidly becoming shorter by the second (or was something down there becoming longer?), and 3) he wished he'd had a chance over the past few days to jerk a quick load from his cock, for he suddenly found his body responding in a most embarrassing way to this strange girl's touch, and he quickly feared he might `lose control' at any moment!

            Glancing downward, Josh saw exactly what he was afraid he would see -- his hardening, lengthening cock was snaking down his right thigh and beginning to press outward on the fabric of his shorts.  In mere moments, his `pup tent' had grown to an accommodation large enough for a family outing.  Quickly, Josh stepped back from Sara's reach and stumbled toward the door, dropping his empty ice bucket, and freeing his hands to aid in covering his large bulge.  ` need to go now," he said as he hurried into the hotel hallway.  His room was only six doors down, but it was the longest hallway he'd ever walked, as the two giggling girls followed close on his heels, calling to him, imploring him to return.  "Come on, big wrestler, show us your moves -- you can pin us and make us submit to your every desire!" they stated excitedly.  "We want to see ALL of your big, strong muscles, stud!  Come back to our room!"

            Josh was nearly beside himself -- Sara's touch had already fired up his libido, and the sexy, daring taunts of the two cheerleaders were pushing him over the edge.  Despite his best efforts at self-control, Josh was rapidly succumbing to his sexual desire, as his now-hard dick had literally stretched below the leg opening of his shorts.  As his penis began to rise to full erection, it began to lift the leg of his shorts ever higher, as the poor boy fought to tuck his randy member back out of sight.  Reaching his room door, he suddenly realized he had no key -- but it was okay since Joey was just inside.  Rapping loudly, Josh hissed, "Joey -- let me in!"  But the only sound he heard was a healthy stream of piss splashing in the toilet just inside their room.  "Hold on, dude -- I'm taking a leak -- be right there," Joey called out.  Josh prayed Joey would hurry, as the sound of water hitting water went on...and on.

            By now, the girls were just a few feet away, teasing and taunting the handsome jock.  "You willingly came into our room almost nude, with just those itty-bitty shorts that barely covered you.  Then you ran away, Josh!  Why?  Come back with us -- we won't bite -- unless you want us to!"  Josh was mortified as he remained pressed against the door, desperately trying to hide his swollen erection.  He could only cover the large mushroom-shaped head with his hands -- the damn thing REFUSED to stay inside his shorts and was now jutting obscenely at a forty-five degree angle, with his glans and a couple of inches of shaft now visible every time he raised a hand to knock furiously at the door.  "Hurry, Joey, PLEASE!" he hissed between clenched teeth.

            And then, a voice -- different from those of the two silly girls -- a voice of authority and maturity -- was heard above the girls' giggling and the frantic pleas of the horny jock.  "Well, well, what have we here?" were the clear, concise words that filtered into Josh's brain.  Peering over his shoulder, Josh was stunned to see a distinguished, extremely well-dressed young woman of perhaps thirty years of age standing next to him.  The woman was obviously a professional -- wearing a fashionable pantsuit, expensive jewelry, and carrying a leather briefcase.  Madeline Jones was attending a university conference on microbes and bacteria, and was staying at the same hotel, just a few rooms down from the cheerleaders.  She had emerged from her room just in time to see the hunky athlete scurrying down the hall, with the cheerleaders in hot pursuit.  She had observed the `excited' condition of the young man, and had overheard every taunt the girls had uttered.  She had immediately realized what the situation was, and, after three boring days of science lectures and Power Point slides, was more than eager for some fun, and happy to assist her younger `sisters' in tormenting the hunky and horny youth.  As Josh tried to push himself even more firmly against the door, hoping to hide his engorged organ, Miss Jones, winking at the two girls, suddenly placed her free hand directly on Josh's tight, firm ass, and began to squeeze and fondle his shapely buns through the taut, thin fabric of his shorts.  "Oh, yes, I do like them young...and hard," she said, as her fingers began to snake around Josh's side, heading for his...

            "Ohhhh..." Josh groaned, as he lost the battle for self-control.  For at that very moment, his overheated cock began to spew great, gushing squirts of cum, his `testicle tapioca' spraying from his hard rod.  He futilely tried to catch the sticky flow in his hands, but there was simply too much, and drops of his warm semen began trickling between his fingers, with some oozing down his strong right leg, some drops simply slipping between his fingers and plopping to the carpet below.  In shame and humiliation, the boy felt his legs weakening, and he began to sink to the floor -- just as Joey pulled the door open.  Suddenly, with no door to lean against, Josh tumbled headfirst into the room.  Joey could not understand why three females -- two girls in cheerleader outfits, one older woman in business attire -- were standing in the hallway, pointing and giggling at his teammate who had just collapsed inside his doorway.  The women quickly turned and headed down the hall, still laughing.  Joey, concerned about his friend, watched as Josh regained his feet and staggered into their bathroom.  "And what is that stuff all over Josh's hands?" Joey wondered.  "Is that...?"

