The Alien Culture Project
By Rio Mack
Professor David Baxter couldn't help getting a little hard as he made out the pairings for the upcoming project in his intro to cultural anthropology class. It was the "alien cultures project," in which groups of two would have to investigate each other's cultures. To make it interesting for the students, he'd always take very unlike people - a plain, mousy girl and a vivacious sorority sister or a white country boy and a hip black urban kid - and put them in pairs. It was a sure-fire assignment: one student would introduce the other to a culture they probably had no idea about, certainly no direct experience with; observations and photos were recorded in the field notebook; the experience would be discussed between the two of them; and then, the situation would be reversed - so the skater, having been to evangelical church service would now take the religious girl to a thrash-metal concert. An analytical paper would be turned in along with the field notes.
As he filled out the pairings sheet for this semester's class, Professor Baxter was savoring the feeling of an intense hard-on because of one pairing in particular: he put Reed Larson together with Chance Taylor. The thought of throwing these two together evoked an incredible fantasy of lust for David, a closeted, middle-aged professor who savored each and every one of the handsome males in his class. And Reed and Chance were two he could not get enough of. Reed was a senior, clearly taking an intro course to get left-over area requirements out of the way. He was an absolutely gorgeous, male-model-quality blonde: tan, with a very sexy, powerful build, always clothed in the coolest outfits. He had a face that dared you to look away, perfectly formed. His smile was radiant. And there was a vivaciousness to him that made David think sex with him was probably electrifying. He wore his hair in a kind of butch crew-cut that was a real turn-on. A real heart-breaker, all right. David had him pegged early on in the semester as being gay, and so wasn't surprised when Reed wrote matter-of-factly about the gay male dating scene for his "courtship ritual" paper.
Chance was also gorgeous. A freshman on the wrestling squad, he had the clean good looks of an all-American jock: short, choppy hair, mesmerizing blue eyes, and a body to die for. David had to catch himself from staring the first few weeks of the course, when the weather was still warm enough for Chance to show up in T-shirts. He favored tight white ones, which achingly set off his amazing biceps: they were probably a couple inches bigger than what would have been the proper proportion for his body, and their big, curvy mounds just begged to be stroked and licked. In his white T, and wearing old jeans, David thought Chance looked like he was about to go work in the field with his dad. Those tight shirts showed off his hard pecs and abs off perfectly. He'd lost track of his lecture a couple times when he'd gotten mesmerized by the boy's hard nipples. "Oh, come into my office and let me just rub my hands and face all over you!" David's libido kept aching to cry out. But Reed was a very shy, ostensibly straight young man from upstate farm country, refreshingly naive in all the answers he gave in class, often quoting what his parents had taught him, and weighing that lore against the theory they were reading. As his mind brought Chance's picture into view, David dwelled on one of the boy's best features: those full, bee-stung lips of his. Imagine them tracing over your chest or caressing your cock. Ooh la.
Throwing these two together for an intense week-long assignment had David stroking himself in dreamy bliss. What would their two cultural sites be? Baseball game and leather bar? Dirt bike rally and runway show? State fair and drag act? How would Reed be able to keep his hands off Chance, David wondered? Oh, to be young again, he mused. He put down his pencil, locked his office door, and, with visions of those two licking and sucking and kissing each other, he jacked himself to an incredibly satisfying climax.
When they got their pairings that day in class, Reed was pleased. He'd noticed the young freshman he'd be teamed with - hard not to, the kid had a great build. He couldn't say much more, though, just that the kid was a sweet, simple, good-looking freshman. The answers he gave when called on were almost embarrassingly innocent, often referencing "my momma" and "my daddy" (a couple students would laugh, which Reed thought pretty crappy).
Chance was sort of hoping to be teamed up with the gorgeous sophomore, Sarah Smithson, but this Reed guy seemed awfully nice and very smart. Plus, he was clearly not a freshman, so it probably wouldn't hurt to have an experienced upper-classman helping him on the project, which was worth thirty percent of their grade.
Professor Baxter had the pairs get together the last ten minutes of class to work out the initial details - brainstorm a list of cultural sites you were pretty expert on, then exchange sheets, and figure out a time and place for your first planning meeting. Chance's list was "1. Wrestling practice; 2. Wrestling meet; 3. Any sort of farm-related activity (planting, harvest, etc.); 4. Football game (or other sporting event); 5. [blank]." Reed's list: "Dance Clubs, Men's clothing, Salon/Spa, Men's Wear Buyers' Planning Meeting, My Gym, Viewing Designer Collections, Downtown Restaurants." The two read each other's over.
