Sometimes a story falls flat, and sometimes it seems to strike a chord with people: turns out, the prospect of a naive 18-year-old getting inadvertently shaved bare for his Speedo seems to have gone down well with some of you. Thanks to everyone who emailed, I'm really glad that you're enjoying Tommy's story.
Last we heard of our sweet little swimmer, he was wondering what the rest of the guys on the team might think about his freshly-shorn groin. Will it go unnoticed, will Tommy be able to control himself in the locker room, and how will he react when he's around Andrews again?
As ever, comments eagerly welcomed at alexp336@gmail.com. You can find more smut at http://dirtyanon.tumblr.com/ which is also where I'll be flagging up a new part of Jockboy when that's ready.
A.
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**** A Closer Shave - Part 2 ****
By Monday, Tommy had a new routine. It had started on Saturday morning, waking up and letting his hand do its usual lazy exploration of his crotch, only to discover the freshly-shorn expanse of flesh that Andrews' efforts had left. The bareness of it had felt almost raw, tender somehow, Tommy's hands carefully easing around his shaft, fingertips pulling and stroking at his smooth balls until he blew a load across his chest and stomach.
Sunday morning, and - with the fresh confidence that he wasn't going to break anything if he was his usual eager self - Tommy went from sleepy to frantically jerking in short order. The baby-soft expanse between his legs was doubly sensitive to how it had been before, his cock looking twice as long somehow as when he'd had hair down there. He'd wrapped his fingers around the base of it, pulling the skin taut and watching as his shaft bobbed and swayed, the precum-glossy tip an angry red until he couldn't resist any longer, simply had to fist it until he blasted cream almost up to his chin.
By Monday, then, Tommy woke up eagerly anticipating some further playtime with his new favorite toy. Kicking the sheets down to his feet, he propped himself up on his elbows and peered down his body, eyes following the way his already sparse treasure-trail petered out and left nothing but bare skin at his groin.
HIs cock was already lolling, half-hard across his thigh. Letting himself fall back, he reached down and ran the palm of his hand across it, feeling it lengthen at his touch. Fingers squeezed the swelling tip, while his other hand eased between his parting legs and tugged down gently on his balls.
It wasn't that the sensation was foreign, just somehow... more, he decided. More sensitive, more arousing, just... more. More of everything. Having no hair down there had left Tommy almost perpetually aware of his junk, even just as he was walking around campus fully clothed. At one point, he'd almost mentioned it to Darren, just because it felt like somebody else should know - needed to know - how amazing it felt.
He hadn't, though. Mentioned it, that is. Because then he'd have to explain to Darren that Andrews had not only given him advice on trimming stuff up, but had shaved him bare, and he wasn't sure he could keep a sufficiently convincing straight face - no pun intended - if his loudmouthed friend had started asking awkward questions about his gay teammate.
For the moment, though, the important thing was the lingering warmth of the late-summer night, and the gentle grip of his fingers as they circled round his balls, and the throb of his fully rigid dick as it pulsed in his grip. Tommy held his hand still and let his hips hump up, pumping his erection through his fist like he was fucking it.
Beads of sweat began to form on his chest as he strained up, feeling the tension in his muscles as it cranked up his excitement. For a while, just the softness, the smoothness of his own shaved skin was enough to monopolize his thoughts, but then it was something he'd tried to think about a little less, that still made him somewhat uncomfortable, even if he'd managed not to freak out about it on Friday.
Andrews. Andrews with oily hands on Tommy's crotch. Andrews easing a finger into Tommy's hole as, brow furrowed, he worked over the flare of the boy's cock head with his circling fingers. The look of satisfaction on the older youth's face as Tommy lost it, sprayed himself down.
He could feel the stirrings of a new climax as he pictured Andrews' finger resting on his lips, a smear of cum left across his own. Breathing growing shallow as his balls tightened in his grip, dick straining, and then...
"Tommy!" A loud, not-to-be-ignored banging at the door. "Tommy, you asshole! Wake the fuck up!"
Darren. Fucking Darren. Tommy almost whimpered at the interruption, prick still in hand.
"Tommy, it's eight fucking fifty and we have class in ten fucking minutes, you asshole, and you fucking left me waiting in the fucking cafeteria for a fucking hour, you fuck!"
Darren didn't mince his words.
8:50. 8:50!
Shit.
"Okay, dude, I'm coming" he called out between clenched teeth, reluctantly letting go of his cock and swinging his legs out of the bed. "Calm the hell down, dude."
"Motherfucker!" he heard Darren exclaim from the other side of the door.
