Do It Again, Part 6
by Greg Scott
All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc. In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it. Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.
------------------------------Rich had to leave football practice an hour early on Monday so that he could get to a dental appointment that his mom had scheduled without asking about the practice schedule. The bad news was that we didn't have any time to talk, but the good news was that the coach moved me up to practice with the starting team in his position for that last part of practice.
Most of the time I did okay, but a couple times I got confused and ran the wrong route. It was pretty embarrassing to turn around and see the ball heading to a spot about thirty yards from where I had ended up. The coach yelled at me, but at least the other guys didn't give me a hard time about not knowing all the plays yet.
I made a couple catches that I was proud of, though, especially since Alan throws a lot harder than any other quarterback that I've ever played with. After those plays, he'd pat me on the butt when I'd get back to the huddle. I appreciated his encouragement.
As I was getting dressed after showering, Alan came to my locker.
"Hey, Crawford," he greeted me.
"Hi Alan," I replied. "Thanks for your help today."
"No problem, dude. I was thinking that, if you want, maybe I could come to your house after lunch, and we could work on some of those routes that gave you trouble this morning."
"Yeah, that would be cool. I need the repetitions," I admitted.
I told him how to get to my house, and we went our separate ways. I thought that it was cool that this junior boy was willing to help out a freshman like me.
Once I got home, I fixed a sandwich and grabbed some chips. Mostly, though, I drank my lunch to sort of replenish my liquids after our very hot practice. I must have had over a quart of orange juice followed by some of my favorite sports drink.
I had just turned on my computer to check Facebook when the doorbell rang. Alan was already here.
I opened the door and immediately felt a surge of pure lust when I looked at Alan. He had changed into a white muscle shirt and a pair of amazingly tight shorts. His summer tan contrasted nicely with the white of the shirt, and from the looks of his shorts everything had been carefully arranged for full display before he rang the doorbell.
He casually tossed a football from one hand to the other as he cockily stood there watching me inspect his appearance. Alan was known for a huge ego, but he deserved to have it.
Alan turned out to be a good coach. Before we would practice a particular pattern, he would explain to me everything that each position player was supposed to do to make the play work as planned. That helped me understand the logic of the play and why it was so important that I run my route with absolute precision. Then we would run that play six or seven times until he thought that I had mastered it.
We did that same routine with the five most complicated plays, the ones that had given me the most problems during practice. By that time, I was thirsty again.
"Hey, you want to take a break to get something to drink?" I asked.
"Sure," he agreed. "Let just run that one again one last time. You almost dropped the ball last time."
I took my spot on the right side of the line of scrimmage. Alan jerked the ball to his chest to simulate a ball snap. I sprinted eight yards forward, and then I cut sharply left at a forty-five degree angle, executing a crossing pattern. After another fifteen yards, I turned my head in Alan's direction and raised my arms high into the air.
I could see the spiral of the ball as it approached my outstretched arms, timed my jump perfectly and felt the sting of the ball on my fingers. I was starting to get accustomed to the power of Alan's passes. I pulled the ball into my midsection to secure it.
Since this was our last play, I decided to put on a little show. I slowed my pace to that of a slow motion replay. I cradled the ball in my right arm, using my left to straight-arm imagined would be tacklers. I zigzagged my way down the field, bringing my knees higher on each step. I slowly spun to avoid a particularly daunting opponent that my mind had created. I crossed the goal line, heaved the ball straight up and jumped in simulated joy of victory.
During my turn I saw Alan running in jubilation in my direction, obviously to join my celebration of our score. Continuing to jump up and down, I faced the charging Alan. When he finally reached me, I jumped again with my arm up stretched awaiting our high five.
It turned out that Alan had other plans. He determined that a high five was not a sufficient reward for such a beautifully executed play. Instead he jumped into me, which sent us both tumbling toward the ground. I felt him twist in midair so that when we landed his larger body took most of the brunt of the fall.