"You must like clothes, fashion stuff, huh?"
"Wow, how could you tell?"
"Well, it's obvious from your list, and the way you dress every . . . Oh, I get it," Chance laughed, embarrassed, "you're pulling me leg."
"Just a little. Sorry. Yeah, I did a double major: marketing and fashion design. It was a lot of course work; that's why I still have a few required courses like this one to finish up. And you, 'wrestling' and 'farming' seems to be the operative terms here. Well," and here Reed tried to sound cool because, really, whose fantasy wouldn't be observing wrestlers, "wrestling practice sounds interesting. It's definitely 'alien' to me. And I've always wondered how you guys learn to do that."
"Great!" Chance said. "I'll ask the coach and the team if it's cool with them to be observed, and if so, figure out the best time for you to come watch."
"Cool," Reed said, already starting to fantasize vaguely about some home-grown version of a "Dieux de Stade" calendar shoot. "And what about you? Anything on my list appeal to you?"
"Well, you probably noticed I ain't too much into clothes or anything."
"Don't be modest, Chance. I've seen you this term. You've got a great look, jeans and T's or flannels. It's classic 'All-American.' Plus you're a handsome guy, so simple clothes set off your good looks."
Chance was blushing. "Thanks, man. Thanks for the compliment. But you're the handsome one. Shit, I can see why you're interested in fashion. You look like a movie star or a celebrity or something. I feel like a hick from hicksville next to someone like you. You're the kind of guy us guys are jealous of cause you get all the ladies!"
Reed laughed; this kid was too much.
"OK, so no clothes stuff. What else on the list appeals to you?"
"Well, 'dance clubs' sound cool to me. That's a scene we don't have back home, unless you count karaoke night at the VFW."
"Great, we'll go clubbing!"
They agreed to meet later that evening at Reed's dorm, which was a single, to plan out their observations.
At wrestling practice that afternoon, Chance had no problem getting an OK from the squad. They were kind of excited to show off to an outsider. They agreed on tomorrow morning's practice, which included weights and scrimmages, as best. Great, thought Chance, that's taken care of. All I have to do is practice wrestling, then go to a dance club or two with a handsome dude, who's probably a babe magnet. Hell, we might even score a couple chicks! That would be OK with him, as he was sure having woman problems. He'd been dating a girl, Andrea, off and on since freshman orientation. More off than on, really, as she always seemed to cancel dates at the last minute. And when they did date, winding up back at one of their dorm rooms, she always seemed either to have her period or claim she was "too dry" down there. She'd jerk him off every now and then, sure, but hell, he was a red-blooded American boy! He needed some honest-to-goodness love-makin'! So goin' bar-hoppin' with a suave older dude sounded like a fine way to meet some classy women who might be up for some fun. Maybe they'd get a couple girls and all wind up back at Reed's dorm. Whoa, that'd be wild. Some of the guys on the wrestling squad described their 'orgy nights,' as they called him. Chance never dreamed he might be a part of one; he was gettin' hard just thinkin' about it.
He got from practice a little after 6:30, hit the dining hall, then went back to his dorm to change clothes before he met Reed at his dorm room. He stripped his clothes off, luxuriating in his nakedness a bit before he looked around for some clean clothes to wear. He stretched muscles still sore from wrestling practice as he stood in front of the mirror. As he stretched, he studied his body. Chance was a regular scholar of his own body. So Reed had said he was handsome, huh? He looked at himself: his hair was short and nicely-groomed, giving him a rugged sort of jock look, he thought; his eyes were nice, too (so many of his mom's friends back home told him over and over how lovely his eyes were, jeesh did it embarrass him); but his nose was kinda crooked, wasn't it? And his lips were so full. Sometimes he thought they looked sexy as hell, but often times he wondered if they made him look a little too cute. Anyway, it was his body he was proudest of: not a trace of fat and extremely well muscled. You had to have massive, coiled power in your muscles to do well in wrestling, and Chance did very well in wrestling. Placing first in state one year in high school helped get him the scholarship here, and he was determined to do well. So he worked his body hard and often, and it showed. Chance loved to look at guys' bodies, guys who really put time into gettin' firm and cut. He had become a connoisseur of a great body, from all the hours he'd logged in gyms, in sport, and reading his fitness magazines. He knew his was easily a top ten percent body, maybe even top 5. Great pecs, very ripped eight packs (he did the 100's workout: 100 crunches for upper abs, then 5 sets of 20 reps in the Roman chair, then 100 twisties, then 100 reverse crunches - which were by far the toughest - for his lower abs), and as a wrestler, he couldn't neglect his lower body. His thighs and calves were awesome. He was very proud of his calves, especially: most gym guys ignored them, but not Chance. Calf raises up the yin yang. As a result, he had gorgeous ripped muscles on his lower legs the size of big grapefruits. He thought they looked really cool. They went with the great set of guns he'd worked so hard on. Yep, dude, body-wise you're a stud.
