Alien Culture

The Alien Culture Project, part 23 By Rio Mack

DISCLAIMER: The following contains depictions of gay sex.

Tag poured a small glass of cognac for each of them. Chance proposed a toast to Tag, to a life full of love and pleasure. Tag smiled shyly, blushing. As he sipped, he couldn't take his eyes of Chance's gorgeous body. To be able to hang with a naked dude like this, stare unashamedly at his muscular perfection - Tag could barely believe it. It felt so wonderfully right.

He reached down and, fingers trembling with excitement, took Chance's achingly luscious cock in his hand. It wasn't the Courvoisier that had his mind in a reel: he was awhirl with the awesome thrill of another boy's thick cock in his hand, so warm, full of life and power, probably the most sensuous thing he'd ever touched. He was getting totally off on the feel of that thick, fleshy rod. Damn, could your hands be an erogenous zone, he wondered? Probably - if they were filled with such a hot throbbing hunk of thick, veiny jock-cock.

His fingers played over Chance's semi-hard shaft lightly, in almost stunned delight, still hardly daring believe what he was doing. He traced the thick foreskin that hooded that big, barely exposed cock-tip. How fucking beautiful. The shaft was so solid and meaty. He ran his nervously delighted hands over those beautifully lickable veins. The excited tingle in his fingers coursed right on through his whole body, electrifying him with a warm, sensual hum of pleasure; it was like having seductive hands caressing his libido. He didn't want to stop until he made this gorgeous cock strain, pulse, and shoot. His own cock grew thick and lusty at the thought. He wanted to feel Chance's dick right up against his own, so he eased closer and took both their young cocks in his hands, squeezing them close, fondling them, almost ready to squeal in the outrageous amazement of what he was doing.

Chance's beautifully cut frame swayed in blissful pleasure at his new friend's sex-play. It further inflamed Tag's passion to watch that awesomely chiseled bulk subtly tense and ripple in sensuous delight as he played with their dicks. Then Chance put his glass down, kissed Tag, and grabbed the boy's stiffening prick in his own hand. Immediately, Tag's cock perked up in delight; it rose full-mast at the sensual thrill of Chance's large, athletic hand lustily massaging its sensitive length.

Tag moaned in the passionate splendor of pure masculine pleasure - God, this was fucking sex! The kind of sheer male sensuality he'd craved for so damn long. He kept stroking Chance's huge pulsating shaft with one hand, letting the other rub all over that incredible eight-pack. The feel of another dude's hand on his own randy cock while he was able to worship that dude's sexy hardness was mind-boggling. It might just be foreplay, but it was a hundred times more exciting than anything he'd ever done with a girl. The amount of pleasure that two hot boys could bring each other seemed limitless to him now.

Chance took another sip and let the warm brandy play on his tongue as he reveled in the sweet blossoming of Tag's hungry new sexuality. The boy had such sure instincts; he was clearly hard-wired for gay sex, for knew just what got another boy off. Tag's tingly stroke up and down his stiff shaft was heavenly, a wondrous mixture of teasing delicacy and wanton lust, and the fingers of his other hand were making love to his hard abs, tracing the shape of Tag's smoldering boy-lust across his hard, chiseled slab. Chance's own fingers danced deliciously up and down the perfectly shaped shaft of Tag's smooth hardness.

"Oh fuck, dude," Tag moaned softly, "this is so fuckin' hot. Damn, man, I just wanna do shit like this all the time now." He began to tickle Chance's smooth, pendulous ballsac, mesmerized by the hiccupy twitching of that thick, massive, foreskin-covered shaft as it responded to his ball-play.

Chance drained the last of his drink and then, the last remnant of his conscious mind kicked in, reminding him of the time, and he regretfully yanked his hands away from this sweetly erotic boy-play, since Reed was due in less than a half hour.

"Damn," he said, catching his breath, "I'd love another go-round with this luscious cock o' yours, Tag. But I gots ta get ready for my big date. Plus, don't you gotta find someone to take your extra ticket?"

"Fuck," said Tag, crestfallen and a little irritated at the too-abrupt interruption to his newly-budding passion, "I guess so."

"But ya know what," Chance added, treating himself to some more luscious strokes on Tag's long, smooth shaft, "you should drop by to Kyle's room after the dance thing tonight. Me & Reed'll be there, along with Kyle's boyfriend Tommy, and you've never seen four hornier, better-looking horndogs all in one place, I guaran-fucking-tee ya. Stop in for some fun. A good romp in the hay with four other dudes is a great way to put your ass to bed for the night, believe me." He was thinking of how soundly he slept that night at Wyatt's.

"If you swing by, it'll gimme a chance fer a rain check on this perfect piece of meat you been blessed with. Fuck, I gotta feel this beauty up my ass, Tag. So damn smooth," he added, stroking it hard and firm and longingly now, as if he might squeeze the cum right out of it, "bet it just slides right up. And so damn long, it'd really fill up a tight, hungry hole like mine."

"Oh yeah, dawg. Mmmm, fuck, that big fuckin' hand of yours feels so fuckin' fine on my dick." Tag loved being able to engage in this nasty sex-talk with another dude. It was more than just the rush of talking dirty: it was finally being able to give voice to his deepest desires - frankly, shamelessly. As his ridiculously stiff cock continued to tingle in Chance's grasp, he reached behind and grooved the wrestler's solid glutes with his long fingers. "And, damn, would I ever like to sink my cock into this incredible ass of yours, Chance. You are such a fucking hunk, dude."

Chance purred, "Mmmmm, don't worry, dude. You'll have plenty of chances from now on to pleasure my ass with this sweet cock o' yours. Fuck, bro, I can hardly wait."

Then he reluctantly broke away again from the quicksand of boy-lust sucking them seductively back down. He gave Tag a quick peck on the lips and said, tenderly, "Welcome to the brotherhood, dawg. OK, now I gotta get my ass dressed!"

"Hey, which room's Kyle's?" Tag asked, still a little disappointed their lust had to end for now, but more than soothed by the promise of a late-night session of hard, athletic sex with a roomful of gorgeous young jocks

"It's the one right next to mine. Hey, how 'bout I run and get my duds, then come back and change here with you? That ways you can lemme know if I'm dressed OK for the dance concert."

"Cool!" Tag said, excitedly. The he just indulged in the sheer erotic beauty of Chance's awesomely sculpted back and ass muscles, flexing and rippling, as the breath-taking hunk sauntered back to his room.

He stood outside his door and savored his high. How cool it was that Chance was coming back here to change! Tag was anxious to hang out more with his beautiful new friend. Anxious, too, to do something like get dressed with another dude, and talk about clothes and shit. Call me gay . . . Tag laughed to himself, but that kind of masculine intimacy was a big part of what he'd been craving. Sex was incredible, sure, but he also liked just being with guys, watching them, talking with them, being close to them. It would be so cool to watch Chance dress, to dress in front of him, to give each other advice about clothes and grooming, maybe try on each other's clothes. Fuck, he grinned, all of a sudden his life seemed to fit him just right, like some instantly comfortable pair of shoes he'd just stepped into for the first time. Energy coursed through him; his world felt absolutely perfect - rich, exciting, glittering with possibilities.

It was like he'd finally found himself in the right mix, a part of the right group. What did Chance call it just now? 'The brotherhood'? Fuck, was he ever glad to be a member. A warm rush of pride shot through him: he was so damn pleased with himself that he was able to summon up enough courage to knock on Chance's door. He'd been terrified to do it; it took incredible nerve to steel himself for it, but it was like a roller coaster: that scary first hill, knots in your stomach, then - whooosh! - the ride of your life. Damn, his sex-life had finally taken off! A zillion times better than even his most fevered late-night stroke-fantasies.

But then Tag remembered the annoying little problem he had to solve. He idly stroked his semi-soft dick as he thought about whom to give his extra ticket to. He wanted it to be a gay dude, of course, someone who'd be on the same wavelength as him, totally turned on by a performance that would be just dripping with homoeroticism. And preferably someone hot-looking, he laughed to himself, as his dick twitched and hardened in anticipation. Maybe Chance knew someone?

Still stroking himself, and leaning against the door-frame, he nodded to a couple of naked jocks leaving the shower room, dicks dangling to and fro as they walked, one guy semi-hard. Almost no one wore a towel wrapped around his waist any more in the hallway. Chance's Brotherhood had made it cool for guys to show off their well-worked bodies; as well, they'd removed the stigma of shame from indulging in the basic male desire to check each other's equipment out. They'd even made it OK to sport the stiff, aroused prick one might get as a result of exposure to all this raw male beauty. So Tag did a quick stare at the two boys' packages before they passed him: one thick, cut; the other a little thinner, uncut; each about six or seven inches, and both with nice bushes, all clean and frizzy from their shower, and set off nicely by their smooth bodies. Mmmmm, he'd like to invite them both in and get to know those cocks a little better.

Tag kept staring lustily as he watched the two walk the length of the hall. One guy had a beautifully smooth bubble-butt. Tag licked his lips, savoring that luscious ass; it meant something real to him now, not just an unattainable fantasy. He almost felt like giving out with a low whistle and a "Nice fuckin' ass, bro!" but he thought that might be pushing it. So, he was content to stroke himself even more erotically as he imagined plowing that sweet ass.

He watched a couple minutes later as Chance emerged from his room, arms full of clothes, his long cock waggling sexily as he strode the length of the hall. Fuck, what a hot stud! Tag wanted nothing more than to throw the boy down on his bed and get his lips around that fine-ass piece of jock meat. Down, boy, he told himself. You got a whole life ahead of you now.

A quick kiss as Chance pulled up in front of Tag's room. Then Tag cupped one of Chance's hard, chiseled glutes as he led him through the door. Back in Tag's room, Chance threw his clothes on a chair, then started to dress. He began by stepping into and pulling up the beautifully form-fitting jockstrap he was wearing earlier, when Tag first called on him. Tag's mouth grew thick with saliva as he savored again how tight it hugged the muscle-stud's juicy package, how awesome his thick length looked outlined in the pouch's thin weave, how sexy it looked to see that form-fitting band hug his narrow waist.

"Hey, Chance," he asked, clearing his lust-coated throat, his eyes riveted on Chance's mesh-covered horse-cock, "you know anyone who'd like to use this other ticket of mine? Someone cool, who might, uh, you know, kinda be into a dude like me?"

Chance idly rubbed his straining jock-pouch as he thought about it (which filled Tag's groin with a warm wonderfulness). Kyle and Tommy had very definite plans with each other tonight, he knew. There was Brock, of course.

"Gimme your cell, I'll call my friend Brock Sears. He's captain of our wrestling team. Christ, he is one built stud, Tag. You'd dig him. Plus, he's got a real roguish sense of humor."

Tag was excited at the thought of hooking up with any hot, good-looking boy who met with Chance's approval. Fuck, he thought, in a kind of sweet, slow ecstasy: there were so many hot young gay dudes on campus, and now he was on the prowl. Shit, he could start cruising guys now, coming on to them. He thought of this gorgeous stud in his math class, the guy was like a male model and definitely gave off a gay vibe. Tag licked his lips. He felt like a lean, hungry, young wolf; his cock felt all thick and ready to rock.