            Glancing inside their bathroom, Joey was dumbfounded to see the freshman grabbing wads of tissues and gingerly wiping his hands, then reaching up into the leg opening of his shorts and fishing out his long, semi-hard penis, still oozing seminal fluid, and begin to gently wipe the tip and shaft as he had done his hands moments earlier.  Shamefaced, Josh peered over at Joey, as his junior mentor boldly asked, "Josh, what the fuck just happened?"

            Josh, his face now beet-red, continued to swab his swollen member, then, as if suddenly realizing how exposed he was in front of Joey, leaned over and pushed the bathroom door closed, saying he would try to explain in a few moments.  "I just need a minute, Joey, to, um, well, to straighten up a bit."  Finally, he emerged from the bathroom, his sex organ now under control and tucked back within his shorts.  Looking guilty and embarrassed, he explained as best he could the events of the past ten minutes to his teammate.

            "Now let me get this straight," Joey said, repeating the story as much for its sensual effect as for clarification.  "You went down the hall to get some ice, wearing just that little pair of shorts.  A couple of cute girls in cheerleader outfits lured your sex-starved ass into their room, then started to tease you, telling you how sexy and hot you were.  You were silly enough to actually believe them," Joey said sarcastically, smiling in spite of himself.  "You started getting all turned on, especially when this one chick started rubbing your hard pecs, even flicking your stiff nips.  Next thing you knew, Mr. Boner was making an appearance, trying to snake out of the leg opening of your shorts," Joey continued, as Josh nodded sheepishly in agreement.  "You had to make a break for it, so you dropped our ice bucket and ran into the hallway, trying to shove your erection back up into your shorts, or at least to hide it from the girls who began following behind you.  You get to our room, but -- oh no! -- the door was locked because your bone-head self had forgotten to take a key, forcing you to pound on the door while I'm happily preoccupied trying to make my bladder gladder!  Am I right so far?" Joey asked.  Josh just nodded quietly.  "Then, some `older woman' pops up next to you, whispers some more hot stuff in your ear, grabs your ass, and sends you over the edge, causing your cock to pump out a load of man-juice right outside our door -- a load you try to catch in your hands, all the while spilling some seed down your leg and dribbling it onto the hallway carpet!  I finally get to the door just in time to let you stumble and fall into the room while the females who had tormented you into ejaculating your nutload had a last laugh at the boy who couldn't control his own dick -- is that about right, Josh?"  Josh just nodded again, too ashamed to look Joey in the eye.  Twenty minutes later, Joey was still dabbing tears of laughter from his eyes, as he promised to make Josh's life a living hell, once he explained to the other Holden wrestlers why he'd given Josh the nickname `Quickshot' that night!

            Later that night, as Josh slept soundly in the bed next to him, Joey could not stop tossing and turning.  "Why am I being tormented by these weird thoughts?" Joey wondered.  "Why do I keep picturing Josh shooting a steaming load uncontrollably as the girls teased him?  Why do I keep seeing him shyly trying to clean himself in our bathroom afterwards?  The way he was holding his dick, wiping it clean as it twitched and jerked in his hand?  I never knew young Josh was so well hung..."  Such thoughts continued to torment Joey as sleep evaded him, and as his own erect shaft kept drawing his idle hands to touch and play with it...

            By Saturday evening, the wrestling tournament was wrapping up.  The Holden squad had held their own and then some, with several of the guys finishing high in the rankings.  Bryan Carmichael was proud of his 4th-place showing -- he actually finished higher than any other freshman from any school!  Mark and Cody had finished with strong third-place showings -- the highest finishes any wrestler from Holden had ever had in the ten-year history of the tournament.  Coach Mark Weber was elated with how well his team had performed.  But there was still one Holden athlete who had yet to wrestle -- Luke Collins.  Luke had been on fire the whole weekend, wrestling like a man possessed, beating powerful, ranked opponents from Wisconsin, Iowa, and Ohio.  It was as if all the training, practicing, drilling, mental preparation -- all of that had come together at just the right time.  Luke had advanced to the finals, and was the first Holden wrestler to ever do so. 