No time for a shower. Shit. Clothes, he needed clothes. Boxer-briefs - he hadn't got any further in his organization yet than a clean pile and a dirty pile, but that was enough to at least make sure he wasn't wearing something that would stink - and socks and a t-shirt and jeans. Stuff feet into Converse. Risk a glance in the mirror and then wish you hadn't.
He yanked open the door, fumbling his rucksack over his shoulder. Hopefully everything he'd actually need for the day was already in there, since there wasn't going to be time to check. Darren glared at him, thrust out a takeaway coffee cup.
"Your fucking coffee is probably cold" he complained, as Tommy took the cup, trying to look grateful rather than pissed at being interrupted mid-wank. Darren looked up at Tommy's hair, rolled his eyes. "But cold coffee is the least of your problems. Sheesh."
It was a speed-walk across campus, then, Darren occasionally casting an angry look back over his shoulder to tell his sleepy friend to "hurry the fuck up." Tommy thought it probably wasn't the best time to point out the irony that Darren had spent the whole summer describing college as a waste of time, only to now be berating him for potentially missing a few minutes of what would probably be a write-off first class anyway.
Irony was taking second place to trying to ingest enough cold coffee to get past the bitterness and instead wake up, not to mention ignore the fact that Tommy's cock was still half-hard and trapped against his hip by the tangled waistband of his underwear. As the crowds of other students got denser, however, the opportunity to reach down and surreptitiously adjust himself grew less and less available.
Fifteen minutes later, as the professor sauntered into the lecture hall where Tommy, Darren, and the rest of the class had been sitting patiently waiting for him, Tommy took one look at the livid look across his friend's face, and decided it would be far better for all involved to stay quiet this one time.
It had also given Tommy time to dig through his bag and check exactly what he had and didn't have with him. A quick comparison between textbooks and timetable suggested he would have enough for most of the classes, leaving him crossing his fingers that the rest of the teaching staff would be as ambivalent to the first day as his math professor was proving to be.
Crumpled at the bottom, too, was his Speedo, another relief since he wouldn't have had time to finish his last class, get back to his dorm room, and then over to the pool before training started. No towel, but there'd be some in the locker rooms anyway. He'd not have a change of clothes for after practice, but all in all it was a pretty narrow escape from what could've been a super-shitty day.
Seven hours on, and Tommy was beginning to rethink that final assessment. Math class had been a wipe-out, but his physics professor proved far more eager to get started on the semester's work, and a couple of hours of advanced mechanical engineering after lunch had come close to wiping him out. As he trudged across the courtyard toward the sports center, waving an equally tired Darren off with a mock-salute, the thought of sloping off to bed rather than going through a couple of hours in the pool seemed awfully tempting.
He wasn't the first into the locker room, but he wasn't the last, and he took the opportunity to sit down on the benches and catch his breath while the last of the guys filtered in. Despite how exhausted his brain felt, the smell of the chlorine was beginning to work its usual effect on his body, and he could feel his muscles twitching as they got themselves ready for the water.
Tommy really did love being a swimmer.
"Meditating?" A playful shove to his shoulder almost sent Tommy toppling off the side of the bench; he looked up to see Andrews grinning down at him. "You look far too Zen for a Monday, Tommy."
He shrugged, suddenly not quite trusting his voice around the older guy. When they'd left the locker room on Friday he'd felt, well, not so much embarrassed as incredibly self-conscious: immediately over-aware of what he and Andrews had done, and how he'd reacted afterwards. Andrews, for his part, had been entirely nonchalant about it - then again, Tommy had thought, since he was gay he was probably chalking it up as a notch on his bedpost, so to speak - but Tommy himself had about managed to squeak out a "goodnight" before scurrying off to the safety of his room.
Andrews smiled. Could he guess what was currently rushing through Tommy's mind? "Might be time to get changed; coach is about ready."
The 20-year-old turned to his locker, began pulling off his shirt as the door swung open. Tommy found himself looking over Andrews' back, at the way the muscles of his shoulders and his chest tapered in, down, to the narrowness of his waist and his low-slung jeans. He wondered where Andrews was getting that tan from; his own skin was naturally a creamy coffee color, but you could tell Andrews was usually paler than now.
The slam of the doors broke his train of thought, and he lurched upright to his own locker. T-shirt off, kick off shoes; jeans pushed down in a crumple around his ankles. Digging out his Speedo from the deepest depths of his rucksack took a moment, but eventually he was slipping down his boxers - a quick glance to either side, to see who might be looking - and then stepping into his suit.
Tommy tucked his soft cock across, to the left, and bundled his clothes into his locker along with his bag. The room was filling with guys in various stages of undress, and he let his eyes slip around surreptitiously, suddenly curious about his teammates.