Brock answered on the fourth ring, and Chance smiled and shook his head when he heard his friend sheepishly confess where he was and why he'd have to pass on the invite: turns out Troy and Ash had called him almost the minute he'd gotten back to his dorm.

"What can I say?" Brock laughed, and Chance could hear the two teens shouting and guffawing in the background. "They claimed they were lonely in this big old house all by themselves! Said they wanted Ol' Brockie to come back and tuck them in!"

"'TUCK,' Brock? D'I hear you right? 'TUCK'? Was that the word?" Chance just guffawed as he flipped Tag's cell closed. Those two high-schoolers sure were learning fast; damn, Brock's in for quite a night. So are Troy and Ash, for that matter.

"Sorry, dawg, that was my ace in the hole. There's a couple other dudes I know, but I ain't never got their phone numbers. I suppose we could try and find 'em. Not really sure how. Shame, though, there ain't a bulletin board or a website or somethin' you could make the announcement on, that you got a spare ticket to this sold-out show. Some kinda site that hot young college dudes check out."

"Chance, you're a genius!" Tag cried out, and he raced to his computer. He'd been logging on to the Gay Student Union website every so often for months now, checking out the news, imagining the lifestyle, reading the personals from gorgeous young college boys, looking at their photos, daydreaming, fantasizing a relationship with another dude. So he knew there was a bulletin board on the site for just this kind of announcement. He quickly posted his message: "BOYZ WHO DIG DANCE!!!! URGENT!!!! I have one extra ticket for the Josh Turner Co. 2nite @ 8:30. Call IMMEDIATELY if interested," and he left the number of his cell phone.

"Hope it works," Chance said, as he pulled up his jeans. Tag loved the way Chance wore them, low on his hip, letting the waistband of his jock show, as well as his beautifully sexy hipbones. He couldn't help himself: he walked over, nuzzled up behind his new friend, shoved his jutting cock between those rock-hard black-denim-clad ass-cheeks, and let his fingers play over Chance's lusciously sculpted torso - his pecs, nips, abs, obliques, even reaching under his jock to feel the sexy stubble of those newly-trimmed pubes. While his fingers luxuriated in the young god's male perfection, he kissed him passionately all over his neck and head, letting his lips and tongue make love to that perfectly-buzzed head.

"Shit, dawg, you're so fucking gorgeous, Chance. I just can't keep my hands off you!"

"Mmmmm," said Chance, loving the feel of Tag roaming all around his bulging muscles, loving that hot breath and those hot lips all over his fresh cut, loving the feel of that long hard cock wedged in his ass, loving the feel of his own cock swelling ripe and ready in its tight pouch. "You feel so damn nice, Tag. Fuck, bro, you are just hot as hell when it comes to sex. Takes my fuckin' breath away, dawg."

The picture of the two of them - young, athletic boys; letting their physical passion spill and slosh with innocent abandon - was like a gay variant on a Degas pastel, a scene of tender, male intimacy, bursting with muscular eroticism. Suddenly, Tag's ringtone blurted out a rude interruption to that tenderly boyish scene.

"Damn!" Chance said, impressed. "If that's someone for the ticket, I call that fucking service!"

Sure enough, there was an excited young boy's voice on the other end, ecstatic over the opportunity to see Josh Turner.

"I'm a dance major! This is soooo incredible, man! I can't believe it! I'll pay whatever you want, I'm just so fucking anxious to be able to see them for the first time!"

"No charge, dude. They were a gift, so I'm not out any money. I just didn't want the ticket to go to waste."

"UNREAL! Then you gotta at least let me buy you a drink afterward!"

"Deal!" said Tag.

"Hey," said the excited boy, a little shyly now, "how're you gettin' there? I mean, you wanna maybe hook up and go together?"

"Definitely!" said Tag, trying to control his excitement. It was turning into the blind date he'd been hoping for. Fuck, he thought, my first real date with another guy. It was thrilling. He told the young caller - whose name was David Humboldt - where he lived.

"I'm just gettin' dressed now for the show. You know where my residence hall is?"

"Oh yeah," David laughed - he had such a light, cool voice, Tag thought. Way sexy. "I think I can find it."

"Cool, see ya soon. I'll leave the door open, in case I have to run to the bathroom. Just come on in when you get here."

"Well that sure worked," Chance said, as he pulled his tight black shirt on.

"No shit," Tag said, opening his dorm room door a crack for David Humboldt. "Hey, hope this guy is good-looking. He's a dance major, he says. Most of those boys are pretty gorgeous, aren't they? Damn, Chance, I'm so excited!"

Chance stared at himself in Tag's mirror. Tight, low pants, his jock very sexily visible, and the long-sleeved T was smaller, tighter, sexier than he'd remembered. It scooped down low around his neck, baring his beautifully articulated collarbones; the body-hugging tightness of the T showed every tempting curve and mound on his torso. His nipples jutted out lusciously; he squeezed them a little to make them stand out even more. And he rubbed the inch-and-a-half of hard, cut abs left bare between the bottom of his shirt and the top of his jockstrap.

He turned to Tag, who had thrown on a pair of loose-fitting khaki cargo pants - no underwear - and a small, tight, striped polo.

"Hey, you look great, bro. Real preppy and sexy." He mussed Tag's spiky blonde hair a little to make him look even sexier. "All you need is one o' them cool necklace things; those look so fucking hot, especially when a dude is naked. Hey, whaddya think of this outfit? Be honest."

Tag gazed up and down at Chance, drinking in that incredible body, sexy as hell in jock, jeans, and that shirt so tight it begged your gaze to dwell on firm, cut muscles and hard, pointy nipples.

"Too much, dude. Sexy as hell. But wait. I got something for you," and he went to his closet and took out a black leather motorcycle jacket.

"Here, dawg. Try this one. Cynthia bought it for me at a thrift shop a while back, but I was never really able to pull off the look. Bet you can. If it fits you, and you like it, it's yours."

Chance turned the leather over in his hands. It looked wonderful. It brought to mind the chest harness he wore at Wyatt & Jesse's place. Derrick's biker jacket and chaps. His cool leather vest, which used to be his most badass look up till now. Even the leather cockring Reed got him. Fuck, leather was such a turn-on for him.

He put the jacket on and looked in the mirror. Shit, did he look hot. Like some kind of sensitive, soulful, outlaw-poet; some hip, young, rough-trade stud. Like those Tom of Finland cartoons in Reed's stroke books, the ones that always got him so damn hard. He ran his hands up and down his leather-clad torso. It felt so fucking fine, the big chrome zippers punctuating the supple smoothness. He wanted to wear this with Reed tonight, just this and a jock. Fuck, would Reed be creaming like crazy; he could drive his lover wild in a get-up like that. Then he'd lay the jacket down - maybe his jeans would be on the bed, too - and they'd fuck on a bed of leather and denim. He got hard just thinking about it. He bent his head down and smelled it. Ooooh, yeah. He'd wear cologne if he could find a scent like that. This was the distilled essence of man-sex, pure and simple, a very heady aroma

"God damn!" Tag moaned. "That thing was made for you!"

He quickly pulled his own shirt off and stepped out of his pants, then snuggled his naked firmness up against Chance again.

"You look fucking incredible," he said softly, resuming his position - dick pistoning the hard, denim-clad mounds of Chance's ass, his hungry mouth playing over that sexily-buzzed head, his eager hands wandering everywhere, rubbing his nakedness up against that leather-clad stud. Quickly, he tore off the motorcycle jacket. Then he stripped off Chance's tight shirt, unzipped his pants, lowered them, and dug his hand into that straining jock pouch to lift out that thick, hot hunk of boy-flesh. "So, where were we, bro? It's gonna take that dude about fifteen minutes to get here, I figure. Now just what the fuck do you suppose two horny guys can do in fifteen minutes without their clothes on, hmmm?"

"Aw shit, Tag. Better not start, I - aw fuck!" His mind tried to keep it together and do the math - how soon till Reed got here? - but it was useless. Tag was thrusting his hard, jutting cock up and down in Chance's jockstrapped crack, dry-humping him with a desperately hungry insistence, while his hands were all over that glorious chest. He tweaked those hard, meaty nipples, and then played over Chance' rippling washboard. He could let his hand wander over that massive slab all day - it was so fucking sensuous, like running your hands over hard, warm marble. Tag could feel the awesome power coiled up in there and it made his dick harder, so he mashed it longingly into Chance's hard, firm ass. His other hand pushed the jock down, fitting the band under Chance's ripe, floppy nutsac, so he could lavish all his lust on that gorgeous hunk of jock-meat. His fingers teased over the honey-glazed cock-head, working in under the hood and into the piss-slit, ferreting out every drop of precum. He brought his finger to his lips and sucked it dry. All the while his hips worked his long, wet, randy cock up and down in Chance's crack, in a ceaseless rhythm that wore the young jock-stud down. Chance's ass was screaming now to be fucked by that sleek, smooth beauty.

"Damn, Tag," Chance moaned breathlessly, knees weak, "you sure as fuck know how to turn a guy on. Fuck, you got me dripping! Oh, fuckin' yeah, dude. Go for it, dude! Fill my ass with that sweet fucking cock!"

"Fuck, bro, you've got the hottest fucking body I've ever seen," Tag moaned with the deep, husky panting of sheer lust, one hand rubbing those lean, hard lower abs, the other on his own long wet shaft, guiding it into his first boy's ass, and what a luscious fucking boy he was. He was so excited, he thought he might shoot before he got halfway in. "Shit, Chance, I'm gonna fuck this sweet ass of yours till you - "

The door to Tag's dorm room suddenly flew open.

"Hi, it's me, David. I - " and the intruder froze at the scene in front of him.

"What the - !!??" Tag screamed, pulling out and stepping from behind Chance, not even caring that he was naked, with a long, wet, painfully stiff hard-on jutting up and sproinging fiercely between his legs. Tag was incensed at having his delicious prize snatched away at the last second. He had to see just who the fuck was entering his room at such an in-fucking-opportune time.

Then, like his new guest, he stopped short, looking into the face of an amazingly sensuous boy. He had fair features, delicately outlined. A pale, smooth complexion, made even sexier by the light beard-stubble dotting his handsome face, and dark, intense eyes. His chestnut-brown hair was longish, very stylish, very much a dashing young artist's look. His build - in the too-small, tight-fitting, sleeveless shirt and beautifully faded, thigh-hugging jeans he wore - was lean and muscular. Tag brazenly glanced to the boy's groin and saw a nice thick cock outlined in those tight, worn jeans. He noticed, too, a thick black leather belt with a cool-looking, ornate silver buckle. Raking his gaze up over that shrink-wrapped torso he could excitedly make out nipple rings on the boy's pecs. Then he stared up into those dark, flashing eyes, almost hypnotized.

The boy at the door was mind-boggled, too, with the lust-vision that greeted him: a smooth, gorgeously lean muscle boy, nude, with an utterly perfect cock he wanted to just get down and begin sucking immediately - it was so hard, so long, so smooth, and just gushing precum. You couldn't design a more luscious mouthful. The honey-smeared head was a small tip that just begged to be tongued and teased, and the shaft could keep you busy for days. The whole gorgeous shaft perched atop two large, perfectly-shaped balls, covered in a nice sack of pink skin. And capping it off was a wispy little blonde puff of pubic hair. He gazed up and down the boy's lean, taut body, sculpted to mouth-watering perfection. A simmer's build, it looked like to David, the muscles long and lusciously stretched out. He stared at that smooth, wiry torso so long it was as if he was trying to commit it to memory. Suddenly, though, this body seemed somehow incredibly familiar, as if he'd already memorized it before. But how, where . . . ? He tried to think.

