Alien Culture

The Alien Culture Project, part 18 By Rio Mack

DISCLAIMER: Contains depictions of gay sex

"OK, dudes, I gotta get some homework done."

"You need it quiet in here?" Tommy asked.

"It'd help. I gotta write up my thing for Baxter's class."

"You can come over to my place," Kyle said seductively, stroking Tommy along his firm, solid thigh. "That is, if you still wanna hang out . . . ?"

"Damn, Kyle, I sure as hell do."

"Cool, bro," Kyle said, with a smile that was dripping with lust, and the two kissed deeply while rubbing each other's hard young bodies all over. Chance watched them with real joy. It was so cool when guys got into each other like this. Tommy seemed happier and more filled with energy this morning than at any other time in the month or so Chance and he had been roomies.

Chance grabbed a jock from his drawer, put it on, and sat at his desk, flipping open his laptop. He decided to check his email before starting on his homework. There was an message from Jesse, with an attachment.

"Chance," the message read, "still high on that wonderful time. Thought you and Reed would like to see all these. The ones of you turned out as incredible as I thought they would. There's a few of Reed, too, from this a.m. Equally hot. Can't wait til Tuesday. XXOO, Jesse."

Chance opened the file anxiously. He could see thumbnails of all the photos of him on the couch in Jesse's studio and some of Reed in bed. He copied them all into his photo folder, and then clicked through them one at a time.

By this time, Kyle and Tommy were readying to leave, still naked, their young cocks looking full and luscious, dangling and bobbing as they straightened up Tommy's bed.

Before they left, they both dropped by Chance's computer.

"So what's your homewor - ?" Tommy asked, and then noticed the images Chance was viewing. "Holy Shit, dude, is that you? Fucking incredible! What is that hot-ass leather thing you have on, dude? Damn, Country, what a fuckin' killer body! Fuck," he moaned, as he started masturbating. "does this shit ever get me hard! Man, who the fuck knew I was roomin' with the hottest young porn star in America! Who the fuck took these?"

"Jesse Stone. He's my wrestling coach's lover. He's a real big-time photographer. Gonna use my picture in this gay calendar he publishes every year." Chance's pride was evident.

"Dang, color me impressed, Porn Star," Tommy said, stroking his long cock unselfconsciously while his eyes were glued to the screen. Kyle was in back of him, hugging him, also riveted. His cock was wedged firmly in Tommy's ass, and his hands were massging those firm pecs and hard nips, nibbling a the back of his shoulders and neck, a feeling the young hockey player found wonderful as he jerked off. But then Tommy just realized something Chance had said and stopped jacking: "Hey, did you say your coach is gay?"

"Yeah," said Chance, looking up. Then he wondered if it was wrong to tell other students, but realized Wyatt sure didn't seem like he was hiding anything. "I guess it's OK you know. He's pretty out about it. Some of the wrestlers on the team have seen him in this gay bar downtown with Jesse."

Tommy was again dumbfounded. "You have gay dudes on your team? Who hang out in gay bars?"

"Fuck, yeah, Tommy. 'Bout half my team is gay. Yours, too, I bet. It's no surprise hot young athletes, with bodies built for physical action, would be into each other, is it? I mean, get a clue. You already told us about that scene in the sauna this weekend with your team-mates. I bet that kinda thing goes on a lot. And shit, man," he smiled, "look at you, dude!"

And the three of them laughed. Tommy reddened. Then he turned around and kissed Kyle deep and full.

"Damn right, man! Fucking gay and loving it," he said gruffly, after he and Kyle unlocked lips. "So what bar do they go to, anyway?" he continued, thinking it would be pretty hot to go to a club you knew would be packed with cool-looking gay dudes, especially a place frequented by some really buff athletes and their coach.

"Hang on, I'll show you. That's what I'm doing my homework on." Chance gave them a quick summary of the 'Alien Culture' project as he clicked through his series of photos from Sparta.

Again, Tommy and Kyle were glued to the screen, excited as hell by what they saw; they began stroking each other off. Both of them knew it was exactly the kind of place they wanted to go, a kind of more 'official,' more public, next step into this exciting world of boy-love they were entering, this gay identity they were getting so wonderfully used to.

"Too cool! I gots to go there, man," Tommy said, now all hard and wet and totally enthused by what he was seeing - images of fine-looking, muscular young men, most with their bodies exposed, some even nude, some even having sex in the club. Oh yeah, he thought, he'd fit in juuuussssst fine there. It was perfect, watching the hot boy-fun in the photos while his new young lover worked his cock. This was his kind of sex.

"For real?" Chance beamed. "Then dude, you should totally come with Reed and I next week-end! We'll have a blast, man. This place really lets you be your fine-ass sexy self - you just hang and get raunchy as hell with a whole clubful of like-minded dudes. It is 'boys' night out,' for fuckin' real. And then, after the club, we're gonna go over to Wyatt and Jesse's place for more fun. He even told me to bring over a few more good-lookin' boys. It's gonna be a kick-ass orgy scene, I can tell you that - with some totally ripped dudes!"

Totally amped on the idea, Tommy turned around to face Kyle. He stroked those sleak, sexy hips up and down and asked, "Kyle, man, you like dancing and shit?"

"Fuck, yeah, bro. I love shakin' my thang. This club looks hot as hell, too - like something outta the wildest stroke fantasy I could imagine." Then Kyle's hands, which had been romaing all over the college hunk's chest, froze. He stared at Tommy, "Why d'you wanna know if I like to dance? You're not, like, asking me out on a date next weekend, are you, dude?"

Tommy felt a little foolish. He was, in fact, doing just that. But Kyle's question made him feel silly: probably he was rushing things with this first cute guy he'd had sex with. Embarrassed, he said, "Actually I was, dude. But forget it, it's cool. I guess I just got a little carried away from all our love-makin' earlier."

Kyle took Tommy's manly young face, framed by that longish blonde hair, in his hands, stroked it softly, and said tenderly, "Tommy, I would fucking love a date with you this weekend." He pressed his lithe young body up against that chiseled stud, so their hard young cocks could grind, and kissed him in a sensuous lip-and-tongue-fest that had them both moaning. One hand carressed those broad shoulders, the other was played over Tommy's firm young ass, a middle finger dipping playfully in and out of his moist crack. Tommy was in heaven - he'd always wanted a lover who loved lingering over his hard young body like this. They moaned through their kiss, cocks growing harder and wetter.