When you're on a college swim team there's a minimum level of fitness you can probably expect, Tommy thought. Still, there were some particularly impressive guys that were above and beyond.
Tommy counted at least two sets of eight-pack abs, not to mention an almost cartoonish combination of broad shoulders and narrow waist that he guessed made up in sexual allure for what difficulty it introduced in finding clothes that would fit properly. It wasn't entirely unusual for athletes to check each other out, of course, but after Friday's unexpected events he found his gaze slipping further down.
A Speedo doesn't hide much. That had been a point of real concern when, in his early teens, Tommy had been pulled to one side by his high-school coach and told he had real potential as a swimmer. He loved the water, sure - felt a lot less clumsy in there, in fact - but the default uniform was near-painfully frightening to a self-conscious boy struggling to come to grips with how his body was changing. The one saving grace had been a team of similarly mortified other guys all far too busy trying to find ways to hold their hands over their crotches while still doing the backstroke.
Years of exercise and Tommy himself hadn't fared badly either. He was reasonably proud of how his chest looked - though he regarded the upperclassmen on the team as aspirational in more than just swim technique - but what he still had some second-thoughts about was the impression the few parts that were still covered made to those watching.
Dick. Dick, wrapped up in clinging lycra and nylon. Dick tucked down, arching over your balls, or plastered up against your hip. The stretchy material pulled close around the shaft; the flare of the head a clear ridge. It had gone from being Tommy's number one concern - that his was being looked at, and if it was that it might not be big enough - to something he glanced at on the other guys periodically, just to check how he was matching up, to a brand new obsession that was keeping his eyes locked at waist-level.
Sitting back down on the bench at least gave him a reasonable excuse for that sort of eye-line, even if the self-awareness of his wandering eyes kept his cheeks half-rosy with shame. Some of his teammates obviously preferred their suits to be tighter - all the better for a streamlined slip through the water - compressing everything into one mostly shapeless bulge, Tommy noted. The majority, though (and like Tommy himself) liked a little extra room to breath down there, but there was a fairly equal split between guys opting to tuck off to the side and those pushing their cocks down, to jut noticeably on top of their balls.
Tommy loved the feel of that, the smooth and silky fabric of the suit rasping teasingly across his bulge, but if anything enjoyed it a little too much. The potential for pleasant sensations to lead to noticeable excitement was far, far too risky.
So, his cock rested thickly - but, mercifully, for the most part soft - up against his hip, and with a little squeeze it could look pretty damn impressive if he said so himself. As he'd said to Andrews on Friday, without hair to bury it he was looking even bigger than normal down there, though that effect obviously wasn't something you could see with a Speedo in the way.
Around him were some damn big cocks, though, Tommy was beginning to realize. Not all of them, of course - and he knew that some might end up more impressive hard than they suggested when soft - but at least a few of the guys were packing serious length down there, even when they were soft. He was beginning to reconsider his "stare at the wall and just get on with business" attitude in the showers.
Out poolside, he caught the eye of the older guy who had pulled him to one side the previous week, and brought up his hair situation. The guy made a reasonably surreptitious point of looking down to Tommy's crotch, then back up and winked at the youth, obviously pleased with the difference. Tommy wondered what he'd say if he knew just how little hair there was left.
The realization that the guy would have a fair chance to spot it for himself only really dawned on Tommy when the grueling two hour session was coming to a merciful end, and he was following a line of equally tortured guys back into the locker room and toward the showers. He looked over at Andrews, and found he was already looking back across, one eyebrow raised as if to say "now's the moment, dude."
He could skip out. He could plead homework, or being late for a tutorial, or just slip away and hope that nobody thought to ask why he'd bypassed the showers and gone straight to getting dressed. He could go talk to the coach and hope that, by the time he finished getting through a list of imaginary concerns, he'd have the showers to himself. He could do what he hadn't done since he started wearing a Speedo at the very beginning, and leave it on while he was showering.
Even as all of those possibilities were scrolling through his mind, he was following the procession of tired youth through to the hot, welcoming embrace of the shower section. On autopilot Tommy stepped under a free shower-head, reached out to yank the knob and start the flow splashing down over his head and coaxing out a deep sigh as it hit his aching muscles. He could half-hear similar exhalations from his teammates as the white-tiled room began to fill with steam.
He didn't need to look round to know what would be happening next. Standard practice was to rinse out your suit in the shower, since pool chemicals weren't too friendly to them, and that meant slipping it off and wringing it out, possibly with some soap if you were feeling especially proactive. Tommy's thumb hooked against his waistband, stretching it nervously.