We landed with him on the bottom and me prone atop him. We wordlessly looked for any reaction from the other that might signal pain. Then we started to laugh as if we had performed the most hilarious stunt of all time.
I felt happily silly, almost as if I was six years old again. Alan's reaction turned out to be more pubescent, though. He embraced me tightly and began a kiss as if that was the way that all football touchdowns should end.
In retrospect, I realize that it all felt perfectly natural and right at the time. Not once did I give any thought to Rich, my new boyfriend and Alan's best friend. On the other hand, I also didn't worry about Alan's girlfriend.
I have no idea how long we had been kissing when I felt Alan's hand struggling to get under the waistband of my shorts. I tried to shrink my waist to aid his effort. Soon he was massaging my butt with his strong fingers.
I felt the hardness of his cock against mine, separated by the layers of clothing, of course. I rolled mostly off of him, and he immediately loosened my belt and button. We seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement that our football drills were finished.
A couple of rolls and quick movements later, we both found ourselves naked between our shirts and our socks, feverishly fondling the other guy's cock and balls. I thought that Alan looked so sexy in his muscle shirt that I wanted him to keep it on, but he jerked it off before I had a chance to say anything. Of course, once I saw his now familiar chest, I no longer had any desire for him to put the shirt back on. I pulled my own t-shirt over my head and tossed it onto the growing pile of unwanted material.
My sexual history is only about a week old at this point, so maybe I am not yet an expert, but I think I'll share my wisdom with you anyway.
There is no way for a man to look sexy taking off shoes and socks! Shirts and pants, yes, those can be turned in to a striptease and at least you are revealing an interesting part of your body.
For a guy to take off athletic shoes and socks, he has to bend over, usually seated, fight a simple knot that always seems to get screwed up in some way whenever you're trying to do it fast and then battle a sock that is determined to stick to its foot. So you can imagine what Alan and I looked like, sitting on the ground, completely naked otherwise and anxious to get on with our mutual desires, crossing our legs to reach the cantankerous footwear.
We looked at each other and started laughing again until we both just laid back completely reclining on the ground with our legs in the air, cocks pointing straight at our own faces. That made us laugh even harder.
When I was finally successful, I launched my shoes over my head probably at least fifty feet away. Alan was not as dramatic. He just dropped his next to him. I reached over him, grabbed them and threw them in the general direction of mine.
I then took one of my sweaty cocks and pulled it down onto his cock. He quickly pulled it off to toss it aside.
"What are you doing? Trying to give me 'athlete's cock?'" he asked between snorts of laughter.
"Yeah, how you going to explain that to your doctor?" I responded.
He raised himself on one elbow and gazed at me.
"Do you know how hot you are for a freshman?" he asked grinning.
"Do you know how hot you are for an old man?" I shot back.
We reached across to touch the chest of the other.
"You're sticky," he noted. "I'll bet your sweat tastes great."
With that comment, he leaned into me and started licking across my chest. Somehow it seemed extremely intimate to me. I closed my eyes to better focus on this new sensation.
He moved downward along my torso, taking his time along the way to bathe me with his gentle tongue, the same tongue that I now remembered had actually been part way inside my ass a few days before. He stuck his tongue into my belly button and swirled it around several times.
The closer he moved to my wand, the more I wanted him to reach his destination. I wanted him to do what he had asked my permission to do on Friday, permission that I had refused to grant out of some sense of loyalty to my boyfriend. Remembering that, I thought of Rich for the first time since we had begun, but that thought quickly left me as Alan took my cock into his mouth.
He took just a little into him, the head and maybe an extra inch. He seemed to be like some sort of tongue magician. I wanted to grab his head forcefully to make sure that he didn't change his mind, but I contented myself with simply sliding my hand through the sweat on his back.
"I want to learn to take it all the way," he said, after releasing me just long enough to say those words.
For that brief moment my wet cock head felt the very subtle breeze blowing across the field bordering our lawn. I could smell the familiar farm aromas of soil and maturing plants, in this case soy beans, and I felt free just laying in the open, naked with a new friend.