            The first period went by almost too quickly.  Luke was up against Warren Starke, a Michigan Wolverine ranked third -- third in the nation in his weight class!  On paper, Luke had no chance, he shouldn't even be facing such a powerful, skilled foe.  Starke had not lost even one match since the previous spring's NCAA championships, where he finished fourth.  And nearly every victory Starke had was by a pin.  Yet there Luke was, wrestling his heart out -- twisting, sweeping, side-stepping, grappling with an intensity his teammates had never seen from him before.  Starke had achieved two take-downs, scoring four points, but Luke had struggled mightily, escaping both holds to score two points for himself.  As the second period began, the score was 4-2.  About half way through the second period, Starke was stunned when Luke, with amazing agility, was able to grab his leg and suddenly leverage the Michigan man to the mat.  In a split second, Luke had established control -- and was awarded two points for a take-down.  The score was tied 4-4, but, using brute strength, Starke was finally able to escape Luke's hold and add one point to his own score.  The second period ended with a score of 5-4.

            The third period began with both athletes sweating and breathing hard.  Both men were cautious, as if neither wanted to tangle with the other.  But then Starke, using the strength, quickness and power for which he was known, suddenly swept Luke off his feet and slammed him to the mat with a thud.  Scrambling behind Luke, Starke gained control -- and two more points for another take-down.  Luke could feel his energy waning as the clock ticked down -- and he could feel Starke driving his knee into his back, forcing him down while locking his arms behind him.  Luke was now virtually helpless, and the adrenaline that had carried him through five earlier matches that weekend seemed to suddenly evaporate.  Starke continued to use his power to nearly immobilize the Holden wrestler, even though he was warned by the referee for stalling.  Luke's mind screamed "Turn! Roll! Try a reverse!" -- but his battered body just would not, or could not, respond.  In this position, Luke knew Starke could flip him over and no doubt score a pin -- he knew Starke was too good a wrestler not to leverage the exhausted man beneath him onto his back for the ultimate victory.  And Luke, now totally drained and gasping for air, knew there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

            So why didn't Starke flip him and pin him?  From the corner of his eye, Luke saw the last seconds tick by...7...6...5...4...3...2...1, then the buzzer sounded and the match was over, Starke winning 7-4.  Luke wearily rose to his knees, then shakily stood as his opponent's arm was held aloft in victory by the referee.  Starke turned and walked toward his teammates as Luke began to head in the opposite direction.  Suddenly, a feeling of anger and rage hit Luke like a tidal wave, and, whirling around, he stormed up behind Starke and roughly grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around until both men were face to face.  "Why didn't you flip and pin me?" Luke yelled in Starke's face. "The pin was yours for the taking!" he continued shouting, his face red with rage.  As he paused to catch his breath, Luke noticed for the first time how hard Starke was breathing, how utterly exhausted he looked. 

            "Dude," Warren Starke said quietly, "do you think I went easy on you or something?  Are you kidding me?  My God, I tried everything I had against you in the first two periods, and was barely ahead.  I knew if I tried to flip you, you might just have enough strength left to slip out of my grasp -- score an escape point -- then maybe get a takedown on me.  Suddenly, we'd be tied and go into overtime."  Shaking his head slowly, the Michigan wrestler said, "I knew I was done for if we went into overtime -- my energy was all but gone.  I knew my only chance was to hold you, ride you out to the end of the period.  Risking a pin on you may have resulted in a loss for me, and I wasn't willing to take that chance." 

            Suddenly, Luke felt ridiculously foolish -- he had assumed the national-caliber athlete had taken things easy on him, maybe out of pity for the "kid from that little Division II college".  In reality, he had held his own against the guy, and Starke was giving him credit for that.  "Oh, um...OK," was all Luke could think to say as he humbly turned to walk away, his anger and rage already dissipated.  Starke, realizing how Luke had misinterpreted the lack of a pin, suddenly reached out and grabbed Luke's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.  Extending his hand, he shook Luke's hand warmly, and said, "Thanks for giving me some real competition.  If you think you might want to transfer to a D-I school, let me know.  I'm sure my coach would love to talk with you."  Luke nodded meekly, and thanked Starke for his kind words.  It finally dawned on him -- he had, indeed, held his own against the third-ranked wrestler in the nation!  Now, he understood the smiles he saw on his teammates' faces, and the glow of pride he saw on Mark's face.  As he walked into the arms and backslaps of his team, and the kudos rained down on him, he took pride in his narrow defeat.  Even Mark -- his coach, and, unknown to others, his lover -- swept him into a bear hug, telling him how proud he was of his performance in the match.  Luke had to hurry away to wipe the tears from his eyes before the other guys saw them trickling down his cheeks.