Would people comment? He tried desperately to recall whether anybody else on the team had gone for the full bald look like Andrews had left him, but after just one session the previous week, and his former coyness about checking out the other guys, that wasn't something that came quickly to mind. If it was his high-school team then yes, sure, they'd have roasted him something terrible for shaving everything off, that he knew for certain.
But this was college, right, and that was supposed to be more open-minded, less juvenile, wasn't it? Tommy wasn't sure if he was being too generous toward the rest of the guys, or just plain naive, but he wanted to believe that they wouldn't automatically laugh at him. That dude last week had waited until it was discrete to point out the whole hair issue in the first place, after all, whereas he could've just made Tommy a laughing stock in front of everyone.
Deep breath. His dad had told him "don't over-think things" because he knew Tommy had a tendency toward inaction through mental paralysis, and that seemed like, well, if not necessarily the best advice then at least advice which would work.
Another deep breath. Both thumbs hooked now, and pull down, and step out of the Speedo so you can pick it up, and try to do it all like there's nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to see here, move right along. He twisted the slippery fabric, smelling the chlorine as it mingled with fresh water. Couldn't resist a glance down, to where his freed cock jutted out from his groin, looking all the more obvious and different than when he'd looked at himself in the bathroom mirror over the weekend.
No jeers. No catcalls. No "who let the toddler in?" jokes. Tommy was almost disappointed, dropping the soaking suit by his feet - being careful not to let it block the drain where it fell - and then reaching out for a fistful of shampoo from the dispenser on the wall.
He risked a half-turn to the side while he ran soapy hands through his hair, uncontrollably curious about who might be there. To be honest, Tommy still didn't know most of the people on the team, but he'd at least recognize them by sight.
Sure enough, he couldn't recall the name but knew the face - a tall, slim guy who specialized in relay races, a year older than Tommy - who nodded a "s'up" back at him while lathering up his own short dark hair. Tommy grinned, a little sheepishly; couldn't help a quick glance down as he turned back to the faucet. The guy was smooth all over, apart from a short buzz of dark brown curls over a long, thin dick that sort of matched his body type.
Tommy lifted his eyes back up, only to catch the guy doing the same thing. Shit. He'd been looking at Tommy just like he'd been doing! Feeling a knot of tension building around his chest, he looked up at the guy's face, knowing he must have a rabbit-in-the-headlamps expression but unable to do anything about it.
But the guy just raised an eyebrow, focusing on his own hair again with what looked to Tommy like a half-smile.
His breathing started to get back to normal, as he ducked his head under the spray and rinsed out the soap. Tried, suddenly doubly-curious, to look to the guy on his other side without shifting his face out of the water.
It didn't work - he couldn't see anything, what with it going in his eyes - but it was obviously enough to attract the guy's own attention, as he was looking casually over at Tommy when he pulled his head back and used his hands to squeegee water from off his face. He smiled at Tommy's mildly frantic expression, muttered a quiet "yo", before starting to soap up his body.
"Um, h-hey" Tommy stuttered in reply. There voices were low, drowned out for the most part by the sound of a dozen or so showers at full bore.
"You're the new guy, right?" Tommy nodded, feeling mistrustful of his voice.
"Cool, welcome to the team..." Tommy realized he was meant to fill in his name into the gap, and did.
"Carl" the older guy said by way of reply. He was about Tommy's height, maybe an inch or two taller, but very well built - strong six-pack abs, bulging biceps. As Tommy watched, half on autopilot, Carl ran his soapy hands down, across his stomach and then between his legs. His cock, average length but thick and heavy-looking, shook as he washed around it.
"So, over-enthusiastic or intentional, dude?" Carl asked, pulling his attention back. Tommy frowned. "The razor treatment, I mean."
Tommy stared down at his own junk, as if suddenly made aware that it had been rendered entirely hairless.
"Um... well, kinda an accident" he stuttered, fighting the urge to cover himself with his hands. Carl showed no sort of self-consciousness for his part, methodically rubbing soap across his cock and down his thighs as he appraised Tommy's crotch. "I mean, it was a mistake really, not me, but..."
Carl grinned, knowingly. "Not you, eh?" He nodded, slowly, still smiling. "You often have people around to shave your dick, dude?"
Tommy's gasp was ill-timed, as it meant he inhaled a fair amount of water and then started spluttering. Carl chuckled.
"So, girlfriend, or...?" Tommy shook his head, still coughing.
"Andrews was helping me out, and..."
"Andrews?!" Carl interrupted, eyebrows maybe an inch higher on his face in surprise. "Fuck, he doesn't hang about, does he."