When they drew apart, breathless, Kyle added, "Fuck, dude, I'd like a date with you every weekend. Tommy, there's no one right now I'd rather date. No one I'm more turned on by. And the thought of goin' clubbin' with you, man - and then some gay-fuck-fest after-party - shit, dawg, sounds like heaven!"

All sexed again, Tommy turned to Chance, "Hey, Country, what do we wear to a club like this?"

Chance thought about it, then had a brainstorm. "Whyn't you do what I did? Get some o' your old clothes and take 'em to this incredible young seamstress I know who's got a shop right off campus. She turned an old pair of my jeans and a T-shirt into the hottest-looking clothes I own."

"Those ones you had on when you came in?" Kyle asked, remembering how sexy Chance looked when he walked in earlier. Chance nodded. "Cause those were way hot. Fuck, I been wantin' a pair of low-cut jeans like that. Damn, they make guys look so damn fuckable." He turned to Tommy and rubbed his lower abs, "Bro, I bet you'd look hella fine in a pair of those low-ridin' jeans."

Chance hopped up and grabbed the club clothes Mai had made for him. "Here, Tommy, we must be about the same size. Try these on."

The muscular hockey-boy slipped on the jeans first.

"Holy Fuck," Kyle cried. "You are so fucking hot! Take 'em off, dude," he laughed, "I wanna fuck you right now!"

Tommy eyed himself in the mirror and had to agree. His body had never looked sexier in pants before. The waist line went down almost to the base of his cock, letting his blonde pubes show. He knew now why Chance shaved the hair down their like he did - so he could show off more of that sexy-ass frame of his. Tommy decided he'd have to trim his pubes, too, to look as hot as possible in jeans as revealing as this. And damn, did he have a great set of lower abs to show off. And damn, he thought, look how lusciously these tightly-cut pants revealed his huge bulge. His upper abs, too, were wonderfully set off - without that high waistband you could just marvel in this huge expanse of deeply-grooved washboard. The pants even showed off how well-worked his quads were, which no pants had ever done before.

Kyle came up and hugged him from behind, his balls wedged tightly into the inch or so of ass-crack the pants revealed, and his stiff, jutting cock pressed up against the small of Tommy's back. He draped his arms around Tommy's shoulders, pulling him close as he stared at the hockey hunk's reflection in the mirror. The two boys' eyes locked, then Kyle smiled and kiss-whispered in Tommy's ear, "Dude, you gotta get a pair of these! I can't stand how fucking hot you look." Fuck, Kyle thought, am I ever lovin' my man. He brought his fingers down to play in the inch or so of exposed pubic patch. Still lick-whispering, he said, "I'll trim these for you later this afternoon, so you'll look so fuckin' sexy when you wear pants like these."

Tommy loved it. How hot would that be, his fine-ass, sexy, lover-boy groomin' him down there? He grew hard just thinking about it. Then Kyle went back to stroking his hands all over Tommy's chest, abs, and stiffening cock, staring at Tommy's reflection in the mirror while he further aroused the young hockey-jock's passion. He loved rubbing his hands over Tommy's hard cock achingly visible through the tight denim. Kyle was inhaling this new oxygen of gay sex as deep and as fast as he could. It made him feel more of an erotic young boy than he ever had before.

As turned on as Tommy was by how good he looked in Chance's jeans, he was loving all the attention Kyle was giving his body. He'd always wanted the girls he'd dated to go nuts over his body like this. He'd always assumed they would, too, cause he'd always hear the girls in high school bragging to each other about who had the hottest jock boyfriend with the buffest body. But then, whenever he and whatever girl he was banging at the time were alone, the chick seemed downright uninterested in what he knew was a very sexy body. Those chicks were all show and no go, he thought, compared to a hot stud like Kyle, whose worship of Tommy's body inflamed the young hockey star. He had yet another of his awesome new revelations today: realizing that this was the real reason guys worked their bodies so religiously - they got all chiselled and sexy to be appreciated by another of their kind; it was only dudes, he knew now, who could fully appreciate another guy's well-worked musculature. Fuck, Tommy thought to himself sheepishly, I am so fuckin' into sex with guys; damned if it don't mesh perfectly with my definition of 'hot'.

"Try the shirt," Chance said as he threw his Mai-altered 'COLT' T across the room. Both Kyle and Chance stared dreamily at that gorgeous jock body of Tommy's as he tried on the shirt: the lower half encased in the obscenely form-fitting jeans, and now the top half - the ripped bulk of his upper body and the sleek, lean muscles of his abs - rippling and flexing powerfully as he stretched open the taut T and pulled it on. Kyle, especially, was totally in awe. Chance turned and smiled at Kyle, stroked the cute soccer stud's dick, and whispered, "He's so fuckin' good-lookin, ain't he?" Kyle kissed Chance and fingered his cock through the straining jock's pouch.

With the shirt on, Tommy shook his long blonde hair, pulled the T tight, and again stared at himself. This time all he could say was, "Holy Fucking Fuck!" He looked incredible. Every single muscle in his upper body showed: his pecs, his hard nipples, the well-worked eight-pack, even the muscles over his ribs. And the shirt stopped above his belly button, so you could see his beautiful, deeply grooved Apollo's belt, and the thin trail of blonde hair down to his pubes. With the low-cut neck showing off so much skin around his collarbones, and his shoulder-length hair, Tommy thought he looked like the surfer-stud wet-dream of all-time. He was totally amazed - he looked so different, so young and boyishly sexy, in these clothes. But no, not really different, he thought. It was as if his real self - the cool, sexy stud who stared back at him from the mirror every time he stripped and studied his naked body - was, at long last, beautifully revealed; and, as ironic as it seemed, his naked beauty was only able to be revealed because of clothes. Even more, the clothes seemed to heighten his well-defined body, making it more teasingly sexy, as if you couldn't wait to rip off the material to get at the beautifully wrapped package underneath.

He'd never worn clothes this tightly cut before. He'd always thought such extremely form-fitting clothes made you look totally gay. He laughed to himself giddily - you was right, dude! But now, he realized, in yet another of the day's mind-boggling revelations, this was the way he always wanted to look: from now on, he wanted to advertise his body and his sexuality boldly, proudly, to all hot young guys, in the tighest, most revealing clothes possible. He wanted no one to mistake that he was a young gay jock on the prowl. Tommy had to have this outfit.

"Dude, I'll give you, like, fifty bucks for the pants and twenty for the shirt!"

Chance laughed. "Just take a pair of jeans and a shirt to Mai. Tell her you want the 'gay sexy' look she gave me. She'll remember."