            Cody Fox and Bryan Carmichael were sharing a room -- and a bed -- just down the hall and around the corner from Joey and Josh.  But while the latter two wrestlers were sleeping as far from each other as the queen-sized bed would allow, Cody and Bryan had slipped comfortably into each other's arms, holding, kissing, and nuzzling each other, the hum of the room heater accompanied by the soft groans and whispers of two lovers.  During the tournament, the two boys had maintained control, holding and spooning each other at night, but resisting the temptation to interact in a more personal way, knowing they had to save their strength and concentration for their wrestling matches.  Now, with the tournament over, they could afford to indulge themselves -- and their desires -- without worrying about affecting their performance on the mat.  The mattress had replaced the mat as the place where each now desired to prove his manhood, his strength, his drive.

            "I'm glad this tournament is over," said Cody, as he stretched out on the bed, waiting for Bryan to finish up in the bathroom and join him.  When Bryan came to bed, he was wearing his usual boxer-briefs, while Cody was completely naked.  Slipping under the covers, Bryan scooted over next to Cody, then snuggled down next to him.  "Why did you wear your underwear to bed, Bry?" Cody asked.   "You know they're coming off in no time."

            Bryan chuckled, then said, "Well, Cody, if my briefs are coming off tonight, you're going to have to strip them off me!"  And with that, the battle was on!  Grabbing one another, the two muscular jocks began struggling on the bed, each trying to gain the upper hand.  Back and forth they went, sliding on the bed, once tumbling to the floor, muscle versus muscle, with Cody trying desperately to get a grip on Bryan's briefs and begin tugging them down his thighs.  But Bryan was quick, twisting and turning, grabbing his foe's arms, hands -- doing his best to defeat his older teammate.  Suddenly, Bryan saw the opening he needed, and he quickly snaked his hand between Cody's thighs, then firmly wrapped his fist around Cody's naked cock which had grown rock-hard during their struggles.  Immediately, Cody became quiescent, looking helplessly into Bryan's eyes, wondering what his friend would do to him now.  As Cody quieted, Bryan taunted him, while still holding his hard dick, saying, "That's right, big boy, that's right.  You just settle down now.  I'm in charge, and I've got your meat in the palm of my hand to prove it.  Now, you just be a good boy, and do exactly as I say."  Cody was breathing hard, but he became quiet and subdued, knowing when he was beaten -- or so Bryan thought.  Thinking Cody was now subservient, he slightly loosened his fist -- just enough for Cody to jerk away safely and renew the war!  This time, turning the tables, Cody grabbed the swollen bulge in Bryan's briefs and twisted -- not enough to hurt the kid, but enough to let him know who the new boss was!

            "On your back -- NOW" Cody hissed, as Bryan meekly obeyed, sliding onto his back as Cody knelt between his legs, still gripping the large bulge in his fist.  Once on his back, Cody was able to pin Bryan to the bed, though Bryan certainly wasn't resisting much.  Cody hooked his fingers under the waistband and pulled the briefs down Bryan's thighs, careful to slip one hand inside the briefs to clutch the younger man's dick with one hand, while stripping him with the other.  "Do you surrender to me, Bry?  Do you give?" he asked.

            Bryan could only nod, knowing that he was beaten, and eager to see what came next.  He stopped resisting Cody's dominance, and allowed his underwear to be pulled down his legs, over his feet, and tossed to the floor.  And then Cody did something he'd only tried once before -- he kneeled over and began to softly lick Bryan's inner thighs.  Any last bit of resistance Bryan may have felt quickly vanished as his partner's warm, moist tongue slid up and down his thighs.  Bryan knew resistance was completely futile -- his thighs were incredibly thick and muscled, as so many wrestlers' are, yet Cody knew a secret about Bryan's thighs that no one else knew -- they were so ticklish and sensitive that Bryan was virtually helpless to any man who stroked, caressed, teased or licked them.  Cody had made this discovery a few weeks earlier, during one of their previous `wrestling matches', and he was excited to put Bryan to the test again.  As his tongue gently snaked along Bry's bulging, and now quivering quadriceps, then dipped back to the inner thigh region, he could hear Bryan's breath growing short, while watching Bryan's dick growing long and hard, thrusting into the air like a spear from the mat of brown pubic hair surrounding it. 