Tag's voice broke the spell. "Uh, s - sorry, bro. Can I, uh, help you with something? You looking for a room or - ?"

The boy swallowed, nervous with lust. He was so hoping he'd gotten the room number right, that this was the boy who had the extra dance ticket. "I - I'm David. David Humboldt. The dance concert?"

Tag was still mesmerized. The boy had such fine, smooth skin. Gorgeous lips. He looked like a fine porcelain figure, perfectly molded - only not delicate at all, but rugged, manly, handsome. His raw, carved arm muscles, sensuously displayed by his sleeveless shirt, bulged obscenely. Not just the upper arms, which lots of dudes could get to pop out, but the forearms, too - and all up and down trailed those long, luscious veins, begging to be licked. Shit, does this guy ever work out: those guns looked absolutely scrumptious.

"Dance concert?" Tag said, dumb-founded with desire. He could feel his dick throbbing and jerking; he could feel the glob of oozed-out precum; he could see this dreamy young hunk's eyes riveted on it - but he was too damn smitten to care. Those eyes, so dark and soulful and flashing; there seemed like a real spirit-spark behind them. This was one of the most desirable dudes he'd ever seen.

"I called about the extra ticket," the young adonis was saying, though Tag's ears were barely registering. "Like about two minutes ago? We were gonna go together?"

"Damn, Tag!" Chance bellowed, stowing his thick cock back in his jock and pulling up his jeans. "Put yer fuckin' tongue back in your mouth and show the dude in! He's yer goddamn date fer tonight!"

An exciting warmth filled David all over. This gorgeous young jock-vision WAS the guy with the Josh Turner ticket. Hot fucking damn! Relieved, he regained a measure of composure and sized up the scene: these boys - dorm fuck-buddies, no doubt (would that David had one!) - must have thought they'd had enough time for a quick one before he arrived. So his date is highly sexed; isn't that funny? Cause so was he. Shit, he thought, now turning his attention to Chance, what a couple of total hotties. Don't suppose there's time for a quick three-way, he mused, his dick bulging bigger in his tight jeans at the mere idea. His gaze returned to the lean, luscious naked boy, his new lust-object. Why did he look so familiar?

"How the fuck'd'you get here so fast?" Tag asked, still struggling to get his bearings.

"Oh," David laughed. "I live in this dorm, too. First floor. Couldn't believe when you said it was where you lived, too. Quel coincidence, huh? Not sure why they have dance majors living in the athletes' dorm, but I sure as hell ain't complaining. Never been around this much grade-A top sirloin in my life." His lewd gaze shifted back and forth between these two studs, one nude, the other semi-nude, and he licked his lips. "Present company most definitely included."

Tag, suddenly self-conscious, grabbed Chance's shirt from the chair and covered his groin.

"Sorry, dawg," Chance said, ripping the shirt right away and re-exposing Tag's gorgeous cock, "I gotta get dressed and jet. Reed's probably standing outside my dorm right now, pissed as hell."

He extended a hand to the boy at the door, "I'm Chance Taylor, David. Friend o' Tag's. Pleased to meet ya. I live right down the hall. My boyfriend and I'll be at the show tonight, too. We'll catch you there. I'm lookin' forward to it. Ain't never really seen dance up close like this."

While he was chatting amiably, he hurriedly put on his shirt, socks, and pulled on his boots. Then he grabbed the leather jacket. He gave Tag a quick kiss and stroked that sweet, smooth cock.

"See ya later, dawg," he added softly. Then he turned to David. "Hey, bro. Like I told Tag, there's a kinda little X-rated after-party at my friend Kyle's room later tonight. Right down the hall there. 'Round elevenish. Just me and three other hot, horny dudes. Basically, we're a buncha young-hung-and-fulla-cum muscle-studs who love to get our rocks off with each other. If yer into after-hours dorm-room fun, drop by with Tag."

And finally, he bolted.

As Chance walked down the hall toward his dorm, relieved not to see Reed fuming in front of his door, he thought about Tag and grinned. Another incredibly hot young dude has joined the 'brotherhood,' as he now thought of it. This ad-hoc club of hot, horny dudes who'd pushed their friendship up a few notches to encompass this most joyous, elemental, intimate celebration of masculine need. His cock got hard thinking of how great he and his friends had it. All dudes needed something like this. At first he thought he'd try to rattle off in his mind all the official members, but then he gave up. He'd figure it out tomorrow and email them all an invitation to Wyatt's party this week-end; that would serve as the club's first official all-members get-together. Fuck, how hot was that gonna be?

Damn, he mused, letting the recent scene in Tag's room replay in his mind, I hope he and that David hit it off. What a fucking build on that dude. Not huge, but scuplted to cock-hardening perfection. Those perfectly carved arms; Chance found himself mentally tracing each ripped line of the bicep, tricep, and all the forearm muscles! How sweet if he dropped by tonight, too! He could feel his dick tingle and swell. It felt so fine as it hardened, the tight mesh pouch of his jock like a hungry, insistent hand, holding and caressing his thick young meat, firmly and lovingly. His balls, too, felt full and heavy. All that sexy flirting with Tag had gotten his boy-juice churning. That, and thinking about seeing Reed soon, being together at this dance concert which was supposed to be hot as hell for guys into dudes. Shit, by the time he gets to Tommy & Kyle's, he'll probably have about a half-gallon of cum churned up to shoot. He rubbed his hand over his ripe, juicy ballsac as he stood outside his dorm-room, letting his finger play down in his ass-crack. Goddamn, did he like being a boy!

He left the door open, threw his new jacket on the chair and waited for his fella; he was still on a testosterone buzz, feeling frisky as hell. It seemed like he'd always been a highly-sexed boy, ever since puberty. But before, it'd just been endless bouts of masturbation in the bathroom, the barn, the fields, the quarry, or his bedroom; now he had real outlets for his deep sexual needs: he had a string of gorgeous young partners - and a lover - to consummate his needs. He suddenly remembered those comments his folks used to make during his high school years, when they could see Chance wasn't dating much.

"A boy's gotta sow his wild oats, Chance," his dad would say. "Ya can't keep yer juices all pent up; t'ain't natural, boy."

"You need to play the field, son. Get some experience," his mom would add.

He grinned. Sure as hell was playin' the field now, sowing all the wild oats his healthy young 'nads could whip up in a day. Though, he smiled, maybe not gettin' quite the kind of experience his mom intended. Then he thought about his dad again - who he knew now was gay. Hell, he couldn't remember ever seeing his mom and dad in any sort of romantic mood. And they never hugged or kissed. His mom probably knew about her husband and 'Uncle' Bill. She was probably OK with it - farm life, after all, is a series of necessary compromises. So, yeah, his dad for sure knew all about the kind of wild oats he needed to sow, the juices he needed to let flow. Cause maybe it's not just boys who need to sow those oats, maybe guys keep sowing 'em for a long time. Not just his dad, look at Wyatt.

Fuck, was he horny to see Reed. He tried on his jacket again, in front of the mirror, and posed while he waited.

Back in Tag's room, the young swimmer had settled down and quickly donned his cargo pants and polo, while introducing himself properly to David. Both boys were trying to hide their enthusiasm at scoring a perfect "10" in the blind date department. As he kept up a light banter about how great the previous performance of Josh Turner's company was, Tag rummaged around his dresser drawer, found his leather necklace, and tied it around his neck. Chance was right. It looked way cool.

David, too, was keeping up witty, pleasant conversation, all the while studying this beautiful young jock. With his clothes on, his body no longer teased David into trying to remember where he'd seen it before.

At a lull in the conversation, as Tag searched for his wallet and keys, David made more small-talk, "So, 'Tag Malone,' that's kind of a funny - TAG MALONE! Damn! Of course! THAT's where I've seen you! UNREAL! You're Tag Malone! The Golden Boy! That incredible photo of you in the student newspaper a couple weeks ago!"

Tag turned and blushed.

"That photo is gonna follow me to my grave," he laughed, a little sheepishly, but secretly very pleased David remembered it. The photo was a full-page shot of him naked, twisting sideways, most of his front to the camera, so you could see his lean, lightly rippling torso, but not his cock, and then the silhouette of his smooth, bare ass. The twisting turn really set off his abs. The image had been Photoshopped and run in bright gold, a rare color cover for the student paper. The whole thing was the idea of this really cool-looking photographer the paper sent over, along with a reporter, to get a story on his team's upcoming season. "Swim Team Season: Naked Desire for Gold" was the headline that ran with the article, which previewed his team as well as the rest of the conference, and analyzed their chances. Tag felt a little surprised he'd been picked for the photo that accompanied the article - he was a top swimmer in the conference, sure, but by no means the best. But the photographer studied all the top swimmers on the team and decided on Tag. They did the nude photo-shoot in the locker room. The dude took a lot of photos, and Tag was embarrassed at how badly he boned up during the shoot - that photographer, so damn cute, had almost immediately taken his shirt off, complaining of the heat in the locker room, and damn did he have a good body. But it was all good; Tag had to admit the photo that ultimately ran made him look very hot. And jeez, the endless ribbing - and compliments - he'd gotten from it since then.

"I ripped it out and tacked it on my wall. Bet every other gay boy on campus did, too. What a hot fucking photo, Tag! You are just gorgeous!" David decided not to tell Tag that he'd stroked off to that photo on more than once occasion.

Now it was Tag's turn to flirt: "Dude, don't tell anyone, but you're kind of fairly unbelievable-looking yourself. Fuck, do you ever look good in that tight T. Shit," and now he was letting his bold fingers graze up and down, "you have the most incredible arms I've ever seen."

"Wait'll you see the rest of me," David smiled and, just as bold, leaned in for a quick kiss. Tag didn't miss a beat. He grabbed the back of David's head and pressed their faces together into a much harder clench. Immediately four hungry hands ran over two beautiful bodies. A year or so of utter sexual frustration in Tag had been released, and now it was rushing fast and hard, wherever it found an opening, like a rain-gorged river.

When they came up for air, they both had a glow in their eyes.

"Aw shit, dude," Tag said, a husky tremble in his voice. "I'm almost afraid to believe this is happening. Let's hear it for the Gay Student Union's Message Board, I guess."

David kissed him again, this time a long slow luxurious kiss, with bodies pressed together so tight that achingly hard cocks let each boy gauge the precise measure of the other's passion. Tag could feel the sexy pressure from David's nippple-piercings - sexy as fuck. They released and looked at each other dreamily, until David said, "Let's hit it, Tag. Wouldn't wanna be late. We've got a big night ahead of us."

"Aw fuck, dude. You are fucking amazing. Yeah, let's split. Bus or cab?"

And with that they hurried down the hall, holding hands, and chattering in that wonderfully heady enthusiasm of love's first blush.

Reed passed the two of them as they flew down the stairs, but all he could make out was a blur of two beautiful boys. His mind was on the gorgeous hunk who awaited him. It was a minute or so after 8, but the bus ride only took about five minutes from campus, so they were still fine for time.