And right in the middle, Chance started stroking it sensuously, was what he thought was a nice-lookin' piece of meat. It was thick and veiny, which Chance thought looked hot, and his was always one of the longest ones in any locker room. If only he could put it to better use, he sighed, stroking himself hard. He continued to gaze at himself in the mirror, watching his tool rise hard in his big hand, loving to see those big balls jostle underneath as he stroked himself up and down. He was glad mom and dad hadn't circumcised him, as he loved to work his finger under the hood that partially covered his cockhead for a while, playing with the piss-slit a little, and then, as he grew harder, jack that sheathe of skin up and down his pole. He stared at his body and tweaked his nipple hard - god, he loved that feeling. He rubbed his pec all around and kept pinching his nubby little tit. And then, another thrill for him, he moved from his chest to his ass-crack, letting one hand wander down there as he jacked himself with the other. Mmmmm, damn, did that feel good. He clenched his ass-muscles hard against his fingers a couple times, which always got his cock harder. He spit a huge gob on his fingers and then started another favorite of his, fingerin' his hole. Oooohhh yeah, was that ever nice. First he'd just trace his spit-slick fingers around his little hole, teasin' a little, then as he got more moist, he'd work 'em in further. It felt so good. 'Ass-play' is what he heard one of the guys on his high school squad call it (and what he did on his chest was 'tit play' - he guessed all guys must like this, and why the fuck not, it felt so damn fine). Shit, he wished he could get some chick to do it to him, but the few he'd asked had all declined with varying degrees of disgust.
He had a good rhythm goin' - clenchin' as he poked around his hole, and strokin' his hard cock. Harder and faster he worked the fingers in his ass, using his powerful leg muscles to flex his ass up and down on his one hand, while his other hand worked his cock. Mmmmm, he could feel it buildin'; it was comin' any second . . . OH YEAH! Gobs and gobs and gobs of thick white cream shot out. Damn, he liked gettin' off. He loved his hard, male body; there were so many pleasure spots, it seemed. His cock, his balls, his ass, his nipples, his lips, probably more, but he hadn't gotten around to exploring them yet. Damn, it didn't seem fair! He had such a powerful interest in sex, and no girl to share it with. He saw one little last drop of cream on his dick-tip, reached down, swiped it with his finger, and brought it to his full red lips. He watched himself in the mirror as he savored it, licking it off slowly with his tongue, playing with his finger, sucking on it sensually, like a girl might suck on a popsicle . . . or a guy's dick. Damn, Chance laughed, he really needed to get laid. He was gettin' kind of squirrelly.
He wiped his cum off and found a clean white T, some not-too-dirty old jeans, and a fresh jock. Jockstraps were the only underwear he wore, when he wore underwear. As a big-dicked guy, he loved the feel of his long, thick meat encased in that tight mesh all day. It was like gettin' a kind of low-level dick massage. Plus, not to brag, but he thought he looked mighty good in 'em: the waist bands and straps seemed made for his lean-muscled flesh, and the mesh pouch showed off his long snaky meat perfectly. He chose one of his new grey Bike straps to wear to Reed's; they had that classic Bike waist that really seemed to set off his abs. After he wriggled into it, he admired himself in the mirror for a bit: the jock fit perfect, it seemed spray-painted on. Dang, you are a hot-lookin' dude! "I'd fuck ya!" he laughed. He couldn't resist stroking down sexily on his jock-covered dick. Then, he pulled on some old, faded dungarees that were a little big on him (they were from a few years ago, way before his new ab routine had carved a couple inches off his waist). He thought they way they hung low on his hips, letting about an inch of the jock's waistband show, looked hot. Plus, that classic Bike waistband stripe and logo let guys know he was into fitness. The T-shirt he grabbed was one of his smaller-sized ones. It revealed his muscled chest in all its glory; plus, Chance liked how short it was: stopping right below his belly button, it let you get a glimpse of his abs and that trace of his jock. Yep, lookin' good, dude; lookin' good, indeed! Kinda like James-Dean-as-Muscle-Stud. He grabbed his matching dungaree jacket, checked Reed's address, grabbed his anthropology notebook, and headed out.