            Slowly, he licked his way north until his tongue hit something soft and slightly furry -- the younger wrestler's ballsac, nestled between his thighs, seemingly at rest, but in reality pumping and vibrating with a life of its own as the two jewels within worked on overdrive to supply the sperm needed for what was sure to be a massive eruption.  Glancing upwards, Cody could see Bryan's quivering, throbbing shaft, the knob already glistening as his pisslips released a steady drool of his sexual fluids.  Bryan groaned lowly in ecstasy as his desire began to build.  Cody used his tongue to stab at the nutsac, poking and prodding at it, stirring the gonads within.  Then he boldly began to run his tongue up and down the pulsing shaft before him, licking it gingerly, then more firmly.  Finally, sensing poor Bryan was nearly at the end of his resistance and almost delirious with lust, Cody opened his mouth and quickly engulfed Bryan's steel-hard shaft, carefully keeping his teeth from scraping the engorged tube of Bryan's male meat, but using his lips, tongue and warm, wet mouth to virtually feast on Bryan's sex organ.  Cody was himself rather inexperienced in the art of oral lovemaking, but he'd seen enough pictures and read enough stories to at least have some idea of what he was doing.  And it was obvious that what he was doing was pleasing his young lover.  Bryan was now whimpering softly, unable to speak, gasping for air, his heart racing, his eyes closed, his knuckles white as he clawed at the sheets beneath him in a desperate attempt to maintain control. 


            But his control was rapidly slipping away as his testicles pulled up tight at the base of his rigid cock.  "I've got to hold on, I'" his mind cried out, but it was too late.  When he felt Cody's warm tongue sliding to and fro across his slippery, jizz-coated cockcap, and he felt the suction Cody was applying with his lips and cheeks, Bryan's body simply surrendered to the pleasure.  With a small cry of sexual joy, Bryan gave in to Cody's oral ministrations, and he began to shoot bullets of cum in rapid succession from his red, swollen dick.  "Cody...look out...I'm...I'm..." was all he could say as the first shot exploded into Cody's hungry mouth.  Again, and again, and yet again and again, waves of pleasure shot through the freshman's body as he ejaculated his fertile baby batter down Cody's throat.

            Try as he might, Cody could not swallow all of Bryan's load, and a fair portion dribbled down his chin.  Seeing young Bryan so aroused, so erect, so bursting with sexual need, pushed Cody over the edge, and he began to squirt gobs of his own seed onto the sheet beneath him.  "," he moaned as one cum shot followed another, quickly draining him of his strength and his sperm, leaving Cody feeling nearly as spent as Bryan.  "I...I was going to save my load...for you, Bryan...for you to suck out of me.  But dude, I just blew my load...right on the bed...I got so turned on, I couldn't control it, I couldn't help it, I couldn't stop it.  I hope you're not mad at me," Cody said.

            Slowly recovering a little of his strength, Bryan looked over at Cody, who was now spread out beside him on the bed.  "Nah, I'm not mad dude," Bryan said.  "You've got all night to brew up another load for me!  Here, let me help you get started..."  And with that, Bryan reached down and wrapped his hand around Cody's scrotum, and began to fondle and jostle the testes within.   Cody could only smile and laugh softly as he lay beside Bryan, becoming more aroused as his teammate deftly worked him into a state of sexual excitement.  He knew they were in for a long, hot night of passionate lovemaking.

            Shortly after midnight, Coach Weber silently slipped out of the room he shared with his snoring assistant, and walked down to the lobby area of the hotel.  As if on cue, Luke emerged from his room and headed in the same direction, the two men finally meeting in a secluded corner beyond the small nook where the hotel served a continental breakfast each morning.  Nobody was in sight -- even the desk staff had retired to a back room to watch a late-night TV show.  Boldly, Mark grabbed Luke in his arms and planted a deep, long kiss on the wrestler's full, red lips.  Parting those lips, Luke snaked his tongue into Mark's mouth and their tongues tangled as each man released some of the feelings they had so carefully hidden these past several days.  Just as quickly, they pulled apart, fearing that someone -- a teammate, or a wrestler from another team, might suddenly appear in the lobby searching for the ice machine, or needing an extra towel, or seeking directions to an all-night diner.  It was frustrating to be so close, yet so far away at the same time.  But both men knew that, for now, at least, their relationship had to remain private.