"Fuck, man, I'm goin' tomorrow. And I'm takin' like everything I own! I way want this look all the time!" He turned to Kyle, "You wanna come with?"

Kyle sidled up and stroked his sexy dream-stud, then kissed him lightly. "Hell, yeah! I'm bringin a couple pairs of jeans, too, dude! You ain't the only one gonna be goin' around lookin' like a porn star!"

All three boys were into how cool it was to hang around the dorm, naked, and try on another boy's clothes like this. It was like something girls did all the time, but these gorgeous young athletes were making it an incredibly masculine form of binding. It was a side of themselves they had previously kept hidden or repressed. Now they wanted to indulge in every kind of intimacy possible between boys.

Tommy undressed, folded the clothes neatly, and handed them back to Chance. "Guard these with your life, bro. Fucking hottest clothes a dude can wear."

Chance handed them right back: "Hell, dude, you like 'em so much, wear 'em until you get yours done tomorrow. You do look hot as fuck in 'em. But I warn you, they might be a bit rank from last night."

Tommy took the clothes, kissed Chance sensuously, and growled low, "That's OK, bro. I'm gonna love your scent on 'em. Gonna love knowin' they been huggin' this tight-ass body o' yours. Shit," he said, voice becoming thicker with lust as he licked Chance's stubbled jaw and stroked that mammoth cock, "sure as hell wish you didn't have homework to do. I'd love to feel this stud-cock in my ass right about now."

"OK," Chance cried. "Enough! I got work to do! You studs have gotta clear out. This flirtin' o' yours is gettin' me too-danged hot and bothered to concentrate!"

So Kyle and Tommy each kissed Chance goodbye, and the two wandered blissfully out the door, still naked, to Kyle's room.

"That's so cool you want that hot new look, dude," Kyle said, stroking Tommy's cock longingly as they strolled. "Fuck, bro, you go around dressed like that everyday, and no way I'm gonna be able to keep my hands offa you."

"Sweet!" Tommy said, stroking Kyle's jutting hardness and kissing him, thinking another session of sex with him was way overdue. Fuck, Tommy thought, who knew I was such a sex machine! He felt like he could pump about twenty more loads.

When their walking-on-air brought the boys to Kyle's door, Tommy set his clothes down, and they hugged each other hungrily, excitedly, delightedly. It was like they were about to enter their honeymoon cottage. This crazy new fling they were sharing was totally thrilling. It was like they couldn't get enough of each other. They'd both heard all the cornball 'love at first sight' stuff, but this passion, whatever it was, had hit them both very hard. It was partly an artifact of their newly discovered hunger for gay sex, but it was also a deeper sort of attraction, a joyous rightness in each other's company they wanted to ride out to see where it went. So Tommy had Kyle pressed against the door, bodies wriggling eagerly against each other. Both boys' hands roamed their sexy firmness as their mouths and tongues made passionate young love to each other. Their dicks were hard, wet, and straining as they writhed against each other. They were oblivious to the other guys passing in the hall, each of whom eyed these two studs with an excitable curiousity and envy that caused a warm, flushed feeling in their groins.

The more Chance and his friends let their homoeroticism play out so blatantly, so seductively in the dorm - in their nude, hard-bodied romps to and from the shower, hands cupping each other's asses, or stroking each other's firm bodies, while their dicks swung and bobbed teasingly; or soaping each other's cocks while kissing hungrily under the showerspray, then fucking unashamedly like randy young colts; or shaving each other's asses and trimming pubes by the sinks, gay porn mags open for inspiration; or chatting with other residents, gloriously naked, absent-mindedly rubbing hard washboards or long, semi-hard pricks; or, now: their ripe, naked bodies sensuously, deliciously rubbing against each other in the hall - the more such scenes of boy-passion filled the dorm, the more the remainder of the supposedly straight college boys on the floor began to give serious, soul-searching, dick-hardening consideration to just who exactly is available - even more, desirable - as a sexual partner. No one made the case for the joys of young gay sex like Chance and his friends.

As he worked on his project, he got an IM from "HockeyStud": "Hey, Country," it read, "fyi: spendin PM w/ Kyle, so u'll have dorm to yrself 2nite." "Gr8t," Chance shot back, "I'll bring Reed here l8tr." HockeyStud replied, "Kyle sez you 2 shuld cum over here for some fun if u like." "Kewl," Chance typed. Then he had an inspired thought, and added another message, giving them a phone number if they wanted to call out for pizza for dinner, and the name of the driver, Blaine, they should ask for. He added, with a smiley-face, that they should be as close to nude as possible when they answered the door. Tommy typed back, "HOTTT!!!!"

A little after 12 PM, Chance had a rough draft of his project done. He'd put together a great slideshow of his night spent clubbing at Sparta. There were several nude shots in there, of naked guys on the dancefloor, but he decided to include them cause it was such an important part of the evening, and he figured Professor Baxter wouldn't mind - after all, he was a damn anthropologist, right? Having broken the X-rated ice with the most graphic Sparta pic's, he even decided to weave in some of the photos Jesse took of him in the leather gear, to really show the intensity of his sexual awakening.

Then he tinkered with it more: he figured the purpose of his report was to show the wonderful transformation this assignment had wrought in him, so he thought he should add some stuff about his pre-college life. He wrote up a page of narration, describing his life back home, especially as regards the formation of his male identity - his body-consciousness, interest in sports, and his furstrating early attempts at sex. He ran into a snag when he thought about images to use in this background part of the project because even thought he had lots of digital photos of him now, he had none of him then, back in Yellow Branch. Then, inspiration hit, and he quickly searched the photo archives of the websites for both his high school and the town newspaper. Sure enough, there were lots of pic's of him on the various teams for which he played. He did some quick cropping and got a nice set of about ten photos of what he now thought of as Confused Chance.

He wrote an essay, which he envisioned as a soundtrack that would accompany the slideshow, on how the project had been the most important assignment of his life, how much it taught him about himself, his passion for exercise and sports, as well as the homoerotic impulse at the heart of masculinity (for this part, he brought in some of his insights from the research paper he was doing on Ancient Greek culture). He ended with a kind of cowboy-poetry riff about how he'd even found love through this assignment (to that segment, he daringly added a few of the nude photos of Reed Jesse had sent - he figured he could clear this with Reed tonight). But even ending on that slightly cornball note, he thought it was good, one of the most intelligent-sounding things he'd ever written. But he really wanted Reed's feedback on it. Plus, he figured Reed would know how to record him reading his essay, so it would play in the background to his presentation.