He saw Chance's door was open and hurried in, only to be stopped cold by the figure whose back he saw. At first he thought he was in the wrong room - hell, the wrong building, cause this seemed like the men's room at some hot leather bar. From behind, he drooled over the dude checking himself out in the mirror: motorcycle boots, cool-ass jacket, tight black jeans, and incredibly buzzed head - a better buzz than Chance's even, way sexier. Shit, he could rub his cock over that all night. The guy's whole look was incredible - almost like what Chance would wear, but way more sophisticated. Chance was sexy, but this dude had a dark, dangerous edge to him; he looked like the king-hell stud-fuck of all time. Did Chance have a brother he hadn't told him about.

But then the dude turned sideways, and Reed realized Chance had done it to him again. Before he said anything, he just marveled at how Chance's rugged, masculine, gay aesthetic had evolved so rapidly, so note-perfect, in the past week - more evolution in a few days than most guys have in a few years. It was like, once they'd been activated, the queer strands in Chance's DNA had been morphing in hyper-time to catch up to where they were supposed to be. The result was incredible. This dude had the look, and then some. Shit, Reed, he asked himself dreamily, do you have the hottest fucking boyfriend on the planet, or what? And 'planet' was only because he'd never been off-world; Chance was probably the finest-looking entity in the damn universe.

"Jesus Fuck, man. Forget the dance concert. Just rip my clothes off and fuck me all might with those boots and that jacket on."

Chance spun around, grinning.

"Reed!!"

They'd been away from each other way too long. Reed set his backpack down quickly, and they gathered each other up in their arms and squeezed and hugged and kissed and panted and stroked and kissed. Each grew a little misty. Reed rubbed his fingers over and over that sexy buzz-cut as he dragged his lips and tongue all over the rugged features of Chance's stubbled face and head.

"Fuck, dude," Chance whispered, a lump in his throat, "missing you so much is almost worth it when it feels this fuckin' sweet to see you again."

"Aw fuck, bro," Reed said, surprised at how overcome he was, "damn!" It was all he dared try to choke out.

Their bodies melted into each other, the feel of their hard pecs, abs, dicks, and thighs straining, fevered hands exploring firm asses and inviting cracks.

"Mmmm," Chance purred, pushing his thick shaft hard and longingly against Reed's own stiff prick, mashing it into Reed's hardness with his strong, wriggling hips.

Finally, emotions settled, they broke their embrace, beaming at each other.

"Hey, we should prob'ly go soon, huh?" Chance asked.

"Like one minute, OK? I been working all day, and I just want to get chill with one teensy little bowl of pot before we head out. Cool?"

"Hell, yes," Chance grinned. He'd developed quite a definite taste for pot lately, especially the kind Reed and Brock smoked, which seemed to give him such a cool, deep-down body buzz. It made his muscles feel even more sensuous, made him feel like a lean, lithe panther when he moved. And fucking while stoned was like bliss to the tenth power or something. Most of the pot he'd tried back in Yellow Branch, at teen house parties, had made him feel all wired and jumpy; so he'd never really gotten too into the drug. But the pot down here was perfect for a muscle-stud sex-fiend like himself. Catchin' a buzz and seein' some sexy-ass male dancers sounded just fine as fuck to him.

Between puffs and passing the bowl (which Reed refilled, they were both feeling so stoked), Reed told Chance he had a gift for him later.

"They let me take home a bunch of the underwear and jockstraps from the modeling job. Wait'll you see. Really cool. Really expensive. You're gonna look so fucking hot in them. I'm demanding a fashion show tonight. I wanna jerk off while I watch you pose and model. Like that private strip show you gave me our first night together. Fuck, cowboy, remember that? That was so fucking hot, I'll prob'ly be jerking off to that memory in the nursing home."

"I ain't puttin' you in no home, dawg. We're gonna be fuckin' on some beach together when we're ninety years old."

"Sweet thought, man," Reed said, rubbing Chance's steel-hard jock-pouch, under his tight denim, as his lover finished the last of the pot. "Way I figure, that means about seventy more years of sex with you. Guess I can handle that."

After a giddy six-minute bus ride, they got out a block from the theatre. Chance recognized the place; Sparta was right down the block. The street was lined with mostly old buildings, maybe one or two new ones.

"This area of the city is a very upscale gay district. There's where we're gonna eat afterwards. Greco Dio. It's fabulous. THE place for gay power couples to see and be seen. And across the street is the gallery where Jesse - HOLY SHIT, Chance! COME ON! RUN!!"

Reed grabbed Chance's hand and dragged him across four fortunately deserted traffic lanes. As soon as he set foot on the curb, Chance saw what had excited Reed. In a storefront window was a huge photo of him, in Wyatt's leather chest harness, on the sofa in Jesse's loft, with his jeans pushed down and his hard glutes exposed. His back was to the camera, but his head, thrown back in ecstasy, was turned halfways toward the viewer. The photo was hung from barely visible wires in the gallery's ceiling, and the picture took up almost the whole window; the image must have easily been six feet by five feet. Chance had never see such a blatantly frank image of male sexuality in public before. It was stunning.

"Damn," Reed said, "un-fucking-believable! That's a great photo, of course, but shit, dude, you are so damn built! So fucking sexy! Goddamn, but that picture gets me hard!"

Chance just studied it, his mind in a whirl. It was like he was seeing himself, yet seeing someone else. The memories flooded back from the shoot the other night, of course; but there was a critical distance between his memories (which were himself) and this photographic artifact. In a rush, Chance began to reflect on his life, the recent release of this horny, totally sex-driven side of himself; the part of him that found such glorious, soul-shattering release in hot, raw, homoerotic sex.

This photo showed that, but yet, for all its X-rated content, Jesse had made the image incredibly elegant, almost classic. Somehow, he'd made the rawest, most elemental male passions into something pure, refined, beautiful, sacred. It reminded Chance of nothing so much as an image on a holy card. His mother used to have quite a collection of holy cards - pictures of Jesus and the saints - in her room. Chance loved to leaf through them as a boy; they were so other-worldly and mystical, a divine aura emanating from their lovingly rendered figures of the gods and goddesses of Christian mythology. This picture of him was like a new addition to the pantheon: St. Chance, a lusty, hard-bodied young hero; a youth worthy of inclusion in the sacred order, who most definitely embodied the divine, but also the carnal, the fleshly, the passionate, the utterly lubricious, as well. His head, thrown back in ecstasy, could be the image of some prophet receiving a vision of the almighty or some cocksman shooting an incredible load (or both occuring at the same time, he smiled wryly). Chance was stunned with the power of what Jesse had created out of his pose.

His reverie was interrupted by a low whistle from Reed.

"Shit, Chance, Jesse's gallery's charging five thousand dollars for that." Reed was studying the photo's descriptive information on a flier taped to the inside of the gallery window.

"Bargain at twice the price, I'd say," Chance joked, a little hollowly, as he too was amazed at the figure.

"Jesse picked your photo to advertise his next show. The show's called 'Man Alone.' Opens next month."

He came over and put an arm around Chance and kissed him, whispering softly, "Can't wait to see that show with you, dude. Fuck, Chance," he said, stroking that sexy head, as he whispered in his ear, "I love our life together so damn much. It's so cool, looking forward to things like gallery openings with you. Like this performance tonight."

"Speaking of which, dawg, hadn't we better oughta haul our asses in there before it starts?"

They hurried back across the street and into the theater. They just had time for Chance to check his leather, then hand their tickets to the handsome young man at the door to the auditorium.

They had great seats. Third row, center.

"You'll love this," Reed whispered, just as the lights went down. He gave his young lover's crotch a quick, playful squeeze as the dark, intimate auditorium boomed with some wild house music.

Chance sat marveling at the opening number, a kicky piece introducing the dancers in the company. First, as the music throbbed - reminding Chance of the kind of dance music they played at Sparta - the stage was dark, then a spotlight shone on one dancer ("That's Josh Turner," Reed whispered), who looked awesome, the bright light highlighting every curve and mound on his physique.

His body was perfection, Chance thought - like Wyatt's, only leaner. He was maybe a few years younger than his coach, it was hard to tell. He was dressed in a very thin leotard that started an inch or so below his navel, drawing attention to that flat, hard washboard, and ended an inch or so above the knees, letting your eyes feast on how ripped his thighs and calves were. He had no jock or anything, so you could see his huge thick cock pressed tight against one thigh. He stood there, rhythmically working that beautifully lit, perfectly cut torso to the music.

Then Chance grinned as Josh took off forward, into another spotlight, doing a wild arabesque. But as soon as he left his mark, another dancer was revealed, concealed behind him - one younger, thinner, leaner, but just as much a turn-on. It was so well-choreographed and perfectly-lit, Chance'd had no idea there was another dancer in back of Josh Turner. That dancer left after a few minutes, revealing yet another dancer. This went on and on, like those Russian stacking dolls, until eight dancers were wildly gyrating around the stage. They were all dressed in different-colored variants of that thin, short leotard, all with no jocks. Chance wondered how he'd look in one of those sexy things.

He grew incredibly hard watching these gorgeous, utterly built men, rippling and moving with such incredible control. He was only slightly ashamed to admit he was as interested in watching those luscious cocks through that tight, thin material as he was watching the dancers' athleticism and artistry. But he bet every dude in the audience kept shifting attention from high art to low pleasure.

"This is amazing!" he whispered to Reed. "I am officially the hugest dance fan in the world!"

Reed just smiled and gave his boy's cock - which was now hard steel, he smiled to discover - another squeeze.

After the intro number, there was a longish piece, done to a very soft, haunting instrumental track Chance was totally unfamiliar with. It sounded like what his folks called 'long-hair' music, but it was quite beautiful to Chance. Even more beautiful given the movement that accompanied it. In this dance, two men, in longer black leotards, and still jockless, danced slowly and sensually with each other. Their movements were beautifully exquisite, sensual, languorous - they'd hug, tilt one way, another; one would raise the other, hold him - showing off incredible upper arms and delts - then lower him slowly down, letting him just drape across his hard body. The tableau was gorgeous; it drew many gasps from the audience. Then the draped dancer seemed to melt down his partner's body onto the floor.

Chance was just stunned by the athleticism and grace he saw unfold, not to mention to raw, sculpted beauty. It was the most incredibly erotic performance he'd ever seen, outside of porn. Even sexier than porn, cause it was pure, refined lust.

Their pas de deux went on, until another dancer entered, and it seemed like the two lovers (that's how Chance thought of their characters) had to part. There was much regret, sorrow, sadness, and the third dancer kept separating them forcefully as they'd try to repeat that beautiful tableau. It went on and on, until one of the first dancers finally drifted off into the darkness, led off by the third dancer, leaving his ex-lover to dance a solo full of bittersweet beauty. That last dancer was Josh Turner. Chance couldn't take his eyes off him. Chance realized the dance was a metaphor for loss, and how it devestates love; it was powerfully affecting.

The second and last full number of the first half was called "Cheating," and it featured four dancers, two black and two white, all beautiful - lithe, lean, achingly muscular - and all in jock straps (the two white guys in black straps, the 2 black guys in white ones). When the lights on this dance came up, the white dancers were embracing stage right, the two black dancers stage left. The couples moved elegantly, passionately around the floor in total silence, the only sound the swish of their movements through the air, and the soft thud of their strong bodies landing on the hardwood. Then they all froze, perfectly, in mid-movement, and music came on. Chance grinned cause he recognized the tune - Hank Williams' "Your Cheatin' Heart."