            "I am so proud of your performance at this tournament, Luke.  You have made incredible gains in your strength, agility, and overall abilities on the mat.  It has been amazing to watch you improve over the fall and winter," Mark Weber said.

            "Gee, thanks Mark -- but I owe it all to you -- you have taught me so much since I came to Holden.  I guess things are just really coming together this year for me.  How perfect is that?"  Luke stated matter-of-factly, a big smile spreading across his face.  "My life seems to be really settling down now -- both my athletic life and my personal life -- thanks to you, Coach."

            "And your academic life as well," Mark said proudly.  "You know the Athletic Department keeps the coaches posted on the academic progress -- or lack thereof -- amongst out student athletes.  Your grades have improved steadily since last year, and your professors have noted your class participation, classroom discussion leadership -- just everything has grown mush stronger.  As your wrestling coach, of course I want your performance on the mat to improve, but I know that your academics will, in the long run, have a far greater impact on your future, so I am thrilled to receive such glowing reports about you!"

            Luke smiled bashfully, and Mark tenderly reached over and tousled his short hair, caressing his head and neck fondly.  "Guess we'd better get some sleep -- it's been a long day," Mark said as he started to rise.  Luke nodded, then stood up and turned to leave.  Then, he turned back, and in a low voice, whispered to Mark, "I love you."  Mark had to blink tears from his eyes as he whispered to Luke, "Not as much as I love you."  A quick, furtive hug, and the two men headed back across the lobby toward their separate rooms.  As Luke quietly unlocked the door into his room, Mark walked by and softly said, "See you tomorrow, right?" 

            "Oh yeah, I'll be by after dinner.  My roommates have been questioning all my late-night library sessions lately -- if they only knew!"  Luke replied, winking at Mark as his coach passed him on the way to his own room farther down the hotel corridor.

            At the far end of the corridor, three Holden wrestlers were sharing a room with two beds.  Heavyweight Bryan Bingham, due to his size, was guaranteed a bed of his own.  The other bed would be shared by Jamie Knox and freshman Zach Crisswell.  Although Jamie and Bryan had become quite close over the past few months, they still preferred to keep their relationship to themselves -- they would certainly never walk hand-in-hand across campus, and they did not feel comfortable forcing the issue with their fellow athletes.  They had overheard a few remarks and comments posed by teammates following their disappearance into the bedroom at the lakeside cabin -- things seemed cool enough, but still, neither man felt it necessary to share their private feelings with others, at least not just yet. 

            With the tournament over, there was a feeling of relaxation in the air.  Zach, as with so many freshmen, was feeling a little silly and rambunctious -- certainly nothing unusual for an eighteen year-old.  He had been playfully teasing `Big B' much of the night -- trying to goad him into a pillow fight, then a wrestling match, then daring him to run the hotel hallway naked.  `B' took the ribbing good-naturedly, pushing the frisky boy away, laughing at his crazy notions and antics.  On a whim, Zach suddenly jumped on top of Bryan, who was stretched out on his bed in just some jockey shorts, and began to poke the big guy's ribs and tummy.  Almost instantly, Bryan began to laugh.  Zach suddenly realized that maybe, just maybe, the biggest wrestler on the team might be ticklish.  With dancing fingers and a wicked grin on his face, Zach furiously attacked his big target.  In moments, `B' was laughing and squirming, desperately trying to avoid the kid's tickling fingers, but to no avail.  With Zach sitting firmly on his chest, it was hard for him to move, and he was so busy trying to protect his tender flanks that he had no chance to push Zach off of him. 

            Jamie, of course, knew how ticklish Bryan was -- he'd found this out during the many hours they'd spent together.  He sat back and watched as Zach gleefully tickled and teased his bigger foe.  Jamie knew Bryan could probably have tossed the smaller kid off of him, but he figured Bryan was reluctant to do so -- in the small, cramped room, Zach might go flying into a piece of furniture or a wall, thus injuring himself.  Being the good-natured lug he was, Bryan was willing to endure a few minutes of torment from his frisky teammate.  However, as the tickling continued, `Big B' began to utter threats and promises, between laughing and gulps of air.  "Zach, you'd better just...ooh, hee hee,'d better stop -- you know...heeheehee... you know I WILL get even.  I prom...hahaha, cut it out! Stop it! You'd better st...hahaha...Zach, you are DEAD MEAT!  I'm gonna...I'm gonna...oooh, heeheehee, hahahahaha.  For a good fifteen minutes, Zach enjoyed the upper hand, as Bryan suffered through one bout of tickling after another.  Jamie had thought to join in, but he was enjoying himself too much -- just watching the giddy freshman having so much fun with Bryan. 