Reed, meanwhile, had lost all track of time. He'd found an incredible amateur porn site on the net and got totally sucked in, clicking through photo after photo of some wonderfully hot-looking college-age guys. Naked, in his computer chair, he was just about to cum as he stroked himself to a picture of a beautifully muscled nude boy, huge thick dick draped across his thigh, who lay back in a sweet splendor of lust. The knock on the door shook him into a panic.
"Uh, who's there?" he said nervously, as shaking fingers flipped his laptop closed.
"Hey, dude. It's me, Chance. Ready for our plannin' meetin'?"
"Oh, Chance. Uh, sure man. Actually, I just got out of the shower, let me throw something on." He grabbed the first thing he saw that would make him half-way decent, a pair of army-fatigue-green boxer briefs he'd just bought. He placed his still-hard dick to the side, gulped, and opened the door. Both boys were impressed at what they saw. Chance had no idea Reed was so built, and Reed thought he saw one of his internet studs come to life. His eyes were riveted on Chance's abs and the top of his jockstrap.
"So?"
"So what?" Reed asked nervously.
"So, can I come in?" Chance laughed.
"Oh sure, sorry, man. I'm a little frazzled right now." Reed cursed himself silently cause he could feel his erection, far from subsiding, was getting stiffer.
"Uh, sit down, man. Let me find some pants. Uh, you want a beer or somethin'?"
"That'd be great, thanks." Inside, Chance was giggling a little cause the wet mark on Reed's shorts was a tell-tale sign that, like he was earlier, Reed had been poundin' the pud before he'd arrived. Oh well, probably every guy on campus is strokin' it right about now, if they ain't gettin' laid. Chance found it very hard (no pun intended) to get through a day without at least two orgasms.
Reed went to the dorm fridge for a couple of beers and, his back to Chance, pressed one on his dick, hoping to cool his erection down.
Chance, meanwhile, looked around at Reed's dorm room. Very nicely furnished. A couch, nice easy chair. Very nice bedspread and rug. But the walls were what he really noticed: on two of the walls he had two huge posters of incredibly good-looking guys. It looked like they were film posters or something. One advertised a movie or video or whatever called "Muscle Boys II: Hot Summer Nights" and another was of two dangerous-lookin' hard-bodied hombres advertising something called "Hard Time." Chance had no idea there were action movies (or whatever these were) especially for fitness fans. He'd have to check them out: they sounded right up his alley, as the guys in them had great bodies.
Reed returned with the beers, but had forgot to put pants on.
"So, dude," Chance said, after his first sip, "you're in very good shape."
"Oh, thanks, I work out an awful lot. I model part-time to earn money for school, and you have to keep in shape for that. I, uh, like your outfit."
"All-American classic, huh?" Chance laughed.
"Definitely!" Reed laughed.
"I like your outfit, too. It's cool, I know, just hangin' in underwear."
Reed laughed nervously; but he was glad Chance was cool with it. "So, we should get started."
"Cool."
"OK, any luck with the wrestling practice thing?"
"Definitely. The squad is excited, I think, to show off. They're very cool with it. We all think tomorrow is best, cause we'll be scrimmaging and lifting. 8 to 10. That work for you?"
"That's fine." Reed had nothing tomorrow till his advanced marketing seminar at noon. Dang, two hours watching college wrestlers. Does it get any better than this? He'd settle for two hours watching Chance alone. Fuck, when he opened the door, seeing him with that little patch of hard abs bared, and those sexy jeans hanging down so low, showing off that jock . . . hell, amazing his cock didn't just poke out of his shorts and start squirting. Was this kid really straight? Maybe it was some 'aw-shucks' gay cowboy-hustler routine.