Thoughts of his boyfriend got him hard and wistful. He could hardly wait for later, when he could be alone with his lover. After dinner and a movie, and lots of necking and hand-holding in public, they'd come back here for some hard-core love-makin'. Damn, he thought to himself, you've finally got a life.

He decided to take a break from studies and hang the framed photo of Reed. He put it on the wall opposite his bed, so he could lie in bed, gaze dreamily at it, and stroke himself. Next, he cleaned the place up a bit and put clean linens on his bed, anticipating the night ahead. As he was checking to make sure he had clean clothes for his date, his cell phone rang.

"Yeah," he answered.

"Taylor, man, what's up?"

"Brock!" Chance broke into a grin at the pleasant surprise. He'd never had a call from his wrestling team-mate before. "Nice to hear your voice, dude. Nothin's up, really. Just finishin' some homework and cleanin' my room."

"Shit, bro, it's way too beautiful out to spend the day inside. Ain't you looked out the window, dude? It's eighty-some fuckin' degrees out there. It's like this crazy re-run of summer in the middle of October. I'm lookin' for a partner-in-crime to help me have a little fun in the sun. You innarested?"

Chance thought for a minute. His 'alien culture' project was just about done, and not even due till Tuesday, plus he was all caught up in his other courses. He was just gonna go for a run, lift, and study some more of his books on Greece till he and Reed hooked up later. Shit, he thought, how cool that such a hot senior stud as Brock wanted to hang with him. This was a friendship he would definitely like to see grow.

"Hell, yeah," said Chance, smilling, "I'm game."

"Excellent! Get your shorts and sandals on, bro, and I'll pick you up in a few."

Chance made sure his work was saved, then looked through his dresser. The only shorts he had were athletic wear. He dug out a pair of black, below-the-knee sweat-shorts and slipped them on, pulling them low, right to the base of his cock. His hard, flat lower abs and about an inch-and-a-half of the sexy stubble of his pubes were mouth-wateringly exposed. Plus his long, thick cock could easily be traced. But damn, he thought, maybe Brock wants to throw the football around or something. So he pulled off the shorts and put on one of his runners' jocks. He pulled the band low, so that it just rode over the root of his thick cock, raised it a little higher in the back, just a whisper above his crack, and put the shorts back on.

The jock felt so good riding low on his abs, and hugging his thick, full cock. The exposed jock band in front was sort of his trade-mark. Turning sideways, he noticed that the thin waistband of the jockstrap looked pasted on flat against his lower back, while the top of his sweatshorts settled nicely over his hard, muscular ass-globes, about a half-inch below the start of his crack. Cool, Chance thought, it marked him as a young dude very comfortable with his hard, well-worked body, a youthful satyr ready for all kinds of fun. One of Socrates' friends teased him about being a satyr, he remembered, always ready for pleasure with beautiful young boys. Oh well, Chance thought, if it's good enough for Socrates . . . .

Now, what to wear on top? He dug around his dresser and finally decided on his sleeveless 'University Wrestling' muscle-T. He had gotten it a size too small, as usual, so it looked very sexy on him, like it was sprayed on. His pecs and nipples were especially evident. Chance fingered his tits, to get them a little fuller and harder for Brock. About two inches of hard, cut torso were exposed from the hem of the T to the waistband of his jockstrap, offering a teasing view of his lower abs and those nice grooves over his hip-bones. Taylor, you look fuckin' good, he smiled, as he stroked his cock approvingly through the soft, worn fabric of his jock and sweatshorts. He slipped his sockless feet into his oldest, most comfortable workboots and made a cup of tea as he waited for Brock.

When he was half-finished with his tea, there was a loud knock on the door. He opened it and broke into a huge grin when he saw Brock standing there. Brock and Chance extended their arms towards each other. Each boy hugged the other tightly to his chest, and then, holding each other's heads lovingly, they kissed - the warm, deep, sensual kiss of two athletic boys whose friendship has led them to that wonderful place of strong, masculine intimacy, boys who have been as close as boys can be, and who treasure the sweet, physical bond they now share.

"Fuck, you look hot, dude!" Chance said, as the boys, still hugging, broke their kiss. Then Brock just stood back and sneered sexily, drinking Chance in up and down with his eyes. Chance returned the frank, lust-filled stare. Brock had no shirt on, so his smooth, lean, beautifully carved upper-body was lusciously displayed: his broad, powerful, young jock's shoulders; those incredible abs, etched out of his midsection like thick strands of twined rope; and the flat, ripe plates of his pec's, capped off by those hard little nipples of his. He was wearing a pair of red and white flowered board shorts, slung so low on his hips that you could see the base of his dick if you stood on tiptoe. It was excitingly evident to Chance that Brock had recently shaved off his bushy patch of blonde pubes, so his upper torso was now a sheer, smooth expanse of ripe, bulging young muscle. What was most beautifully displayed, though, was his Apollo's belt: Brock had the best-carved one Chance had ever seen; that alone was enough to get a guy's dick hard: you just wanted to get your tongue in that groove and lick away in utter delight. Chance could also see the inch of ass-cleavage and the top mounds of his rock-hard ass that Brock's shorts revealed.

"Damn, son," he said, mouth dry and dick stiff, "you're fuckin' ready to rock. I think you look sexier with them britches on than you do nude!"

"Thanks, man. Yer pretty easy on the eyes yerself, Taylor. C'mon, hoss, time's a-wastin'. I got my Jeep parked right out front. Let's hit it!"

"Where we goin'?" Chance asked as they raced down the stairs.

"One o' my favorite summertime activities: cruisin' the high school jocks down by River Park."

"You're shittin'!" laughed Chance, getting instantly excited. Lately, he'd loved eying all the good-lookin' guys on campus. To check out even younger guys sounded pretty fucking intense.

"The fuck I am! Check it out, dude: all the cute high school boys hang out down there on a day like this, all bare-chested, makin' out like they're such fine-ass hard-bodies. But when a real stud like me - and now you - shows up: dang, you'll see; even the straight guys come sniffin' around, tongues out and dicks waggin'. Those little studs who talk shit about pussy-this and pussy-that, all they need is to party with a stud like you to bring out their deep-down interest in cock!"

"And," he added as they hopped into his open-top Jeep, "those boys are so horny at that age, it don't take all that much to get 'em droolin' for some dick. You'll see, bro, mark my words. And a day like today, all hot sun and exposed flesh - shit, man, it's almost too easy. Oh yeah, we're gonna pop some virgin butts today, dude!"