            Finally, Zach began to tire, but now a new worry confronted him.  If he just got off of Bryan, what would the big guy do in retaliation?  In desperation, Zach decided to keep tickling his friend until `B' promised not to hurt him once he let him up.  "Bryan," Zach said, beginning yet another attack on the ribs and abs of his victim, "I can go on like this all night -- and I will, unless you swear you won't murder me or make me suffer some untold pain when I let you up!  Will you agree to that, or do I keep tickling you?"

            Gasping, his eyes tearing from laughter, Bryan weakly promised not to inflict any physical punishment on the kid, though he did make it clear that some form of revenge was only fair.  Knowing his physical existence was not in jeopardy, Zach finally leaped off the big guy and took refuge behind Jamie, on the far side of the bed they shared.  Bryan got up and hurried into the bathroom, where he relieved himself -- he had come dangerously close to wetting himself during the tickling torture.  Walking out of the bathroom, he glared with narrowed eyes at Zach, still cowering behind Jamie, and whispered, "You're safe for now.  But soon, when you LEAST expect it..." 

            Revenge is sweet.  Four days after returning from Ann Arbor, Zach was in the Engineering Library late one evening, completing his studies.  Most guys on the team, including `Big B', knew Zach was studious, and spent most evenings there.  Twenty minutes before the building closed for the night, the lights were briefly dimmed, telling students closing time was close at hand.  Hiding behind the stacks, where he had been two previous nights learning Zach's habits, Bryan watched Zach close his books and place them in his backpack, then walk into the nearby restroom to take a piss before leaving.  Signaling three of his buddies from the football team -- equally hidden between the shelves of books, Bryan and two of his mates ran into the restroom, while the third stood guard outside. 

            Zach had just finished his business when he heard the door open.  Within seconds, he found large hands grabbing his arms, pushing him against the restroom wall, immobilizing him.  Twisting his head sideways, he looked into the grinning face of...Bryan!  "'Evening, Zach," Bryan said, smiling warmly.  "All finished with your little pee?  Well, that's great -- now, don't bother to zip up, `cause those shorts -- and your shirt, shoes, and boxers -- are coming off!"  Rough hands were quickly stripping Zach, and within seconds he was completely nude.  Zach started to protest, but a strip of duct tape was quickly placed across his mouth, and within a few more seconds, poor Zach found his legs taped together below the knees, and his arms stretched to the top of a stall partition, to which his wrists were quickly secured.  A black marking pen appeared, and in a few more seconds, the following words had been written on his lean, muscular torso:  "PLEASE SEE REVERSE SIDE. NOTHING DOWN HERE."  Below the word `here', an arrow ran straight down into Zach's curly pubic bush!  Turning the struggling boy around, these words were soon printed on his broad back: "INSERT DICK HERE", and an arrow ran down his spine, ending at his ass crack!  Another strip of tape made Zach's wrists double-secured above his head, leaving the kid completely naked and helpless in the men's bathroom at the Engineering Library.  Bryan said, "You'll have to make your way across campus in the buff, dude -- you'll find your stuff on a bench at Reynold's Fountain -- too bad that's so far from here!"  In a flash, `Big B' and his two buds were gone, taking Zach's clothes and backpack with them. 

            Zach struggled and yanked at the tape, to no avail.  He was absolutely mortified, wondering what someone entering the restroom would think...or do.  Turning his head, he could see his back reflected in the mirror, and the words he saw there made him cringe.  He redoubled his efforts to free himself, but it was useless.  And then, the door opened.  A huge black guy -- Zach was certain he had to be another football player -- walked nonchalantly into the restroom, then stopped short, a wicked grin spreading across his face.  "Well, well, what have we here?  Hmmmm...what an interesting situation.  What does this say?  Insert dick here?  Well, if you insist..."  The man pushed Zach against the partition, face first, then proceeded to run his hand down Zach's back.  "That's what it says, insert dick here, so I guess I'll just try that."  Zach went weak in the knees when he heard the sound of a zipper opening, and felt -- what was that? -- something begin to touch the crevice between his virgin ass cheeks.  "No, oh please, no..." Zach's mind cried out, terrified at the thought of being so helpless, so exposed, so at the mercy of this large man.  Zach began to sob, his body trembling uncontrollably, until he felt a hand on his shoulder, and the man's voice in his ear, whispering, "It's OK, dude, I'm not gonna do anything to you -- I just was supposed to scare you a little, and I guess it worked.  Here, let me help get you loose." 