I was aware of Alan gradually taking more and more of me into his mouth. I mentally urged him on, not so much for the sexual pleasure that I would receive but for the pleasure that he would enjoy in accomplishing a goal that he obviously considered very important.
When he got to about the two-third's mark of my cock's length, I could tell that he nearly gagged. He pulled off the slightest bit and recovered. He resumed his slow descent. I felt the end of my cock bend to accommodate a slight turn toward his throat, and then Alan pushed down onto the last inch until his nose was lodged into the space between the base of my rod and my scrotum.
I had never felt anything like it, and my friend held his position for some time. I assumed that he must be savoring his victory or, perhaps enjoying the scent of my muskiness after our athletic workout.
He moved up my cock, tongue working all the way but sucking with a much less noticeable vacuum than that which Rich used. I was glad that Alan's technique was different from Rich's. I found that I enjoyed the variety, although both techniques were equally enjoyable. As soon as I felt his lips on the edge of my cock head, he reversed direction.
I assumed that since he had now achieved his goal he would not try to take me as deeply again. My assumption was wrong. If it was possible, I seemed to be even deeper inside his throat at the end of this stroke.
The massage that I was receiving from Alan's tongue was great, but the tightness of his throat opening was even more stimulating. As he began to pick up speed, I knew I wouldn't last long. I had planned to engage him in a wonderful sixty-nine, but my increased arousal distracted me from my earlier plans. I selfishly fed him my cock without offering anything in return except for my hand resting now on his even sweatier back.
I think that I remembered to warn him that I was about to cum, but it's possible that I just thought that I should say those words and never really said them out loud. Whatever the case, he was able to handle my offering, greedily devouring it all. He captured some on his tongue, but most of my cum just slid directly down his throat. Strangely, I conjured a mental image of that gooey stuff moving slowly through his body and dripping off the wall of his stomach.
While I can't remember whether I warned Alan of my impending climax, I do have a vivid memory of emitting what must have seemed like a scream of terror as I reached the absolute peak of my climax. After I was finished I noted with surprise that, although I had done none of the work, I was breathing heavily, gasping for air as if I had just run the hundred meter dash.
Alan climbed on top of me, making my breathing even more difficult. I felt him lift my balls as he placed his cock directly under them between my legs. He used his own legs to force my legs together as tightly as possible. He pressed his lips against mine in a demanding kiss, very different from any kiss we had previously shared. His tongue penetrated my mouth as if he was trying to get his whole body inside me.
He humped feverishly. I found the feeling of his cock sliding up and down my balls to be very pleasant. I was delighted by this new technique that he was teaching me, although it wasn't my education that was on his mind, obviously. He must have been highly excited by giving me the blow job because after just a few humping motions I felt his juice start to coat the under side of my scrotum and the inside of my thighs.
His cum served as a great lubricant, and his final few humps provided almost no friction. I felt sticky but still quite happy by the afternoon's events.
Alan broke our long kiss. I wasn't surprised when he slid down along my body and began to lick his own cum from my legs and scrotum. By the time he had finished his cleaning chores, my cock was pointed at the blue sky and passing clouds.
We sat next to each other in silence, still nude. Every one in a while one of us would tear off a piece of grass and chew its bitter juices.
"Are you going to tell Rich about this?" Alan asked.
"I don't know," I responded, although that was the topic that had been on my mind. "Are you going to tell your girlfriend?"
"I don't know, yet, either," he said softly. "I don't think Sarah would understand."
We sat a while longer, and then he stood up and began to assemble his scattered clothing, tossing me my articles as he happened upon them. When he returned from retrieving our shoes, he looked deeply into my eyes and leaned in for a quick, soft kiss.
"Can we do this again sometime?" he pleaded.
"I hope so," I said.
"And maybe do even more stuff?"
"Gladly!" I replied.
He grinned, picked up the football and began to toss it back and forth between his hands as he had done standing at my door a few hours earlier. His dick bounced back and forth as he did so.
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