"No, no! It's not like that... I mean..." Tommy wasn't sure exactly how you went about explaining that someone on the swim-team you'd only just joined, and whose name you couldn't remember, suggested that your dick was too hairy for competitions and that you should ask the openly gay guy to help you trim it, and then the openly gay guy took off too much and ended up shaving you because you were ticklish, and then ended up fingering your ass while he jerked you off. At least, there didn't seem to be a way to go about it that wouldn't end up with Carl's eyebrows rising up so far they ended up toppling off the back of his head.
"Dude, no judgement" Carl told him. Tommy wasn't sure whether to be grateful that the older youth had given him an out, or horrified that he wouldn't have a chance to explain properly. "Anyway, bare looks bigger, right? I'm not surprised Andrews wanted to see it in all its glory. How big does that thing get?"
He's talking about my dick, Tommy thought, mind reeling. He's asking me how big my dick gets. Again, he fought the urge to cover his crotch up with his hands, mentally forced himself to reach out for some body wash and start rubbing his shoulders.
"Um, I don't know really... I guess... um..." He could feel his face burning, and not just from the hot water. Carl laughed.
"Oh, you know, you've measured it. I know you have, dude!" He reached out and playfully knocked Tommy in the shoulder, soapy skin sliding wetly. Tommy's body gave a jolt at the contact; all he could do is shake his head mutely.
Carl gave him a "don't bullshit me" stare, but it all seemed still in good humor. The older boy was washing his ass now, both hands behind his back and pushing his chest forward, thrust out at Tommy who was trying not to stare down at where his chunky cock was jiggling fatly in the stream of sudsy water.
"Hey, Ben," Carl called over his shoulder, "check out the dick on the new kid." To Tommy's horror, a face appeared over Carl's shoulder, blinking fast to get the spray from the shower out of his eyes. The face - Ben, Tommy supposed, though this wasn't how he'd expected he'd be introduced to the team at large - grinned, nodded a greeting, and then very obviously looked down at what Carl had been talking about.
"Fuck me," Ben muttered, "now that's some commitment right there." He made eye-contact with Tommy again and winked. "Bet it itches something fuckin' awful when it starts to grow out, am I right?"
"He wouldn't know," Carl interjected, before Tommy could speak. "It's a new thing, right Tommy?"
He nodded in response, words again failing him until he spluttered "Friday!"
Ben grimaced. "Man, that's gonna be some itchy shit right there, trust me." He stepped out from round Carl, pushing his friend in the arm so that he could briefly duck half his body under the hot water. Ben scratched at his crotch, which Tommy's eyes automatically took as an invitation to glance down.
The new guy had pubes, but only just: if you could have five day stubble around your dick, then this was it. Ben's cock itself jutted out, pushed forward by a big, tightly clenched set of balls that bobbed between his thighs. Tommy found himself briefly wondering if they were always like that, or if they ever got dangly like his own were usually.
"I used to do the whole shaving thing," Ben explained, reaching past Carl for some soap of his own, "but it just got too high-maintenance, y'know?" Tommy shrugged, helplessly, and Ben chuckled. "Trust me, dude, when that shit starts growing out, it's gonna itch to high fuckin' heaven." He scratched his own sparse growth as apparent illustration, absent-mindedly ran a soapy fist down the length of his cock.
"I mean," Tommy started, "it seems okay right now, I guess."
Ben winked. "Sure it does. Give it a week."
Tommy couldn't help it, he reached down and ran his fingertips across his groin tentatively. The skin still felt smooth and silky, particularly with the sudsy water trickling down. He could still remember Andrews' fingers trailing against him, then quickly snapped his hand away as he felt his cock twitch at the memory. Oh no, no way, not an erection now!
"You do it yourself, Tommy?" Ben asked, looking down at the younger boy's groin. Tommy willed himself to stay soft, but he could feel the telltale surge of blood beginning.
"No, Andrews did it for him" Carl answered for him, elbowing Ben in the side playfully. "You know Andrews, dude, he's got a steady hand."
Tommy wondered if he should point out that actually it was Andrews fault, sort of, that he was bare down there, but decided it was too complicated to do in a shower. Especially when you were focusing as much of your attention as possible on not getting hard. Instead, he glanced around the room to see if he could spot his trimming buddy and maybe get some moral support.
In fact, though, the shower had all but cleared out while he'd been talking with the older guys. As he watched, the fourth remaining person twisted off the faucet and left, grabbing a towel as disappeared behind the wall of frosted glass bricks that separated the wet area from the lockers.
"So Andrews, eh?" Ben winked again, while Carl chuckled. "Do we have another homo on the team?"