            In moments, Zach was free from his bonds, and he shyly put his hands down to cover his naked manhood.  His liberator smiled, shaking his head, and said, "Dude, no need to cover yourself now.  I've seen everything you've got.  And I must say one thing about you wrestlers -- damn, you dudes are hung."  Zach smiled weakly, then muttered, "Thanks.  I mean, um, thanks for getting me loose and everything."  Smiling still, the football player told Zach, "From now on, you're on your own -- you gotta make your way across campus like that.  I don't have any extra clothes or nothing -- you gotta get to the fountain to get your stuff back.  You'd better make like a streaker and run your ass outa the library and across campus!  That should be fun!"  And with that, he walked out of the restroom. 

            Peering out the restroom door, Zach was relieved to see the library was virtually empty -- most students had left when the lights signaling closing time were flashed.  Gathering all his courage, and placing one hand strategically over his manhood as best he could, Zach bolted out of the restroom and up the stairs to the main lobby and the exit.  Unfortunately, a few people were still milling about in this area, some checking out books or just talking, and all eyes stared at him as he ran, dodging chairs, study tables, and groups of students, some of whom laughed and began snapping pictures with their cell phones.  The guard at the exit turnstile was half asleep, but his eyes opened wide at the site of the naked athlete zipping past him and out the door.  Hiding behind a column, Zach studied the landscape ahead, though only briefly since several students had decided to follow him out of the library, still holding up there damned phones, probably recording a video!  Quickly, Zach dashed across a small plaza, attracting the attention and giggles of a few more passers-by, then he ran under the trees that paralleled the walkway, hoping to stay in the shadows and away from the illuminated walks.  But he soon realized what an error this was -- without shoes, the pine cones and twigs made every step painful, and this finally forced him back onto the paved walkway, which was surprisingly busy for such a late hour.

            Running headlong down the walk, Zach couldn't help but draw unwanted attention -- people pointing, laughing, making comments... "Must be a frat hazing" or "Look at this dude streaking!"  Zach, normally a rather shy guy to begin with, was simply horrified at the spectacle he was creating, and he prayed that this was just a nightmare from which he would immediately awaken.  But no such luck -- he ran and ran, sweat trickling down his body as he tried to cover `front' and `back' with his two free hands.  Zach continued running, and was grateful that, as an athlete, he was in condition to run.  He took a turn in another direction, unaware of the pair of eyes watching him closely from a dark corner of the chemistry building.  Crossing another plaza, he nearly crashed into a group of frat brothers, who immediately began to taunt him as he continued his flight.  Still running, he passed beside Baker Hall, again unaware of another man keeping a close watch on him from behind a large tree.  Finally, sweat-drenched and exhausted, Zach staggered onto the plaza surrounding Reynolds Fountain, relieved the area was deserted, but sickened at seeing no sign of his clothes or backpack. 

            "Oh no," he cried aloud, "what am I going to do now?"  He was only about half-way to his dorm, and he knew the dorm areas would be much busier, the walkways more crowded, in that section of the Holden campus.  Just then, the bushes bordering the plaza rustled, and Bryan stepped through them, carrying his belongings.  "Good job, Zach.  You made it here in record time.  I don't think anyone on the track team could have beaten you!"  Bryan said, handing him his boxers and shorts.  Quickly donning the items of clothing, Zach collapsed onto the nearest bench, struggling to catch his breath.  Speaking again, Bryan continued, saying,  "Just in case you thought we left you to the wolves, Zach, you should know I had my buddies stationed along the route we knew you would take, keeping an eye over you.  Had you gotten into any trouble -- you know, like with those frat guys, or, say, with a campus cop suddenly appearing, we were ready to run out and toss you some clothes or hustle you away to safety."  Just then, Bryan's two football buddies -- the ones who had pounced on him in the restroom -- reached the fountain, sweaty and out of breath from trying to keep up with the fleeing wrestler.  "I promised you I would get even for that tickling episode last weekend, and I think I succeeded.  But you are my teammate -- and my friend -- so you should know I'll always have your back, man."  With that, the big guy put a comforting arm around Zach's shoulder.

            Zach started to chuckle, then laugh out loud.  "OK, OK, `B'," he said, "we're even -- maybe more than even.  Damn, you and your friends got me good!"  Putting on his shirt and shoes, and still laughing about the experience, Zach began walking alongside `Big B' and his companions, in the direction of the dorms.