"My daddy plays this song all the time!" he whispered, boyishly loud, to Reed.

As the dance progressed, one of the black guys flirted, then partnered off, with one of the white guys, and the other white guy mirrored that partner-exchange with the other black guy. It was awesome to see the white dancers' bodies splayed out against the black dancers'. The contrast in skin tone added to the eroticism. They would stroke and fondle each other's beautifully bulging muscles. One dancer would lean back in graceful ecstasy, as his partner would sensuously rub his jock-pouch. Chance couldn't believe it --- it was like a live sex show, only sublime. He was reminded of that photo of him in the storefront gallery window. As the erotic tension of the dance built, Chance was sure every guy in the audience was as hard as he was.

Midway through this number, a realization hit Chance through the steamy, athletic grace of the performance: he had to take dance classes, had to learn as much of this as he could. It was the missing piece in his serious athletic training. It was so obvious to him now why the young Greek athletes had dance as a major part of their training and conditioning. The running and wrestling and other sports gave them the muscular development, the strength, the power, even the control - as it had Chance - but these dancers were showing him what he was lacking: the finesse, the elegance, the artistry, the fluid grace. Without dance, he was like the kind of snapshot a talented amateur could take - all the elements, the nice composition, the formal features were there, even interesting content; with dance added to his regimen, it would be like that same snapshot, only take by Jesse. There would be the art, the sublime beauty. With dance training giving him the grace and almost intuitive control he was watching, he saw his athleticism reaching an incredible new level. Further psyched, he sat back and drank up the show.

There was a very hot section where each of the cheating lovers took off their jocks and traded them. The music now had changed to a hip hop number Chance was unfamiliar with, but the lyrics seemed to also be about cheating, anger, betrayal. Seeing their beautiful cocks displayed (they must be the only soft dicks in the house, Chance marveled) as they danced in a funky, sensual rhythm, was absolutely incredible. No wonder these performances sell out, Chance realized. There was a cool interlude where one set of dancers would sexily put a jock on their partner, then vice versa. As the dance finished, one interracial couple was in black jocks, the other in white jocks. It was awesome - again for the artistry as well as the beauty of the performers. The audience applauded wildly as the houselights went up. Chance reached over and gave Reed a kiss of the tenderest passion. "God, what a fucking gift you have given me! That was the most amazing thing I have ever seen! Fuck, Reed! I mean . . . DANG!"

"Knew you'd dig it, stud. C'mon, let's get a drink."

Due to their rushed entrance, the intermission was the first opportunity for Chance to soak in the space. The lobby was elegantly lit and furnished; it reminded Chance of the lobby of the Stanfield Hotel in downtown Yellow Branch, the oldest building in town. His pa told him once it was built in 'the gilded age,' and it sure looked gilded. As they wended their way through the crowd, Chance made a comment about the finely-dressed men in the crowd.

"Quite a scene, huh?" Reed said. "Welcome to the cream of our city's gay society. A Josh Turner performance attracts all the hippest gays, the richest gays, the most influential gays, the best-looking gays; it is one of THE places for socially aspiring gays to be seen. The movers and shakers, old money and new, the real celebrities and the wanna-be's."

Chance stood to the side, soaking it up, as Reed went to get them each a drink.

As he stood there, Chance exulted in the scene, feeling such a rush of pleasure at being in this setting. There was a very slight sprinkling of women; Chance figured some of them to be gay men's gal-pals, and others young girls with their bohemian-cute boyfriends - and he smiled to think about how many of those cute boyfriends secretly lusted after the men here, like Tag had. But mostly it was all gay men: cultured, good-looking, robust, of every age and race. This is so where I belong, Chance grinned to himself. He could feel the buzz in the air from all these handsome, animated men, vibrantly at home in their sexuality - high on their bodies, their dates, their lovers, all the other good-looking men they were scoping out, and the utterly masculine art they'd just seen. Speaking of 'scoping guys out,' Chance was shyly enjoying being the recipient of a lot of flirty stares, smiles, raised eyebrows, and winks.

He noticed virtually every man in the crowd took incredible interest in his grooming - just as he and Reed and Tommy and Kyle and Tou and CJ and Wyatt and - and shit, just like all the dudes he knew did. So that must be a gay thing, he figured, scratching his stubbled jaw - wantin' to look fine as fuck. Cause you sure wouldn't see that attention to personal appearance in a straight crowd.

He drank it all in, all these gorgeous men, celebrating their maleness, enjoying this close, intimate camaraderie, as well as the most refined homoerotic entertainment. Chance grinned to himself, yep, son, you sure came to the right place. It was like the dance-club, Sparta; an update of classic Greek culture, offering a place for men to satisfy this deepest need; a place to surround oneself with gorgeous, athletically perfect youth.

Hmmmm, he thought, maybe wrestling meets are like that, too. This season would be the first time he wrestled knowing he was gay. He wondered what the crowd who came to watch was really like - he'd been so focused on competing, he'd never given much thought to who showed up. Larson, the bartender at Sparta, went to the wrestling meets with his lover. Damn, he thought, just how many of the dudes in the audience at a wrestling meet were gay? More than a few, he figured, cause outside of a male strip show or a performance like Josh Turner's, there was probably no hotter entertainment for a gay dude than a college wrestling meet. Shit, this is gonna be too cool this season, being an openly gay wrestler, with a gay coach and lots of gay team-mates, checking out the scene both on and off the mat. Maybe flirting with some of the opposing team's wrestlers, or some of the handsome dudes in the crowd. He shook his head, realizing how naive he'd been back in Yellow Branch. How many young studs on other teams - or maybe even his own! - were flirting with him and he hadn't even suspected? And the crowds: he be eighty-some percent of the guys who showed up at his high school meets were gay, either out or (even if married) closeted. Damn, Taylor, you're finally catching on to the secret world of men. Took ya long enough, ya big dope.

He scanned the crowd for Tag and David. Suddenly, he was stoked: at practically the same time he saw Wyatt across the lobby, Wyatt saw him. Wyatt looked so cool tonight. He had shaved his head fairly close, and looked hot as fuck. Chance thought he'd looked great before, with his hair close-cropped, but this was even better. All he could think about was Tuesday, after their first special training session, locked in each others arms, thrashing on the floor, feeling that sexy buzz brushing against his body. Wyatt had his permanent beard-stubble perfectly groomed, too. That cool salt-and-pepper sprinkling on his head and face was so damn virile-looking. He was dressed in an elegant leather sport coat, black jeans, and an expensive-looking white cotton T. His clothes did nothing to disguise his incredible build. What a fucking stud, Chance thought. As he hustled over there, the rest of Wyatt's party came into focus; it was Jesse and another, much older couple, very well-dressed.

"Hey, stud," Wyatt said gruffly, giving Chance a warm hug and rubbing his head.

"Hi Wyatt, Jesse. Great to see you guys." He gave Jesse a peck on the cheek, which Jesse returned. Then he rubbed Wyatt's head, "You copyin' my style, old man?"

Wyatt just grinned slyly. His hormones, juiced from the first half of the dance concert, were suddenly smoldering with desire for Chance. All he could think of was being naked with him, the two of them exploring every inch of each other's body. Hot blood, thickened by lust, began rushing to his cock. Keep it together, Wyatt, he told himself.

"Chance," said Jesse, "let me introduce you to Jerry Moses and Daniel Crane. They own the gallery I show at."

The two older men looked at Chance like an alcoholic gazing on a full bottle of scotch.

"Oh, I recognize you!" Daniel Crane said suddenly, shaking Chance's hand. "You're the model in the work we're using to promote Jesse's new show. That's one of the MOST amazing works, don't you think? I've never seen male lust ooze from a photo quite so interestingly before."

"Yeah," said Chance shyly. "My boyfriend and I just saw it on the way in. It looks incredible, jesse" he said, turning to Wyatt's lover and adding, a little nervously, "I'd like to talk to you about it some day, Jess, about what I see in it."

"I'd love that. Maybe Tuesday? At dinner?"

"Definitely," said Chance, relaxed again, mention of 'Tuesday' bringing his mind back to thoughts of his private training session with Wyatt, and dinner afterwards, with Jesse and Reed along. Shit, that was gonna be fun.

"You made that picture, son," said Jerry Moses, fairly hot-looking for an older man, Chance thought, tanned and fit. "You're one of the best-looking young men I've ever seen." His glance raked Chance up and down, making Chance feel naked.

"Well thanks," said Chance, a little uncomfortable again. "I don't really know about that, though. And that photo, I kinda think it was almost all Jesse's doing. He's a genius."

"Oh Jesse's a genius all right," Jerry continued, his gaze laser-like on Chance's body, "that's why he shows with us. But that photo is half Jesse's talent, and half what you brought to it."

"I agree totally, Jerry. Chance is an incredible subject," Jesse said. "I'm hoping he'll let me work with him again."

"Anytime, Jesse. You know that," Chance said, feeling at ease again.

"Just let me know when that happens," Jerry said, shamelessly. "I'll buy a ticket."

"Now, there's a thought, Jess," Wyatt piped in, gruffly, hating how these old lechers were drooling over his wrestler. "Sell tickets to your next photo shoot with my boy here. We could probably finance our next vacation."

"Hell, you could probably buy a private island. You're the sexiest young man in the room, Chance," Daniel said smoothly, putting his hand on Chance's arm. "You must know that."

"Oooh," he added, impressed, "what a body." He copped a feel all up and down Chance's arm. Chance thought it was cute.

"Danny's right," Jerry added, unable to contain his lust for Chance, wishing he could feel the boy up, too. "Didn't you see all heads turn when you walked through the lobby? I know I couldn't take my eyes off you. Look around, men are still staring at you."

Chance was flustered again. "I don't know, Mr. Moses - "

"Jerry."

"I don't know, Jerry," Chance said shyly, "I think, you know, as long as Wyatt's in a room, I don't think I could ever be considered the best-looking."

"You're too kind, stud," Wyatt smiled, loving the compliment, because he knew Chance meant it. It inflamed his lust even more. "Afraid I'm yesterday's papers, though."

"'Yesterday's papers'!!??" Chance scoffed. Wyatt was way hotter than he was. Anyone could see that. "You're today's damn front page! Banner fucking headlines! I'm just a little item tucked away in the Farm Report."

Wyatt smiled, trying to act suave, but his eyes were twinkling with an intoxicating mix of sweet, touching joy and sheer, fuck-right-here-on-the-floor lust.

Jerry smiled wryly - Wyatt and Chance were clearly fucking, and it made him jealous as hell. God, he could just picture it. He'd seen Wyatt so often - in just jeans or a jock, sometimes even nude - when they visited Jesse's loft. And he'd studied (many times!) the contact sheets from Jesse's shoot with Chance. Seeing those two fuck would be the hottest sight in the world. Sell tickets to THAT, he thought wistfully, you'd make a mint.

It was then that Reed showed up, having finally spotting Chance - along with their friends - in the crowd. He handed Chance a Grain Belt and sipped his double scotch.