"Fuck," Chance laughed, a little flustered at how aroused he was getting at the thought of hot sex with young high school jocks, "you are way the biggest cock-hound I know, dawg!" But Chance was amped. He'd done a little cruising - for girls, that is - back home in Yellow Branch, Saturday nights, outside the DQ, but had never once got lucky. He realized now his heart wasn't in it. So today's booty run with Brock marked an opportunity to re-wind the scene, only this time with cute young hotties of the proper gender.

Plus, what sounded cool about this was the opportunity to introduce some shy, horned-up young kid to the incredible pleasures of boy-on-boy sex, something Chance wished he'd had in junior year when his own hormones started raging. Some cool, good-looking college-age guy that he was naturally infatuated with, recognizing the tender signs of clumsy young passion he showed back then, and initiating him into the kind of sex he didn't even realize he so deeply desired - well, it sure would have spared him two-and-a-half years of frustration. Damn, he thought: again this goes right back to the fuckin' Greeks. Young boys naturally go for older dudes, and older dudes go for young boys. The desire is mutual, logical: the older dude enjoys the luscious pleasures of a beautiful youth, and the boy gets, along with the splendors of sexual pleasure, a chance to learn about love and sex and life and masculinity from an experienced dude - it's a perfect economy of knowledge and desire. And anyway, he grinned, breakin' in some fine-lookin' young colt sure sounds hot as hell.

"Damn, Brock, I hope yer right about how easy this is gonna be, cause it sure sounds like quite the afternoon outing."

"I thought you'd be into it, bro. And don't worry, player, I guaran-fucking-tee it. Just sit back and get that horse-cock o' yours hard thinkin' bout the hot young virgin jock-ass you're gonna be plowin' in a little while!" Brock reached over and rubbed Chance's dick playfully for a bit. "Mmmmmm, think about some cute little muscle-boy's mouth makin' love to this incredible fuck-stick o' yours!"

"Fuck, dude," Chance said, reaching a hand over to rub and fondle Brock's smooth, lean upper body, "I sure as hell don't need to fanatasize to get hard when you're around. Damn, Brock, you are fuckin' built!"

Brock just laughed and brought Chance's hand up to work his tits for a bit while he drove. Then Chance settled back and enjoyed the ride. He couldn't help but see how many young women - and just as many young men - eyed them as they drove by. No wonder, Chance thought - two young studs in a wide-open Jeep, and Brock all but bare-ass nekked. They'd never believe this back in Yellow Branch, he smiled to himself: Chance Taylor, babe-magnet. What a riot.

They stopped off to get ice for the cooler-case of Coors Light Brock had on the floor of the back seat, and soon they pulled into the parking lot of River Park. Chance at first just gaped. All around him was exposed young flesh, both male and female. The girls were walking around or laying out in the skimpiest string bikinis, and the boys were either talking to the girls, talking to each other, or playing frisbee, football, or hackey-sack, all in board shorts or cargo shorts, most bare-chested, a few in wife-beaters. Some had tattoos, some were pierced; many wore ball caps, those that didn't had either buzz cuts or long hair; a couple had sparse little patches of hair on their chests, or thin little trails down into their shorts, but most were blessed with the beautiful smoothness of youth, accentuated with those sweet, tiny boy-nipples. Every one of the boys seemed young, ripe, beautiful, and available.

"Shit," Chance gasped, "it's like an A&F catalog brought to life. How'd you find out about this place?"

"Used to come here when I was in high school. It's where I got my first blow job, sophomore year, in the bathroom over by the bandshell, from a college boy cruising the hotties, just like we're doin' - so see, it's sorta a tradition! Come on, dude - grab the frisbee from the back seat, and let's kick it!"

As the two boys worked their way through the throng, they immediately attracted stares. On a day like this, River Park was an open-air meat market, and Chance and Brock were filet mignon. Girls would lower their sunglasses, nudge their girlfriends, and point. Some would whistle. Guys would either be totally frank about staring, or they'd sneak peeks on the sly. Brock got to an open spot on the fringe of the crowd and motioned for Chance to run down the riverbank, then threw him the frisbee. The two young jocks got into it immediately, seizing the opportunity to put their finely-tuned bodies through a kick-ass workout on such a gorgeous day. They were both very good at frisbee; they played hard, with the whooping, hollering exuberance of powerful young athletes. Few could keep their eyes of such hot, hard young men rippling their taut bodies as they romped across the lawn. In fact, it was hard to know who to keep your eyes on: Brock, the lean, ripped stud with the blonde, Marine-cut hair - naked except for such crotch-grabbingly low board-shorts; or Chance, the bigger, bulkier hunk, with the gorgeously rippling musculature, stubbled beard, and sexy buzz cut, letting those hot, shaved pubes show above that band of jockstrap he was flashing, every inch total beefcake, right down to his workboots..

Chance, himself, was checking out the crowd of boys constantly. Damn, he thought, Brock sure was right: the place was teeming with young muscle-studs of every shape and size. He returned eye contact and smiled his charmingly earnest, 'aw-shucks' smile at every hot young boy who cruised him. Two hot-looking dudes, he noticed, came over and sat down near them, acting like they were just checking out the scene in general, but Chance could tell they kept their eyes riveted on him and Brock. They were both extremely good-looking, he thought. Smooth, lean young bodies, slim and sexily bursting with that initial, ripe definition of a young boy.

Chance almost immediately started thinking about these two cute young guys in terms of a photo-spread of some outrageously sexy boys in one of the porn mags Reed had lent him. It was called 'The Boys of Bel-Ami.' Chance wasn't sure, but he thought 'Bel-Ami' was probably a city or region in France, cause the boys in the porn mag had a kind of European air about them. They were incredible - young and smooth and lean and luscious, just like these two dudes. Plus, the boys who lived in Bel-Ami had incredible cocks, all big, thick, long, and uncut. Chance had gotten one of the quickest, hardest erections of his life one morning, looking at those pictures. And now it looked like a couple of those boys had leapt off of those pages and joined them here in River Park.

One was a curly-haired kid, medium build, with a hard, tight young body. He was very handsome, Chance thought, looking like a young model. He carried himself like one, too - poised, dripping with attitude, aware of how good he looked. He, too, wore board shorts, fairly low, but not quite as daringly low as Brock's. Drawing attention to his lusciously smooth, tanned upper body was one of those shell necklaces Chance never tired of seeing on hot-looking, bare-chested guys.