He hadn't said it unpleasantly, and Tommy got the feeling that even if Andrews had heard it, he would've laughed or - more likely - blasted back with some smack-talk of his own. Tommy, though, wasn't quite up to that level of familiarity with his new teammates.
"No..." he stumbled, "I'm not... We didn't, y'know... sex..."
"So he didn't shave you and screw you?" Ben grinned. Tommy shook his head frantically, blushing furiously. "Not even a quick jerk-off while he was down there?"
Oh god, there was the question. Tommy wasn't sure how to answer it, but his dick was remembering Andrews' fingers wrapped around it, the unexpected feel of a finger eased into his ass. He glanced down, horrified, as his prick bulged out and stretched its way to hardness.
Ben and Carl cracked up laughing, still not sounding cruel with it, but definitely finding Tommy's experience at Andrews' hands hilarious.
"Man, that guy is a sly one!" Ben observed. "Swoopin' in on the fresh meat in week one."
"That's what I said!" Carl exclaimed. Ben nodded.
"Top notch work by Andrews, as usual. Top form." As Tommy watched, still speechless, Ben reached out and grabbed hold of Carl's junk, hand wrapping around its thick length and shaking it as the two guys laughed. "Welcome the newbie onboard with a nice soapy handshake."
Tommy expected Carl to pull away, or to react angrily, but the senior just stood there with his hands on his hips as Ben jiggled his dick around. "You keep that up, dude" he told his friend, "you're gonna have to finish me off."
Ben didn't stop, though; in fact, though Tommy wasn't exactly experienced in watching guys jerk each other off, it sure looked a whole lot like Ben was trying to stretch Carl's cock out into an erection. Ben was looking right at Tommy with a knowing grin, his hand working away as Carl thickened in his grip, shifting so he was standing behind his friend, arm reaching around his hip.
"What do you think, Tommy," he asked, teasingly, "you think he's gonna get as big as you?" Ben looked down pointedly, to where the younger swimmer's cock stood rigidly erect, bobbing as the water hit it. He flattened his hand down, flat against Carl's pubes, fingers splayed around the thick root of the youth's shaft.
Tommy swallowed, hard, staring at the erection. Just like it had been soft, Carl's hard dick wasn't the longest ever, but it was impressively broad, jutting out heavily.
"Dude," Carl jeered, "stop rubbing your junk against my ass."
Ben laughed, let go of Carl's crotch and gripped his shoulder instead, leaning his torso back and conspicuously grinding up against his friend. "Come on, bro, you know you like it."
"Guess I was right about it getting big, right Tommy?" Carl commented. The younger boy could only stand with his hands at his sides, clenching his fists helplessly as his cock pulsed and he fought the overriding urge to either hide it with his hands or just plain play with it. He couldn't help but stare down at Carl, wondering what Andrews would've looked like in the same condition as he dealt with Tommy's hardness just a few days before.
Ben stepped out from Carl, took in Tommy's condition. "Fuck, dude, yeah it may start itching but it sure looks worth it when you see it like that, doesn't it." He ran his hand absent mindedly down his own cock, which Tommy realized was now just as stiff as Carl's. Had he really been rubbing it up against Carl's ass?
Ben had already jutted out, but now his cock arched out, a pronounced downward curve as the long shaft finished in a wide head. As Tommy watched, he turned and slapped it wetly against Carl's thigh, chuckling.
"You can touch it, Tommy" Carl said, voice low. "It's pretty fuckin' clear you want to, dude. Ben and I, fuck, we ain't gonna tell anyone." Tommy looked around, anxiously; what was cutting him up inside, making his head spin, was that Carl was completely right. The desperation to jerk off was becoming overwhelming.
"I don't think..." he stuttered, fingers twitching. Ben laughed, shook his head.
"Chill out, dude, we're teammates aren't we? We don't rat out on the team." He reached down and took hold of Carl's hand, wrapping the youth's fingers around his own curving dick and then humping against it. Carl rolled his eyes at Tommy, but didn't move his hand away.
Tommy's hand was moving as if under its own unconscious volition; he looked down, eyes wide, as he carefully cradled his cock, starting long, milking strokes from base to tip. The feel of it, touching himself in front of the watchful gaze of the two playful seniors, was illicit and arousing and sent shudders down his spine. His eyes were fixed on where Ben thrust against Carl's grip.
Carl maybe misunderstood the direction of that gaze, maybe just guessed what Tommy hadn't admitted to himself yet. "You want to touch it" he said, part question and part statement, stroking his fingers carefully down his plump shaft.
And he did, Tommy realized, he really did. He wanted to feel how Carl's inches would be, heavy in his palm.