"Scuse me, dude. But did I hear you say you were the Farm Report? If that's so, musta been a bumper crop this year."

Wyatt chuckled. Fuck, he liked Reed. Damn, he wanted to fuck both these boys all night, instead of the dull evening he had ahead of him with Jesse's gallery owners.

Chance kissed his boyfriend.

"'Lo Wyatt, Jess," the smooth model said, giving each of them a quick peck.

Jesse took over, "Reed, this is Daniel Crane and Jerry Moses. They own my gallery."

"Of course," said Reed. "I recognize the names. Very pleased to meet you. I love your gallery. Beautiful space. And you have such incredible taste in what you show. I remember when I saw Jesse's first show there. I'm looking forward to the new one. You picked a helluva beautiful photo to advertise it."

Jerry studied Reed, as if he'd seen him before, "Thank you, Reed. Thank you. But where do I know you from?" he wondered aloud.

Jesse laughed, "Well, Jerry, if you study the Bierman's catalogue underwear ads as religiously as Wyatt here, you've probably seen Reed's gorgeous body a lot. He's one of the top models in town."

"That's it! Great set of abs, right? Hell yes I remember you! You certainly do fill out a pair of briefs. I love it in underwear ads now, they let you make out every long, luscious inch! But, Reed, I don't suppose you'd consider stripping down now to fully refresh my memory?"

"No problem, Jerry. Meet me in the john, I'll re-enact some of my classic poses for you."

After a few more minutes of small talk, punctuated mostly by Reed and Jesse shooting secret, excited glances at each other, along with Wyatt and Chance doing the same, Reed figured they'd probably horned in too long. "Well, nice to meet you both, Dan, Jerry. Jess, Wyatt, see you Tuesday. Enjoy the rest of the performance, gentlemen."

"Well, that was innarestin'," Chance said breezily as they walked away, relieved to be out from under the spotlight.

"Yeah, 'innarestin'' is sure the word for it. Fuck, those old guys couldn't take their eyes off either of us. I felt like a piece of pie a la mode, ready to be devoured."

"HEY!" Chance suddenly spotted Tag and David, laughing and animated. They were sitting in a small striped love-seat. Chance smiled to see David had his hand rubbing up and down Tag's thigh. They sure must be hittin' it off. "Come on, there's some dudes from my dorm."

Chance made introductions and then leaned back grinning as the three other boys chatted about the performance; from his vantage point, Chance saw the three of them trying to act unobtrusive and nonchalant as they checked each other out. He piped in and explained to Reed how he knew Tag. As he listened to Chance's version of their encounter earlier that afternoon - the shower room, the question about the shampoo, the funny way Tag's towel kept slippping, the beers and chit-chat - it wasn't too tough to figure out they'd had sex. He shot Chance a knowing glance that made his boyfriend blush.

The lights started blinking, to get everyone back in the auditorium. As they slowly filed back in, the two young couples exchanged their plans for later.

"Reed's takin' us to a restaurant nearby."

"I thought I'd take Tag to Sparta. We can catch a little bar-food and dance. I'm so keyed up to move after that first-half!"

Chance told Tag he was in for an awesome time at the club. Both Tag and David assured Chance they'd see them later.

"Looking forward to it," David said knowingly, just before he and Tag headed up the stairs to take their seats, giving Chance a quick wink that wasn't quick enough to escape Reed's notice.

"Him, too!?" Reed stammered, when David was out of earshot.

"No, Mr. Suspicious. But I did invite him and Tag to hook-up with Kyle and Tommy and you and I afterwards. That OK with you?"

"You better believe it. I've been busting my ass modeling all day, while you've probably been fucking anything in pants. Shit, am I horny. From you, from the dance, from Wyatt and Jesse. And damn, Chance, those two boys we just met were so fucking fine. David, especially. What a body. Ooh la la. And nipple rings. Damn!" He made a luscious, lip-smacking sound, anticipating an incredible evening of sex later. Then he turned inquisitively to Chance.

"Just what is it with you, anyway, cowboy? What's your secret to attracting every beautiful boy on the face of this earth? Mesmerism? You got some bright, shiny object stashed away on you that you pull out and twirl in front of their eyes?"

Chance grinned, "I think it's just my natural boyish charm, Reed?"

As they headed down the aisle, towards their row, Reed hugged Chance happily from behind, pressing his semi-stiff dick into his lover's crack. He nuzzled his neck, inhaling the fresh-jock scent of his boyfriend. Shamelessly, in front of many jealous eyes, he stroked that gorgeous torso, and rubbed that long, luscious cock in pure delight.

"God, I love what you do to me."

"Shit, Reed," Chance sighed, his cock growing harder by the second, "I sure as hell love what you're doin' to ME right now."

"Mmmmmmm, you got just what I need, dude."

"Maybe I got it, but you sure as fuck know how to handle it. Can't wait for later, bro."

The second half was one long number, called "Aria," done with all dancers totally nude. Chance was in heaven, luxuriating in these perfect bodies that moved with such sinewy athleticism. To be able to dwell on such perfectly-proportioned male nudity was indescribable. It was like the ultimate secret fantasy he had growing up, as he got into well-built male bodies and would watch sports just to be able to check guys out. This was like seeing sports with all the beautiful athletes nude. You could dwell on arms, legs, asses, chests, cocks. Every muscle achingly pronounced - and unlike Chance, who seemed carved from stone, these dancers seemed molded from sensuous clay, shaped lovingly by a true connoisseur of the male form. If Chance was hard and firm, these men looked supple, warm. If a modern-day Da Vinci needed an ideal form to draw in his sketchbooks, any one of these dancers, especially the leader, Josh Turner, would be a perfect model.

For this dance, done - as Reed told him later - to famous opera songs, the dancers covered every gamut of emotion from tragedy to utter joy. There was even a comic interlude where the dancers were bucking around like ponies, their thick cocks wagging fiercely up and down, slapping their abs and thighs. Chance boned up even harder at that. At the end of the performance, as he stood along with everyone else, giving a standing ovation to the exhausted dancers standing proud and naked under the spotlights, Chance could feel his jockstrap drenched in thick, luscious cock-honey.

Afterwards there was dinner, at Greco Dio, a mostly gay, very upscale Italian restaurant; on the way in, Reed told Chance the name of the restaurant meant 'Greek God' in Italian.

"This place opened in the 1940s. In the late 60s, as this area turned into our city's equivalent of the Village, Greco Dio became THE fine-dining establishment for gays. It's a landmark restaurant in town. The waiters are all gay and very good-looking. This is the place you want to work if you're a young gay waiter. Plus, this place is how Sparta got its name. The same family owns both places, and so when Sparta opened in the 90's, the idea was this restaurant would be the cool, Olympian, refined, elegant place for the gay clientele, while Sparta would take the name of the place where all the hard-core warrior boys lived down-and-dirty in barracks and fucked each other all the time. Sort of a Greek-rhyme, yin-yang thing."

"Dang, Encyclopedia Brown, I think I know just a little bit about Greek culture. Jeez!" He pretended to feel patronized, but secretly Chance was very glad to get a local gay history mini-lesson. He wanted to know everything about his culture, his identity, that he could.

Once inside, Reed first showed Chance where to check his jacket. A beautiful boy took it, mumbled something in Italian, and handed Chance a token with a number on it. When he rejoined his boyfriend, Chance was impressed to see Reed seemed to be known by everybody - the waiters, lots of the customers, and especially the maitre d', who was, Chance thought, a drop-dead gorgeous twenty-something Italian: very masculine, with slicked-back black hair, smooth olive complexion, rugged jaw-line, and burning dark coals for eyes. His face lit up when he saw Reed.

"Ciao, Reed!" he called, in a thick sexy, heavily accented voice. "Ciao, ragazzo bello!"

"Ciao, Gianni," Reed returned. "Ciao uomo stupefacente!" They pressed each other close, then kissed, then hugged, then kissed again, and Gianni whisked them to the front of a long line of elegantly dressed, wealthy looking men, into the restaurant proper.

As Chance walked through the very well-appointed restaurant, he saw a few classic Greek statues of nude young males, softly lit, dotting the space. Were they authentic or reproductions, he wondered. It reminded him of the incredible statue of the spear carrier he saw that day on the high school museum field trip; that statue that had transfixed him so, becoming one of the touch-points in his evolution as a gay male.

Gianni led them to a very intimate table, in a secluded nook of the restaurant.

He turned to Reed, "Approvazione?"

"Si, Gianni, si. Perfetto."

Then, before they sat down, Reed turned to Gianni, and said, "Ci• Š il mio amante, Gianni. Il suo nome Š Chance Taylor. Chance, this is a very good friend of mine, Gianni Rossi."

Gianni gave Chance a warm, brotherly hug, then kissed him on one cheek.

"Pleased to know you, Chance," Gianni said in that thickly accented, bedroom voice of his. Chance thought to himself, I could listen to this dude all night long. He could recite the times tables, and it would sound sexy as hell.

Gianni snapped his fingers once, and a much younger, fresh-faced Italian youth came over, and after a few curt phrases in Italian, the youth disappeared for a few minutes. It gave Gianni just enough time to hand a large, over-sized menu to Reed and one to Chance, neatly snapping them open with a twist as he handed them over. Then, the younger boy returned and efficiently set a beautiful-looking plate of antipasto on the table, full of homemade salami and cheeses, along with a variety of olives and roasted peppers. Breadsticks, too, were brought soon by another young waiter, and water glasses filled. Chance found the whole experience dazzling. It reminded him of being fitted by Mai or having Tou cut his hair - in each case, you knew you were in the hands of a professional.

"Alcuni minuti," Gianni said.

"Si, grazie, Gianni," Reed said.

"Holy shit, Mr. U.N. Translator, you speak Eye-talian? Un-believable!"

"I did my first semester junior year abroad in Italy, dude. Milan. Studying the fashion industry. I picked up a lot. I love the language. Sexy as hell."

"There ain't nothin' you can do any more'd surprise me, angel." Chance was repeatedly astonished that such a hip, cultured guy as Reed was interested in him. But it also gave him incredible esteem - it made him believe in himself, his possibilities, that such an amazing boy as Reed would want him as a lover.

Before he started reading his menu, Chance looked around. The restaurant was all dark velvet and mahogany, very old-looking. Paintings and mirrors, all in huge gilt frames, covered the walls; besides the baby spots on the statuary, the only lighting, came from a couple of huge crystal chandeliers and the candles on tables. Chance couldn't help but ogle the waiters milling about. They all wore white shirts with black ties and black vests, and had long white aprons on. But what he really noticed was that every one of them - especially Gianni - was dick-stiffeningly gorgeous.

"I like the lighting in here," Reed said. "It's so soft, it makes everyone look beautiful. But you," and he put his hand on Chance's, swept up in the sparkling romance of the setting, so perfect for their first big-time date together, "you'd look beautiful anywhere. I swear, dude, you got even more gorgeous in the week or so we've been together. Damn, do you look good tonight! I feel like I'm dating some hot young movie star!"

Chance turned and brought his hand to the side of Reed's face, stroking it tenderly, and said, in a low voice, "It's you, man, you're like my magic elixir. You've changed my life, Reed, and I never want to lose you. Fuck, I love you so much, dude." He closed his eyes as he bent in for a kiss. Their lips melted together. They held their clinch for a long time, feeling the desire and joy mix and bubble.