His friend was equally fine: a tad taller, he had on a very tight wife-beater, worn small, like Chance wore his own shirts, so a sexy band of flesh peaked out temptingly at his waist; his cargo shorts drooped down, exposing an inch or so of his boxers, and on his head was a cool-looking white skully, worn over short-cut hair. The beater he wore exposed a lot of lean, pale skin, not overly-defined, it was rather that lean, luscious, tender beef. The glinting sun kept showing he had earrings in both ears, which Chance thought very sexy. But what was most alluring about him, Chance knew, was his face: he had the most beautiful face - it was angelic, boyishly feminine, with full red lips and smooth, flawless skin. And he had such a wistful stare, you just wanted to hug him. Chance kept his eyes locked on that boy - in frank, male flirtation - whenever he caught the lad staring, which was basically ever time he looked over at him. Chance sized him up immediately as kinda shy, inexperienced, definitely gay-curious, but he kind of boy who, once they got started, was a sexual dynamo.

This is heaven, Chance thought, utterly into the frisbee and the boy-watching. Especially after a couple hours of working on his schoolwork and cleaning his dorm, it was luxurious to be able to let his well-worked body run and turn and leap and dive, pushing it as far as he wanted, while scoping out the hottest young guys imaginable. Fuck, I love my life, Chance thought, for about the hundredth time in the past several days.

After a while, though, he knew that he and Brock had to take things to the next level, cause although they were attracting plenty of stares, they weren't really connecting with any young dudes, not even those two cute guys sitting near them, and he bet Brock was getting as antsy as he was to make some real contact. He could just hear his father say to him as they stood in the bend of the Yellow Branch River, "If the fish ain't bitin' in a fishin' hole good as this, odds are we're usin' the wrong bait." And Chance'd been formulating a pretty fair idea of another kind of bait he and Brock could try: he'd noticed a fitness station by the start of the park's running trail, about twenty yards away, with side-by-side chin-up bars.

"Hey, Sears," he called loudly, so their gallery could overhear, "how many pull-ups can you do?"

"I dunno," Brock called back, running after the frisbee Chance tossed, "ain't never counted. Why?"

"Fuck, bro, I bet I can do twenty more than your best."

"Oh, the fuck you say, dude," Brock laughed hoarsely, pulling up next to his team-mate and flexing a bicep which grew twice as big when he pumped it. "You'll be lucky if you can keep up with me."

"Them skinny arms?" Chance laughed, giving Brock's taut, ripe fullness a loving squeeze. "Don't make me laugh. C'mon, bro, I seen a pull-up bar over there. Let's just see quien es mas macho, amigo."

Brock realized immediately what Chance had in mind. "Nice call, Taylor, nice call indeed" he said in a low, raspy voice, putting his arm around Chance's shoulder as they strolled over to the fitness station.

When they reached the bars, Chance shucked his shirt and flexed his arms and shoulders for a bit, which drew a lot of attention. Brock, meanwhile, was doing a quick set of push-ups to get limber. Chance - and everybody else nearby - stared longingly at those utterly ripped back and arm muscles, as well as those tanatalizing inches of sweet, hard, exposed ass. After a while, as Brock rasied his pumped, flushed body, they were ready to start.

"All right, stud," Brock said, "you gotta do twenty more than my limit. Loser pays for that case o' beer." With that he hopped up on the bar, his taut, cut body galvanizing stares. Chance spit on his hands, rubbed them, and hopped up as well, an equally compelling physical specimen. It was difficult to know which boy to keep one's eyes glued to, so for most in the crowd, it was like watching a ping-pong match. Chance noticed that the beautiful young boy he'd spotted earlier, along with his good-looking, hard-bodied friend, had drifted over; both young boys were watching intently, pointing at the two college studs, and commenting to each other.

"No cheating now, Taylor, cause I'm gonna keep count. So just take yer ass-whuppin' like a man, OK?"

And they were off. None of the young, sybaritic sun-bathers around them could turn away: the sight of those lithe, perfect, college-jock adonises, straining their beautifully ripe musculature, was an incredibly rare treat, like having a couple of Chippendale's dancers suddenly start disrobing and doing their routine in front of you.

Each boy did twenty, seemingly without breaking a sweat, keeping up a teasing banter over who was getting the most tired, and lapping up the attention of so many gorgeous young guys. The sight of those already-cut muscles straining, pumping, bulging, getting more defined, along with those incredibly ripped abs getting even more lusciously carved, caused a sweet, throbbing fullness in the dicks of most of the young boys there.

Soon, they were up to forty each, and the young angel-faced boy who'd caught Chance's eye began counting out loud, his eyes glazed over as he stared at Chance's incredible body pumping and straining in a head-spinning blur of bulging power and perfection. At fifty, both boys' torsos were sheened with sweat, gleaming, setting off each muscle in erotic splendor. Chance noticed a couple young studs rubbing their dicks idly, in lust-drenched fascination.

At sixty-something, Brock began to show the first signs of strain. His body was now an obscenely-etched vision of totally ripped sinew, sweat streaming off it. His board shorts had dipped a little lower from the sweat-drenched pumping, so about a half-inch of the base of his cock could be seen, plus an inch more of his ass in the back. Girls were tittering. Guys were going, "damn!" under their breath, licking their lips unconsciously, secretly willing those shorts to slide further down. Chance, though, was still cruising. At seventy-two, when it looked like Brock was gonna lose it, Chance started doing one-armed pull-ups.

"OH, FUCK YOU!" Brock screamed hoarsely when he saw that, sweat pouring down his bright red face. He dropped an arm and tried to keep up, but suddenly, when the dreamy young boy yelled "Eighty-six!" (and by now, many others in the crowd were counting along with him), Brock dropped. Chance whooped, pulled himself all the way up, quickly let go in mid-air, then reversed his grip so he was doing chin-ups, and knocked out twenty more with ease, his beautiful young fan cheering and fist-pumping excitedly.

Chance hopped off to thunderous applause and lots of young, good-looking high-schoolers crowding around. Two gorgeous young girls started feeling his biceps, purring and cooing, pressing their barely covered breasts tight up against his body, trying to win the favors of this young he-man. One girl was bold enough to stroke his chest, ooh-ing and ah-ing as she trailed her finger sexily around Chance's small, hard nipples. He even felt someone rub his ass. But Chance just smiled good-naturedly, nodded, and politely extricated himself from the crowd. The he strode over to his young crush.

"Hey, bro, thanks for counting," he smiled, as he extended his hand.

The young boy was caught surprised, flustered, thrilled, that Chance had singled him out. "You're wel- welcome," he stammered sweetly, and returned Chance's handgrip. Chance grasped the boy's hand in a warm, solid grip, and brought his other arm up to clasp the boy's firm young bicep. He held the grip about twenty seconds too long.