"It's okay, dude" Carl coaxed. Ben reached out and wrapped his arm around Tommy's shoulder, hips still bucking, pulling the younger boy in closer. The shower thundered down as the space between the trio narrowed, until Tommy reached out and, tentatively, took hold of Carl.
"That's it..." Carl grunted, but Tommy wasn't listening. Instead he was marveling at the feel of the first cock beyond his own that he'd held: the velvety skin around a thick, iron core; the regular throb of Carl's pulse. He dragged his hand down, until the broad, blunt head was resting in his palm, then pushed his fingers back along the length until he could feel the roughness of the swimmer' spines grazing against him.
"Fuck, you've got good hands, dude" Carl cooed, "why don't you try a bit more grip, yeah?" Tommy tightened his fingers, felt Carl twitch in response, a direct cause-and-response that made the youth's head spin. "Oh man, yeah, that's it. Shit, Ben, you gotta feel this."
Then it was Ben's cock nudging up against Tommy's other hand, where it was still gently jerking himself off, the spongy tip jabbing at Tommy's own head, and it was so natural to let his hand slide down until it was tracing the curve of Ben's excitement.
"Fuck, yeah, Tommy, you're a fuckin' natural" Ben hissed between clenched teeth. Tommy blushed but kept up his eager stroking on his two teammates. "You sure you haven't done this before?"
Tommy shook his head, a certain prideful thrill rushing through him as he worked on the two dicks. It felt wrong, sure, but it felt exciting and arousing at the same time, and it was those qualities - not to mention the horniness from his own, unattended cock which now fair shook with excitement - that overruled any second-thoughts.
"Why don't you kneel down, it'll make it easier bro" Ben whispered, his face close to Tommy's ear. His hand was suddenly up at the back of Tommy's head, gently insistent in his water-tangled hair, and Tommy felt himself being guided down until he was kneeling on the tiles, thighs spread and the older youth's erections sliding through his fists either side of his face.
He looked up, where Ben and Carl towered over him, followed the ripples of their abs with his eyes to where Ben had braced himself on his friend's shoulder with an outstretched arm. Carl's eyes were closed, but Ben looked down met Tommy's gaze and smiled, half-nodded.
"Just do what you like doing to yourself, dude" he guided. Tommy pulsed his grip on the senior, gratified to see his mouth fall open at the sensation. "So you and Andrews, yeah?" Tommy shook his head, but Ben raised his eyebrows as if to say "I don't believe you." He cocked his head to one side. "Did you make out with him?"
Tommy's eyes went wide, and Ben laughed. "What do you think, bro, wanna swap spit?"
Carl snorted. "Man, I'm not fuckin' wasted enough to kiss you, dude." He chuckled. Ben glanced down at Tommy, winked, then slipped his hand from Carl's shoulder up to grip the back of his neck, pulling him in sharply until their lips met.
Carl resisted, at first, but then under Tommy's fascinated stare the two began kissing urgently. The narrowed space between them sandwiched Tommy even closer between their bodies, leaving their cocks even sliding up against his cheeks and across his nose as he tried to keep up a constant rhythm while still watching intently at what was happening above him.
Eventually Carl pulled away, laughing, tipped his head up and let the shower run onto his face. "Jesus, dude, you're into some freaky shit." Ben just looked down at Tommy and grinned widely, tilting his hips so that his cock rubbed in circles against the younger boy's cheek.
"You're dong a fuckin awesome job, Tommy" he told him. "I'm so glad you're on the team." His hand came down to gently rest against Tommy's nape. "You like this, don't you."
Tommy nodded, unable to trust his voice, senses monopolized by the swollen flesh his hands were filled with. The desperate urge to jerk himself off was near irresistible - his cock was rigid between his wide thighs - but he couldn't let go of the two dicks, couldn't bring himself to stop jerking the guys off.
"Work on the head," Carl instructed, and Tommy corkscrewed his fist around the bloated tip, watching as Carl's knees nearly buckled at the sensation. "Yeah, that's it, keep doing... fuck... don't fucking stop."
"Just go with it, Tommy" Ben said, voice low and persuasive. "Look up at us, okay?"
Tommy gazed up, in time to see Carl screw up his eyes and grit his teeth, chest heaving and cock suddenly thicker, harder than before. The first blast of cum against his face was a surprise, but he kept up his rhythm, feeling a third jet, and a fourth, spatter his cheek, across his nose, as Carl blew his load, the thick cream oozing wetly down Tommy's face as it mingled with the shower water.