"We'll need a camera," Chance remarked. "You got one?"
"I've got a very cool digital camera we can use."
"Hey, great. I've never tried one of those. All we got back home is this old Polaroid my dad got for a gift about ninety years ago. Can't even get film for it any more, I don't think. When it's digital, that means you can see 'em on computer, right?"
"Right. OK, what should I wear tomorrow?"
"Up to you, I guess. We'll be in gym shorts mostly, when we lift. Then a singlet, of course, when we scrimmage. I guess gym-wear of some sort would be best. You'd probably feel less conspicuous that way."
"OK, gym wear, no problem. Meet me here and we walk over together? I don't even know which gym you guys practice in."
"Oh, right. We're in the complex. Yeah, probably be best if I stop by for you about 7:40 or so. That OK?"
"Cool. And I'll bring my journal for field notes. Hey, you want another beer?"
"Sure."
As Reed went to get a couple more cold ones, Chance yelled, "Can I use your bathroom?"
"Sure. The best part of singles in this dorm is private bathrooms. It's that door there."
While Chance peed, he noticed the stack of magazines on the back of the toilet. The top one had another good-lookin' guy on it. But, whoa, this was not a fitness mag. The cover had phrases on it like "Hot, Hung Studs!!!" and "Cocky QB Gang-Banged by Team!!!" and "Steamy Shower Boys Get Hard and Wet!!!" Chance shook off the last of his pee and grabbed the magazine even before he put his dick away. What the fuck was this, he wondered. As he leafed through the magazine, he couldn't believe it. Page after page was of very muscular naked dudes in all stages of sexplay: stroking themselves, spreading ass cheeks, licking one another's arm pits, jerking each other off. Holy fuck, Chance thought, this is a gay porn magazine. Damn, Reed must be gay! Those posters! Fuck, what a dumbass he was, those were posters for gay movies. Chance flipped through a few more pages. He stopped on an incredibly muscular guy, all oiled up so you could really see his definition; in a couple pictures he posed very sexy in a jock, then you could see him pulling it off, then a few pictures of him stroking his big thick dick. Shit, was he good looking. Chance realized he had started stroking his half-hard dick as he'd been paging through the pictures. Well, fuck, who wouldn't be turned on by this? Hot guys having hot sex? You don't have to be gay to find this hot as a fucking firecracker.
"You OK?" he heard Reed call.
Damn, he'd lost track of time. Chance put the magazine back (noticing the next one in the stack was more of the same), stuffed his dick back in his jock, zipped, washed up, and rejoined his classmate.
As he sipped the beer he was offered, he chose his words carefully.
"So, dude, I was lookin' at the reading material in your bathroom."
Reed gave a puzzled look, then blushed and laughed sheepishly. "Oh, you mean my stroke books."
"Oh, so that's what they call 'em. Makes sense," Chance laughed. Then he nailed Reed with a squinty eye. "So, I'm thinkin' yer gay, yes?"
"Guilty as charged," Reed said bashfully.
"Shit, dude," Chance laughed lustily, glad to have broken the ice, "I ain't 'chargin'' you with anything. Why? Do you feel guilty?"
"No, of course not. But Chance, a lot of people have a lot of problems with gays. Hell, don't blame me for thinking you might be one of those people. Macho athlete, from a rural part of the state. You kinda fit the profile."
"Well, don't be so prejudiced, Sterry McStereotype. My folks raised me to treat everyone equal. 'All God's children,' you know. My mom and dad despise ignorant attitudes about gays or non-whites."
"That's great to hear. But you know what I mean."
"Course I do."
Chance took another long sip, then said thoughtfully. "Them posters on the wall. Are those gay posters?"
Reed laughed. "Yeah, they're promotional posters for a couple of gay videos. Pretty hot videos, by the way, if you're interested." Reed didn't know where this was going, but he was sure willing to nudge it along.
"Maybe," Chance said. He took another long swig, having finished his second beer in three gulps, Reed noticed. He got up and got another for the young boy without even asking. Even making sure to waggle his ass as seductively, but discretely, as possible. A gesture, he had no way of knowing, that was not lost on Chance. That was one great set of glutes wigglin' around under those boxers, he thought.
"Thanks," the boy said, taking another long swig. Then, as he swallowed, he said, "Lemme ask you another question. These dance clubs we're goin' to? They gay dance clubs?"