"Who'd you have your money on?" he asked, grinning, using his crumpled T to wipe his sweat off.

"Shit," said the young boy, smiling now, relaxing, warming to this cool, older stud, "I knew you'd take him. Your biceps are incredible, man."

"Your whole upper body," piped in his smiling, curly-haired friend, who'd joined them.

"Name's Chance Taylor."

"I'm Ash Daniels," said the sweet-faced young stud, who Chance saw was even better built and more breath-takingly beautiful up close. Chance thought of him as the kind of beautiful young boy you'd see working out nude in the ancient Greek gymnasia, the kind of delicious young lad every older guy would be lusting after. That little skully he wore gave him a kind of sweet, mock-bad-boy look that Chance found very alluring.

"It's short for Ashley," Ash's bare-chested friend said good-naturedly, "but don't call him that or he'll wail on you! Howdy, Chance, I'm Troy Caldwell," he added, extending his hand. By this time Brock was there, too, shaking his head - not over losing the bet, but at the thought of how easy it was to underestimate Chance: you think he's some clueless rube from the sticks, and then he hooks up with two of the finest boys at the park. Of the two young hotties, Brock was particularly savoring the shorter kid: his tight little body was lithe and lickably smooth, and the half-inch or so of ass he saw peeking out from his board shorts looked promising as hell. Plus, Brock saw at a glance that both these young studs had full, half-hard cocks straining slightly in their shorts. Very fucking promising indeed.

"You was lucky," Brock scoffed. "I got a cramp doin' that one-handed crap is all. That was almost cheating! And then you switched to chin-ups at the end, which're way easier!"

"Shit, dude," Ash laughed, daring to put his arm around Chance's shoulder, "my boy here never even broke a sweat. You probably coulda ripped off about fifty more, don't ya think, Chance? Didn't even look like you wuz half-tired."

"Oh, I had lots of gas left in the tank, Ash, don't worry," said Chance shyly, patting Ash's butt good-naturedly, to let him know, in a just-us-guys way, that he was cool with upping the physical ante in their newfound friendship.

"Hey," asked Troy, turning to Chance nervously after after locking eyes on Brock's sagging boardshorts for what he realized was an embarrassingly long time, "you really a wrestler, Chance?"

"Oh, you mean the shirt?" Chance was only half-surprised Troy had noticed the shirt he'd been wearing earlier. "Hell yeah. And Brock, here, is a senior on the team. I'm just a freshman."

"That's so cool," Ash said, excitedly, "Troy and I are on the Riverside High swim team!"

"Oh, lemme introduce you all," Chance said, playing the host. "Brock, this is Ash and Troy."

"Damn, another coupla jocks," Brock laughed, then put a hand on Troy's lean young body, tracing over it innocently, appreciatingly, as if he were simply a connoisseur, rather than a randy young lothario. "I shoulda known, you guys are really built."

Troy blushed, savoring that brief, electric thrill of Brock's hand on his body. "Oh damn, bro, we ain't that built. Not like you guys. Fuck, dude, you guys are fucking brick shithouses. You two studs have the best bodies I ever seen up close. Hands fucking down. That's what me and Ash kept sayin' while we were watchin' you guys."

"Word," echoed Ash, feeling like it was permissble now to stare at the incredibly heady vision that was Chance's body.

"So you like this body, huh?" Brock smiled to Troy, very pleased at how this was going.

Troy reddened even further, but managed to stammer, "Shit, dawg, you're a fuckin' muscle-god."

"Damn straight!" Brock crowed and pumped his bicep for Troy. Its mass and definition held the boy spell-bound. "Here, feel that flex!"

Troy's shaking hand gave the lightest of pats to Brock's ripped upper arm, afraid to touch it any more, afraid of being thought 'queer'.

"Nah," scoffed Brock. "I mean FEEL it! That's solid rock, dude. I got 2% body fat."

Troy grabbed Brock's arm and ran his hand back and forth over the hard mounds of cut muscle. This is pretty cool, he thought - he'd always wanted to feel a real muscle-stud's body like this.

"Solid steel, huh? You keep workin' out, you'll get like this. You got a pretty nice rack started already," and Brock proceeded to take even more liberties with the little hard-body's chest, which he was really beginning to savor. He ended with a little titty-twister, and laughed in that innocent, 'we're-all-juys-here-ain't-we?' rasp of his, "Nice fuckin' tits, too, bro!" and they all laughed.

Troy was way overcome by the intensity of this kind of physical camaraderie, which he assumed was normal for these hard-core college-jocks. Probably they felt each other's muscles all the time as they worked out, just to get more body-conscious or something. But still, it was kind of unsettling, but not altogether unpleasant, he had to admit.

Ash, however, was totally digging this level of bodily intimacy; he wished he had the nerve to feel Troy's smooth lean upper body, not to mention the incredible physiques of Chance and Brock. "You guys must work out all the time, huh?" he said.

"Not ALL the time," Brock sneered, "we find time for a little fun, huh Chance?"

They all laughed again, and Brock went on without missing a beat.

"Speaking of fun, you guys up for some? I got some cold ones in the Jeep and a half-bag of pot. You dudes seem pretty chill. You like to party?"

Troy and Ash looked at each other, as wide-eyed as eight-year-olds on Christmas morning.

"Hell, yeah!" Ash cried, beside himself at the thought of partying for a while with two of the coolest, most awesome-looking college guys he'd ever met.

"Cool," said Brock smoothly, keeping his eyes on the prize, visualizing his hard, dripping cock pumping away at Troy's tight young swimmer's ass. "You studs got a car, or you wanna just ride with us?"

"Ride with you, for sure," Troy said. "We came here with some friends. I'll go tell 'em we're takin' off."

He ran off while Ash stayed behind, trying to process this wonderful turn of events. Guys like this -older, in-shape, and athletic - were Ash's role-models. He knew he had a good body, and he wanted to figure out how to train it even better. These studs might have some tips for him. Especially since they were obviously natural body-builders. Their incredibly buff physiques had none of that puffy hugeness of steroids. They were just solid muscle, beautifully-defined and hard-packed. The kind of guy Ash idolized in the fitness mags he studied. The kind of bare-chested sports studs and hip hop stars whose posters were plastered all over his bedroom. It was one thing to look at pictures of such incredible muscle, it was another thing to see it carved to perfection right in front of you like this. What a rush; he just hoped he wouldn't stare too much - though it sure was hard not to.