There were faint, glittering tears welling up in each of Reed's eyes, Chance saw, as he sat back, so he tried to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, it's you, all right, Reed . . . and all the sex, o' course."

It worked. Reed laughed and shook his head.

"Fuck, dude. I ain't complaining. Since I met you, my sex life has rocketed to the 99th percentile."

"Well," said Chance, taking a sip of water, "we'll just have to work on that last little ol' percentile tonight, won't we?"

Reed sat in the restaurant in utter bliss. This date of theirs was turning out to be as dreamy an evening as he'd hoped. The dance concert was incredible - and Chance liked it even more than he'd thought he would. The restaurant was perfect. Chance looked absolutely stunning (Reed had wondered if Chance woould wear dungarees and a T, which would have been fine - Chance in ANYTHING was gorgeous - but this outfit was so damn hip). And, he smiled naughtily to himself, Chance had done his part by arranging for a hot little after-party; Reed was stoked thinking about it. Damn, what a life. Whatever you do - please, PLEASE, don't wake me!

Gianni returned to take their order. Reed asked what was good, and Gianni pursed his lips as if he were kissing someone and said, "Il gambero! Really, molto bello." Reed turned to Chance, and asked if he liked shrimp.

"Only had it once, I think, at a Red Lobster, but it was pretty danged good. French-fried."

Gianni looked at Reed, "Si?" And Reed nodded (wait'll Chance tries some real shrimp!), and he also ordered a plate of carbonara, his favorite. "And your best pinot grigio, Gianni!" He knew Gianni would bring them a great bottle of wine.

"Si," Gianni nodded curtly, and then, he put his hand on Reed's shoulder, bent down and asked him something in Italian. Reed looked embarrassed, but answered him. Gianni smiled slyly and raised his eyebrows, then bent down and spoke a little more rapid Italian. Reed grinned, shook his finger at Gianni and gave a quick amused answer. Gianni looked at Chance and then, grinning wickedly, asked another quick question. Reed laughed out loud this time, put his hand on Gianni's arm, and said, "Si, Gianni, grande, molto grande." Gianni grinned, bent down, whispered another Italian phrase in Reed's ear, gave him a quick kiss, turned, and was off.

"OK, OK, no secrets! What were you guys talking about there? Sounded awful fucking funny. You guys making fun of me?"

Reed smiled, and said, "No, dude. Not at all. OK, Gianni asked me if we were sleeping together. I told him we were, that we were crazy about each other."

"Hmmm, kinda nosy. But I don't mind anyone knowing I'm your lover. So what else'd'he say?"

Now Reed colored a little, there was a gleam in his eye that the candle-light made even brighter. "He said you were gorgeous, complimented me on my taste in men, and asked if you were good in bed?"

"And??!!"

"And I told him he was very naughty to ask that, but that yes, you were absolutely incredible. Il mondo pi— grande, the world's greatest!"

Chance grinned proudly. He reached over and stroked Reed's hand. "I like this Gianni dude. He's my kinda folks. He's interested in the same sorts of things I am! Anything else? What was that 'molto grande' stuff? You orderin' a coffee, too, on top o' the wine?"

Now Reed was really red. "Well, he said, you looked like the kind of, um, big muscular college boy that had a huge cock. So I told him you did. Big. Very, very big. OK, satisfied, Mr. Snoopington?"

Chance had a huge, shit-eating grin on his face hearing that one. "I am so gonna molto grande your ass tonight, dude." Reed just licked his lips all sluttily.

A few moments later, Gianni brought the wine. As he bent near to fill Chance's glass, the young boy smiled and said in a low, sly voice, "Molto MOLTO grande, Gianni! Just lemme know when you want a peak." This brought on Gianni's wickedest smile yet, for Reed had neglected to tell Chance the last thing Gianni had said - how maybe he and Reed's latest boyfriend could all get together one night, giusto come i vecchi giorni (just like the old days).

Back at Kyle's, two college jocks were ready to chow down after a marathon day of kissing, sucking, stroking, jacking, and fucking.

"Dude," Kyle asked his new lover, coming up behind him and stroking that huge, luscious torso, "where's that phone number Chance gave us, for the pizza dude that digs jock action? You feel like checkin' that out? Cause I sure as hell could go for a three-way with you and some fine-ass delivery dude. Sounds way fuckin' hot!"

"Mmmmm, shit yeah," Tommy said, luxuriating in the feel of his lover's hands all over his big meaty pecs, rippled abs, and shaved-smooth cock. "I wrote the number down right by my cellie. I even remember the dude's name. Chance said 'Ask fer Blaine.' I'll call," he added, and craned his neck around to kiss Kyle before he broke their embrace.

"Whaddya want on yer pie?" he asked, as he reached for his phone and found the number.

"Whatever. I like anything," Kyle said, sidling up to Tommy to play with that gorgeous long hair while his stud made the call. He planted his stiffening cock into Tommy's newly shaved ass-crack, and twisted his fingers through that stringy blonde hair, planting butterfly kisses on his strong back and neck. Kyle was dancing on air; he never thought he could fall for anyone as hard as he'd fallen for his fine-ass stud. And he never thought sex could be so all-consumingly wonderful as it had been since Chance and Reed turned him on to boy-sex, showing him where his deepest passions lay.

"Hey," Tommy said when the pizza place answered, "is Blaine working tonight? He's the driver delivers to the university, right? Um, could I talk with him a second, d'ya think, before I order, to make sure he'll be able to find our dorm? Oh great, thanks."

They gave Tommy the number of Blaine's cell and told him to call him in his car. They said he could just give his order to Blaine, who'd call it in.

Before he called the new number, he turned back and kissed Kyle, who was still dry-humping him and fooling with his hair, both of which had Tommy totally stoked. This was his dream of sexual intimacy. "Dude," he said, in his tough-tender voice, "I am like so fucking crazy for you. I've never had as awesome or beautiful or cool a lover before in my life." He reached back, took Kyle's cock, and rubbed it up and down his crack. "And fuck, bro, I love your fucking cock. I can't imagine better sex than what we had alll afternoon, Kyle. I'm so fucking satisfied, I can't believe it. Shit, I love you."

They kissed again, deep, hard, full of youthful, robust passion. Their hard cocks danced against each other delightedly. Then Tommy called Blaine.

"Uh yeah, Blaine? Name's Tommy. Sorry to bother you, bro, when you're delivering and shit, but the pizza place gave me your number. Uh, I'm callin' cause we need a pizza delivered and you come very VERY highly recommended by these sexy-ass college jock dudes we know. Maybe you remember them? You delivered a pizza to them the other day, and they said they were extremely satisfied with the, uh, hands-on service you gave them. . . . . Yeah, yeah. Chance and Reed, that's them. . . . Mmmmm, yeah, well, shit, we're excited to meet you, too, bro. . . . . So, what say you bring us one large sausage, and you'll, uh, find two large sausages waiting for you? . . . . Ha-ha, 'meat-lovers' special'! Yeah, this'll be a meat-lovers' special night, no doubt! . . . . Cool, bro, see you in a half-hour. We're both hard as fuck thinkin' 'bout it!"

He turned to Kyle with a big grin, "Fuck, does that dude sound hot! Manly as hell. This is gonna be awesome, bro! Let's shower and get ourselves all boned up so we've got a couple of massive hard-ons when he gets here!"

They kissed passionately again. Kyle had half a joint in an ashtray, which they did before they hit the showers.

They shared a shower stall, of course. The pot kicked in and they indulged in the mind-blowing body-rush of kissing and stroking and hugging under the steamy water, exploring those hard, slippery muscles, getting stoked for the wild sex scene to come. They dried each other, still kissing and stroking, in a deeply sensual haze of stoned lust, oblivious to the other boys in the shower room who kept nervously shooting envious glances at their brazen delight in each other's beautifully cut bodies.

Back in the room, they continued their playfulness, teasing each other's tongues while they stroked each other's young pricks lightly, delicately, with just one finger - the idea (it was Tommy's) was to get them totally hard, but not shoot, so they'd be boned up as hell when Blaine got there and still each have a couple hot loads.

A few minutes later, there was a knock. Kyle and Tommy looked at each other like excited children. They both went to answer the door.

Blaine, too, was amped as hell, hoping for a session even half as hot as his last campus delivery. Shit, he hoped these two dudes were as good-looking as those last two. When the dorm door swung open, the older jock's eyes bulged at the sight that greeted him: a big, beefy blonde hunk, handsome as shit with blue eyes and longish blonde hair, and a lean, lithe young stud with a cute face, curly hair, and a beautifully defined physique - one of those bodies Blaine loved, with a deep groove from neck right down to belly button, hard flat pecs and ripped eight-pack on either side of that sexy groove. He noticed they each had at least 7 inches of cut, tasty jock-meat, jutting out luscious and firm from their hard young bodies.

"Fuck," Blaine said, "I guess I got the right room."

"Come on, in, dude," said Tommy, trying to sound seductive (and succeeding). He was totally into this older, surfer-handsome jock. Blaine just radiated fitness - his appearance, the way he moved, even his voice. Tommy could hardly contain himself. Fuck, he thought, the world is just full of hot, horny guys looking to hook up with a like-minded dude. Shit, could he ever dig this life!

"You got time, bro, for some fun?" Tommy asked, holding Kyle close and stroking his lover's hard young body teasingly, ending with a sexy swipe of Kyle's stiff prick, as Blaine set down the pizza.

"Fuck yeah, bro," Blaine said, in a voice dripping with sheer lust. His T was over his head and on the floor in a second, exposing a mature, tanned, ex-college jock body. It was lean, hard, hairy, and very well-worked.

"Shit you look hot, bro," Tommy said, seriously impressed. "Whaddyou live at the gym?"

"Just about," Blaine said, flexing his biceps and rubbing his ripe pecs, driving the two young studs wild. "This delivery gig is just to support me so I can get my teaching certificate. I wanna teach high school phys ed. I played a coupla sports in college, and I've made it a point to stay in shape ever since I graduated."

"You sure as fuck succeeded, dude," Tommy said, loving the little muscle-show Blaine was putting on. He drooled at the beautiful coating of blonde hair on those rock-solid pecs and washboard abs. He was big, like Tommy, only not smooth and luscious like the young hockey stud, but rugged, seasoned, a twenty-something hunk. Those thick, sexy blonde dreads danced as he scooted out of his jeans (no underwear). With his pants kicked away, Blaine stood there, a total hunk, with a hefty 8 inches of thick cut meat dangling down ripely from a nice thick dark-blonde bush. He had bracelets on both wrists and a sexy piece of rawhide tied around his neck. A total hippie-surfer stud.

"Fuckin' scrumptious," Tommy said, hoarsely, his throat clogged with desire.

Naked, now, he sauntered up to Kyle and Tommy. The three of them kissed feverishly in a tight embrace of hot desire. Excited hands played with one another's cocks while three tongues teased and lapped at each other. Kyle and Tommy didn't have to work too hard to get Blaine as achingly hard as they were. Soon, three hard dicks jutted out, anxious for action.

"Yeah," said Blaine roguishly, breaking for a chance to feast his eyes on these two young studs, "I sure as hell got time for some fun with a coupla college jock hot-boys like you two. Shit, are you dudes gorgeous."