"Only ones I know," Reed laughed. "Is that a problem?"
"No, no!" Chance said quickly. "Don't get me wrong. It sounds kinda innarestin'. Course, I had sort of been psyched up to be at the other kind of dance club, y'know? Figured you were some kind of handsome stud who might attract the ladies, and then, who knows what mighta happened."
"Oh, damn. Sorry. But think of it this way: this will really be alien culture for you, won't it?"
"No shit," Chance laughed, taking another swig. Then he sort of sat back in his beer glow, just looking at Reed. "Shit, dude. You are a damn fine-lookin' guy. It's not like you can't pick up women, I'm sure. You must genuinely be attracted to men."
"Oh, 'genuinely,' I assure you."
"What's it like?"
"You mean the sex?"
"Yeah. Well, no." Chance finished his fourth beer, Reed his third. He got up and got a couple more, more pronounced in his sexy sashaying. Chance was really getting hard, with the beer and steamy talk, and that hot fucking ass of Reed's.
"What I mean," Chance asked, as he took a swig, "is what's it like to just like men? To just get off on men? Cause I like guys' bodies, I ain't ashamed to admit it. I read fitness magazines and check out guys in the gym and on the street all the time. But it's not like I jerk off to them or anything. I mean, I'm assuming you jerk off to them."
Reed was very hard by now. He liked where this was going. He drained half his beer.
"Well, for example," he walked over to his computer and flipped it up; that hot young stud's picture was still there, "this is what I was lookin' at when you came in. I find this hot as hell. I would LOVE to fuck this guy, suck this guy off, get fucked by this guy, whatever. So I think about it and drool and get hard and, well, the rest is history. Same thing you do with Playboy or whatever, I guess."
Chance was standing next to him, and Reed noticed the boy's very pronounced package.
"So this gets you off? Naked guys?"
"This most definitely gets me off." He took another long swig of beer to get his courage up. "And if you don't mind a friendly observation, by that obscenely large bulge in your trousers, I'd say it gets you off, too."
Chance laughed. "Fuck, dude. I told you I appreciate guys' bodies. Nothing gay about that! I think most guys appreciate other guys' bodies, like most girls'll look at other girls' bodies." He took another swig. "But say me, for example. Would it get you off to see me naked?"
"Chance, are you shitting me? Dude, get a clue. You are like the gay porn pin-up stud for eternity. Get me off? Would I ever stop cumming, that's the real question." He took another gulp of his beer, draining it. Fuck, was he hard.
Chance downed the rest of his as well. "You got any sexy music?"
"'Sexy music'? Sure, why?"
"I was thinkin' I'd do a little strip-tease, see if I could really get you off." Chance had no idea where this came from, but he was riding a very sexy wave right now and fought like hell to stay on. Fuck Andrea and her endless period. This was sex, right here, right now.
"Holy fuckin' shit! Sexy music coming right up!" Reed clicked on iTunes, scrolled down nervously to some of his deep-house remixes, and put on the one he played most as background when he surfed internet porn.
"Bring it on, dude," he laughed excitedly as he sat back on his bed. He sexily snaked his lower body out of his boxer briefs. Chance drew a breath at seeing Reed's hard uncut dick. Just a tad smaller than his, but much thicker all around; tan and dark, like the rest of Reed's body, the red tip already wet and poking out. And, he noticed, Reed was totally hairless - no pubic hair above his dick, on his balls, or even (he couldn't help but notice as Reed scooted his muscular ass out of his briefs) in his crack. Fuck, he thought, that's pretty damn hot.
"OK, stud, Let the experiment begin!"
He unlaced his work boots, stripped off his socks, then stood up, ready to begin this crazy experiment in hot college guy sex. Reed was riveted. All he could think of was downtown they charged a twenty dollar cover for what he was getting here in his dorm. First, Chance caught the groove of the beat. He swayed his big chest back and forth, threw back that gorgeous jock head till only those thick full lips were visible, and swayed those ridiculously hot jean-clad hips. His hands played all over his chest, rubbing those gorgeous pecs so sensually, pinching his nipples while his face contorted into very sexy paroxysms of lust. One hand slithered down to his cock, rubbing it lewdly. Reed was stroking himself like crazy, trying to forestall what would probably be one of the wildest orgasms he'd ever had, yet delirious at this most outrageous sex ever. Then Chance stared at him, licked his tongue slowly around those full, pouty lips, and peeled off his shirt. Reed gasped aloud. Chance had the best upper body he'd ever seen. Perfectly full and cut. No fat. Gorgeous nipples he wanted to lunge at right now. And his abs. Reed could have cum just watching those abs, so lean and cut and curvy. Reed was a sucker for jockstraps, so seeing the top of Chance's undulate over those beautiful abs, knowing that soon he would see that obviously huge cock encased in it, was overwhelming. Chance continued his dance and nipple-play, always remembering to stroke his cock through his jeans, all the while watching Reed.