Plus, he wanted to hang with these dudes cause he was just so much more comfortable around guys than girls. He hadn't been all that keen on cruising chicks with his buddies, the original plan for the day; he was nervous and uncomfortable around them. When he'd spotted Chance and Brock, he took the muscles-studs' appearance as an excuse to drift away from the crowd he was with, and he was glad his best bud, Troy, had joined him. He caught sight of Chance and Brock drifting through the crowd almost instantly - he just had a knack for zeroing in on good-looking, well-built guys, it seemed. Kinda like a radar. It was weird, though, you'd think he'd be keyed up for all the fine young women around here, spilling out of their bikinis, but it was the hot-lookin' guys he couldn't take his eyes off. That was typical for Ash; he was a real student of the male physique. He thought a well-developed male body was awesome - especially really ripped guys like Chance and Brock; they were so amazing, it made his head swim. Fuck, as embarrassed as it made him, a good-lookin' stud's cut body could even get him hard. Something he'd never admit to anyone: once, while searching the internet for fitness and muscle sites, he came across this incredible site, with pictures of all naked body-builders. Ash got hard almost immediately, as soon as he realized what he stumbled onto. It only took him about four or five photos before he creamed all over his desk in the most awesome orgasm of his young life. He bookmarked the site and he's been using it to get off for the past couple of months. But, shit, there was nothing wrong with a same-sex fantasy, everyone did it. And he knew his obsession with really built guys was just because he was so damn interested in getting that look himself. And besides, when really hot muscle guys were nude, you could really study the definition way better, all over, ass too. Now he knew what a really well-developed ass was supposed to look like - the fitness mags never showed you that. And damn, he thought sheepishly, thinking of the inch or so of Brock's prick he saw earlier, guys' dicks are pretty fuckin' awesome. Nothin' weird about appreciating a well-built human body, is there?

Troy, meanwhile, found his friends and gave them the word that they were splitting. When his friends found out it was those cool college guys they were leaving to party with, they were totally jealous.

"You guys gonna go chase some sorority tail or somethin'?" Jamie asked.

"Hope so," Troy smiled, then headed back to join Ash and the others. Fuck, he sure as hell hoped they were gonna go cruise some college-age women. Cause he could really use some serious sex. He'd been sort of striking out a lot the past few months. Oh, he had dates, and he'd already been laid a few times, but it wasn't sizzling like he wanted it to be, like he figured it was supposed to be. His latest - well, he couldn't call her a 'conquest,' exactly; one-night stand, maybe? - had been fairly fucked-up. She was a sophomore he met at a late-summer house party, who claimed she thought he was gorgeous. So they went upstairs and found an empty room, but when they got down to serious shit, she was zero enthused. It was all 'let's do it,' then pffftt, that's it. No foreplay, and none of the after-sex shit Troy always begged for. He suggested a blow-job, which drew a curt refusal, and then when he begged her to play with his ass, she screwed her face up, got dressed, and headed back down to the party. Troy figured she just wanted to boast to her girl-friends about how she'd bagged a swim stud.

Damn, what was up with these women, he wondered. Very few girls gave him oral sex, and all who did were clearly not into it. Almost every girl took one look at his uncut cock, which Troy thought looked pretty hot, and either made a face or asked what was wrong with it. It was fucking embarrassing. Troy wanted his cock sucked so bad; he wanted it made love to, licked up and down, kissed, swirled around, sucked some more; he wanted a girl to lap up his precum, then look up at him and smile, like a sweet, sexy slut, before she devoured his meat; he wanted his balls licked, too, and sucked and tongued all over.

And then, what he really wanted - he wanted a girl to trail down to that sweet spot under his balls, lick around there for a while, and then get serious in his ass. Fuck, his ass was so damn sensitive. He loved playing with it himself. It got him so fucking hard to work one spit-slobbered finger in, then another, then another, just dig arond in that hole, stretch out the warm wet walls of his chute. With one hand he'd jerk his hard cock, then with the other he'd dig until he found that hard little place that seemed to make his cock grow another inch. Then fuck would he shoot. Nothing like ass-play, he was fucking addicted to it: shit, sometimes he'd even get so horny from ass-play, he'd think about buying a dildo to use on himself. That was nuts, of course, but it showed what an erogenous fuckin zone his butt-hole was.

There was one girl, in the summer before sophomore year, who turned him on to how sensitive his ass was. They were making out at her house one night, and she jacked him off a little, then let her little fingers wander down under his cock, and trail into his ass-crack. Troy was a little freaked, but it felt so damn good, her rubbing up and down in his smooth, tight crack with her soft little fingers. Then she started really teasing around down there, poking at his little pucker, laughing. He watched as she brought the finger she'd been teasing his hole with up to her mouth, licked it slow and sensual, like a fifty dollar whore, and then started working the tip slowly but surely into his damn hole! "What the fuck!" he yelled, and his body jerked up. But she kissed his lower abs tenderly, stroked his rock-hard cock gently, and said, "Just wait, you'll see," then kept working her finger in so soft and slow.

Soon, Troy couldn't help himself; he started purring like a cat and getting harder than he'd ever been. His young, hard body writhed on the bed, a slave to the girl's touch. Now he felt like the slut, but he loved it. The girl just smiled this sexy, sly smile, and then really started really playing with his ass, sticking the finger in deeper, fishing it around, sticking two fingers in. She'd bring them out, lick them sexily, then work them back in. "AW FUCK," Troy remembered yelling, "DON'T FUCKING STOP!!" He wriggled his ass hard against her, ashamed to show his need, but desperate for her to satisfy this new, burning itch. Fuck, he thought, as he used his hips to hungrily fuck her hard little fingers, he wished she'd stick more fingers in, or something bigger, longer, and harder in, so it could really fill his tingling ass.

She kept working his ass, pulling it further open. And then, holy shit, through his deep fog of lust, he felt her finger pull out, and the emptiness overwhelmed him. He was about to cry out when he felt her come back in. "OH YEAH," he sighed, happy again. The finger she brought in this time felt really great - it was all wet and thick, and it moved like a little snake in his burning desire-hole. Then he realized, with a mix of passion and awe, that it was her tongue she was working around up there, and he went nuts. He reached down and grabbed the back of her head and pressed it firm, so she'd know not to take that tongue out. About thirty seconds later, he emptied out about a gallon of cream all over them both.

And then what the fuck happened? She and her family moved to New Hampshire about a week later. Best fucking sex he'd ever had in his life, hands down. Shit, he thought, there's got to be more hot sex like that out there. And maybe these college-jock super-studs know just how to help him find it.

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