"Oh fuck, that's so fuckin' wrong" Ben gasped, and then Tommy felt his dick too swell up in his grip, turned to watch as it jolted up, almost out of his hand before what looked like a continuous rope of his juice laced he boy's face from forehead to chin. Tommy instinctively closed his lips right, but it was too late to avoid getting some of Ben's strong, musky jizz on his tongue, sending his mind reeling back to Andrews smearing cum on his lips the other day.
"Jerk off, dude. Fuckin' work that big smooth dick" Ben urged him, and Tommy didn't need a second invitation, releasing his grip on Carl's shaft and eagerly flailing at his own as he watched the last remaining bubbles of cum ooze from Ben's slit. He looked up, met Ben's eyes as he reached his own climax, sending arcs of cream across the shower room tiles as the older swimmer grinned cheekily down at him, his cock only barely softening in Tommy's hand.
"Better?" Ben winked, and despite every thing that had just happened Tommy felt the redness spread across his cheekbones. He nodded, squeezing out the last of his orgasm. Ben reached down, offered a hand to help the boy up; Carl was already finishing up his shower.
"Thanks newbie," he said, glancing back over his shoulder. "Andrews must've trained you good." Tommy frowned at that, but wasn't sure what to say. Ben, meanwhile, was still smiling, having commandeered Tommy's shower to soap up his dick. He went to move past him, but Ben grabbed his arm, slipped a soapy hand down along the still-swollen length of his cock, fingers skating down until they played around Tommy's shaved-smooth balls and the sensitive spot behind them. Tommy choked down a gasp.
"Don't pay any attention to him," Ben said, voice low enough that only Tommy could hear him over the sound of the water. "Some guys are just moody after they get their rocks off, y'know?"
Tommy nodded, but he didn't really, no. Still, he was glad Ben was still being friendly, even if the feel of the older guy's fingers lodged between his thighs was more than a little disconcerting. With one last clinging stroke, Ben pulled his hand free.
"Andrews did a pretty awesome job, but if you need some help with the next touch-up, I've got some experience myself dude" he said, winking slyly. Tommy smiled.
"Um... sure."
Ben laughed, used his hand to angle the spray so that it caught Tommy in the face. The younger guy spluttered; "just helping with clean-up, dude" Ben insisted, mock innocence in his voice.
Carl walked out without saying goodbye, and then a couple minutes later Ben finished up too, spinning off the faucet and giving Tommy a lazy salute and a grin as he left.
It was only when the room was empty that the true implications of what Tommy had done really hit him. How it could've looked if someone had walked in on the three of them. Tommy on his knees, playing with two older guys having only been on the team for the space of a week. Not the sort of reputation he probably wanted to cultivate, no matter how sexually arousing it had been at the time.
And that sexual arousal, too, was getting confusing. Like with Andrews, it wasn't so much that he felt guilty, or ashamed, but more that this felt so out of character that at times it felt like he was watching the actions of a complete different person. Trying to match that person - that pretty slutty person, Tommy observed - with his own sense of himself was getting tricky.
He finished washing up, made sure to scrub his face and chest extra well, to make sure there was no evidence of Carl or Ben's presence. Grabbed up his Speedo and a towel from the stack, and hurried to his locker to get dressed.
The locker room was unsurprisingly empty, and after he finished toweling off he pitched it across the room into the hamper, letting out a little "yes!" when it landed inside on the first attempt. Digging through his locker, he began to wish he'd had time to pack a change of clothes rather than wearing the same he'd been in all day, but the fallout from his untimely rousing that morning had been mercifully scant in all.
"Tommy."
He snapped around, instinctively, to see assistant coach Collins standing in the gap between the banks of lockers. The twenty-something trainer glanced down at Tommy's bald crotch, then back up at his face, his expression unreadable. Tommy spun back to his locker. Boxers, where were his boxers? Eventually he found them pretty much at the bottom of his bag, hurriedly stepped into them.
"Coach?" he said, finally. Very aware that he was just wearing his underwear, and suddenly feeling like anybody could see just what he'd done with Carl and Ben just by looking at him.
Collins frowned. "Get dressed, Tommy, and come into the coach's office. There's something we need to talk about."
He turned and walked out, the locker room door swinging shut loudly behind him. Tommy stood watching the space he'd been standing in.
What could he want? What possible trouble could he have got into in a week on the team?
Was he even going to still be on the team when he left that office?
Fuck.
=============
Since I know how much you love cliff-hangers, here's where part two ends. Has Tommy's swimming career finished almost before it began, or does Coach Collins have... alternative reasons for calling on our intrepid boy?
As ever, all I ask is that you let me know what you thought, so drop me a line at alexp336@gmail.com or find me at http://dirtyanon.tumblr.com/
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