As much as Reed was in ecstasy, Chance was getting off, too. He couldn't believe how hot Reed's gorgeous, writhing body was making him. He had never even seen another man's erect cock before, let alone a guy stroking it like crazy. Chance was riveted on that huge pole, obscenely visible without any hair to mask it. All Chance could think of was tasting it, sucking it, licking it. He'd like to lap his tongue around that big smooth ballsac, with those sweet plum-sized nuts jiggling around in him. Chance, sex-deprived for so long, was soaking in a wonderfully immersive gay fantasy, the way a sore, tired guy would luxuriate in a hot, soothing tub. It permeated his whole body.
He slowly unsnapped his jeans, unzipped them, let them fall, then kicked them off.
"OH FUCK!!" Reed yelled. Seeing Chance, in all his naked, muscled perfection, in that hot grey jockstrap, was too much. He brought one hand to his ass and began to finger himself like crazy, starting a stream of raw sex-talk.
"Oh fuck, dude! You are the hottest fucking shit I have ever seen in my life! You are fucking perfection! That cock, what a fucking cock! Oh fuck, you could fuck me all night with that thing! Jesus Fuck, man, you are not getting out of this room until I have that sweet piece of meat in my mouth for about an hour!"
Chance smiled and started rubbing his thighs and ass teasingly. He loved watching Reed finger himself, seeing first one, then two, then three fingers play around that smooth, delicious-looking crack.
"Fuck, man, let me see that cock, please! It looks so fucking beautiful through your jock! So hard, so fucking long! I can't stand it, ude! Fuck, keep the jock on, take it off, fuck, I don't care. Oh fuck, Chance, fuck, fuck me, dude! You are so fucking gorgeous!"
Chance licked his lips again as he watched reed's fingers play in his ass and over his cock. Damn, this gay sex shit was hot as fucking hell. He had to stroke himself off, now, or he'd explode. Slowly, he peeled his jock down, teasingly, a little at a time, exposing the shaft a half-inch at a time, then bringing the strap back up. He pulled both side straps to the back and grooved them up and down his ass-crack.
"OH fuck, man! You sure you ain't a gay stripper? You jerkin' my chain, man? Fuck, I wish my dick was that jockstrap, rubbing your ass up and down! Aw shit, man, that's so fucking hot!"
Finally, even Chance could take it no longer. He ripped the jock off, got close to Reed's bed, and the two boys watched each other jack off. Chance was shot full of electricty as this most exciting sex of his life. Reed had been here before, of course, but never as wildly as this.
"Oh, damn, this is hot, Chance! You are such a hot young stud! I - " the older boy started grunting in a choked kind of half-sob/half-scream, and then Chance watched wide-eyed as Reed's cock erupted, spewing beautiful hot cream everywhere: his face, his chest, his bed, his dick. How beautiful guys dicks were when they came, Chance thought: those thick gorgeous tools oozing out such sexy stuff. This was just too much for Chance, who aimed his cock so he would mix his seed in with Reed's. He tensed his hard body and pumped load after load all over the grateful older stud, who rubbed it all over himself, then took handfuls to lap up in his hungry mouth. Chance, unbelievably, kept shooting; he was having the hardest, longest orgasm he'd ever had.
When he was finally done, he let his body drop beside Reed's, exhausted.
After a few minutes, Reed couldn't help himself. He stroked his jack-off buddy's beautiful back and ass, then reached in to tongue and kiss his ear, whispering, "Aw, dude, that was so fucking fine. Ah fuck, man, you are just so fucking hot."
He reached underneath Chance, slimed the last bit of cum off the boy's half-hard dick, brought it to those beautifully puffy lips, and all but got hard as the young stud licked his finger clean.
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