"Fuck," said Kyle, wowed by this cool older stud in such incredible shape, "you look awesome, dude! Fuck, what a hot fucking hunk!" And he let his smooth young hands play all over that hard, hairy musculature. Blaine just stood there, in bliss, as those light, teasing fingers played all over his pecs and nipples, then stroked down his hips and thighs. One of Kyle's hands combed through his thick bush for a while before ending by stroking his hard, pulsating cock. The other hand slipped between his lightly-furred butt-cheeks, to tickle his hungry ass.

"Oooooh yeah, go for it," Blaine said, loving the attention his well-worked body was getting from these two studs. Especially his ass.

"Play with my ass, bro. Get it nice and loose for these two hot jock-stud cocks."

He kissed them both again, with a wet, drooling tongue, and said, "I got about forty minutes before I gotta check back in at work. I told the shop I was gonna take a dinner break after I delivered this order." He had one of his big, strong hands on each of their stiff young cocks, stroking them to the heights of hardness, trying to coax a load of jock-honey out of each, loving the thrill of Kyle's probing finger in his ass.

"Oh yeah?" said Tommy, trying to sound cocky, but rapidly being carried away in a flood of hard-bodied desire. "Maybe you should just take your dinner break here, dawg?"

"Maybe I will," Blaine teased seductively, watching those two gorgeous faces dissolve slowly into ecstasy from his excruciatingly slow cock-stroking. "Whaddya got to eat around here?"

"Depends," said Kyle, between panting moans, "whaddya like to eat?"

"What I got a real taste for tonight," Blaine said steadily, his voice - like his cock - throbbing with pure, hard, thick lust, "is hot young beef, with loads of cream."

"Aw fuck," said Tommy, trying hard to keep from shooting too fast, loving the experienced feel of the older dude's hand on his dick, "you - you should know . . . aw shit, dude! . . . that's the fucking . . . the fucking specialty of the house around here!"

Blaine pushed Tommy back on the bed and landed on top of him. Their stiff cocks mashed hungrily as their hands explored each other's firm muscles and their tongues dueled feverishly. Blaine stopped long enough to croak to Kyle in back of him, "Rim my ass, bro. Get me all wet for these sweet jock cocks o' yours!"

The Blaine proceeded to devour Tommy's hard 8-plus inches of thick young jock-cock. He slurped and licked and bobbed his head up and down with abandon. He hadn't had cock this fine since his last time in this dorm.

"Damn, fuckin' beautiful piece of meat, bro," he said, looking up at Tommy, whose eyes were closed as he drifted off on a wave of the total pleasure that comes from an expert cocksucking.

"Thanks, dawg," Tommy panted, "fuck do you ever know what yer doin'!"

Blaine gobbled up and down that succulent cock-meat, twisting and slurping his tongue around with relish, in ways that drove Tommy wild. Soon that pistoning head of blonde dreads was deep-throating Tommy all the way down to his sexily shaved pubes.

"AW FUCK!!" Tommy screamed. He was gonna shoot any second, he knew.

Kyle, meanwhile, was having a field day between those hairy, muscular ass-cheeks. He loved rimming. He'd suspected his tongue was an especially sensitive erogenous zone in his body: he'd always wanted to eat out girls' pussies, but few of them were as into it as he was. Now, with dudes, he could indulge his talents: guys wanted it as good as he could give, and a guy's sweet pucker and sexy crack made for choice eating. He lapped and slurped and kissed and spit, slapping Blaine's ass, working spit-slicked fingers around his pucker so he could get his tongue further and further in. He loved the tang of a real man's ass. Soon his nose was jammed up between those hard, furry muscle-cheeks, and he was snorting and grunting with delight.

"AW Fuck!" Blaine cried, pulling up off Tommy's slobbered-up jock-flesh for a second to egg Kyle on further. "That tongue of yours is making me crazy. Fuck, I'm gonna need that sweet-looking dick o' yours up there soon." He could feel Kyle's drippy hardness rubbing against his thigh. Aw shit, he thought to himself, muscle-studs naked and romping together. It don't get any better. He gobbled up Tommy's cock again and, spurred onto another level of desire by that incredible rim-job, he began to finger Tommy's ass and juggle his smooth ballsac in his hands.

A minute of that and Tommy was gone. "AW SHIT, STUD!!" he cried and gave Blaine his evening's first helping of jock-cream. He made muffled grunts of delight as he slobbered and swallowed Tommy's load. Then he looked up, thick cum coating his lips and dribbling down his chin a little, and kissed Tommy passionately. Their tongues delighted in the fresh jock-cream.

Blaine put his hand back on Tommy.

"Shit, you fucker, you're still fucking hard. I guess I need to suck longer."

Tommy felt down for Blaine's thick rod.

"And fuck, I gotta get me some o' this, dude!" he said dreamily.

He quickly shifted around so he and Blaine could 69. Kyle got back down to work. He parted Blaine's muscular cheeks again, all saliva-slick from his tonguing. He first rubbed his hands all over the beautiful light fur - that ass was like his private playground - and then he dug back in. His tongue danced and licked all around Blaine's widened hole, lapping and spearing and licking and kissing. He hocked more saliva on his fingers and began teasing the tight hole even further open with his fingers. Fuck, yeah, he grinned, delighting in all the sensations of man-sex. He just watched his fingers prying and pulling at that loosening hole. It was opening up like a small mouth, he thought, in shy desire, ready to swallow up hard young boy-pricks.

Blaine took his head off Tommy's delicious meat long enough to yell, "Shit, yeah! Work that tight hole open! I want these hot, hard jock cocks in me as soon as fucking possible!"

The dorm was filled with the sexiest sound on earth: the oral symphony of men lapping and licking and sucking in raw desire. Tommy and Blaine couldn't suck fast or hard or deep enough. They licked up and down each other's shafts. Then they teased and sucked big bouncing ballsacs. Blaine's fingers were grooving Tommy's crack, poking at his hole to hit his love-nut and get his dick longer and harder.

Tommy almost choked on Blaine's cock with delight. "FUCK YEAH, bro!" he gurgled, "work my fuckin' pucker. Damn, that gets me so fuckin' hard!"

By now, Kyle had Blaine open enough to feed him his wet, aching cock. Another quick gob of spit to paint his ass-walls one final time, then he braced a hand on one cheek and worked his tip in.

"OH SHIT, YEAH!" Blaine cried, like a shameless slut, in pure wanton need. "Feed me that hot hard jock cock, dude! Fuck, is my ass ever hungry for some hard, cut jock meat! Don't be gentle, dude! Make it hard and raw! Awww fuck, that smooth young cock feels so fuckin fine goin' in!"

Fuck, was Kyle ever amped up. Watching his lover and this older stud slurping away at each other's cocks, listening to those awesome, luscious sounds of dudes pleasuring each other, and working his stiff young prick into this tight hairy hole - it was like porn sex. Fucking hot as fuck. Soon his cock oozed all the way into that eager, writhing butt. It was like Blaine just gulped him down.

"Come on, dude! Don't stop! Start fucking me! Rub me fucking raw! Make my ass know a hot young jock fucker's been up there!"

Kyle was gripped by a hot fever of boy-lust, he wanted to burn this fine-ass surfer-dude down. He quickly got into a sexy rhythm, pumping those lithe soccer-star hips, and Blaine rose his powerful torso up in ecstasy. He braced himself with beautifully sculpted biceps on either side of Tommy's hips, and just relished in the sweet fucking he was getting. Shit, was he ever a bottom for young jock studs. He began pushing back, meeting Kyle's hard thrusts, loving the fact that a smooth young harbody was giving his ass such a sweet going-over.

"FUCK YES! What a fine fucking fuck! My ass is loving every fucking inch of you, dude! I can't ever get enough jock meat!"

Tommy kept sucking off that young blonde bear with utter relish. God, he loved cocksucking. The sensation was incredible. Sheer lusciousness. He let his tongue trace up and down that long, thick shaft, jiggling Blaine's ripe balls in their big, hairy mansac. His eyes were locked on the sight of his young lover's hard cock going in and out, gobbled up then spit out by Blaine's hungry ass-lips, then disappearing back into that muscular ass, so sexy with that fur of blonde fuzz. Blaine - close to cumming, Tommy knew, because his mansac was tightening - started face-fucking Tommy in counter-rhythm to the fuck Kyle was throwing his hot, tingly ass. Tommy let his hands drift up and down Blaine's furry, chiseled thighs, loving the feel of that thick shaft having its way with his hot young mouth. Almost choking in bliss at the battering that cock was giving him, but loving every minute of this raw, randy scene, he reached around to stroke his lover's smooth, pistoning ass. He cold feel the fury of Kyle's lust, plugging away at his first hot, hairy man-hole. He let a finger play up and down Kyle's crack, a kind of tender love-message to his boyfriend.

Soon Blaine was screaming. "OH FUCK YES!! I - !" And then he plunged in deep and sprayed Tommy's throat with load after load of thick, salty man-cream. It was too much for Tommy to gobble down, and it overflowed his mouth. Suddenly he heard Tommy cry out. Blaine's ass-clenching orgasm had sent him over the top, too. Three, four, five grunts and Kyle was through, collapsing on Blaine's back.

Soon the spent jocks were all in bed together, kissing and cooing and stroking, enjoying each other's well-worked bodies. Blaine, especially, delighted in the attention his older, hairy body - a novelty for these two college boys - was getting: Kyle was softly licking his dick clean, playing again with that thick blonde bush, while Tommy let his hands play over those hairy pecs, stopping every now and then to kiss and suckle those hard nips. Blaine was stroking Tommy's firm, ripe beefiness with one hand while his other grazed Kyle's soft face, ears, and played in his curly hair.

"Fuck," he said, "you and your friends next door are the hottest young fuckers I've ever met. Shit, I'm gonna have to bring you boys free pizzas just to get a steady diet of those long, thick jock-cocks."

As Tommy let his fingers trace around Blaine's nipples and down over his abs, totally amped up by the feel of man-fur, he said dreamily, "Damn, dude, you sure got a thing for young jock beef, huh?"

"Shit yeah," Blaine drawled lazily, continuing his sexy stroking. "I told ya. I wanna teach phys ed, hopefully be a high school coach, too. Fuck, I'm gonna love that - watching those fine-ass boys work their hard young bodies; helping 'em get bigger, leaner, hotter-looking."

Then he smiled in sly lust, "Fuck, makes me hard every time I daydream about it. I'm gonna be one of those young, good-lookin' coaches that wears just a small, tight sleeveless shirt - if I wear anything on top - to show off my chest and arms. And I'll wear sweatpants with no jock, so the boys can see my long, thick man-cock jigglin' around down there. That'll get things real steamy. Then I'm gonna make it a practice to shower with my hot jock boys every fuckin' day after class and practice. Soapin' up my hard, hairy body, washin' my ass, spreadin' my cheeks so they can see my pucker, then soapin' up my dick till it gets hard, watchin' boys get stiffies as they check me out, lettin' 'em know I'm checkin' 'em out, encouragin' us all to beat off."

"Then, afterwards," Blaine went on, all three of them hard from his boy-lust fantasy, "givin' nude massages to the ones that give off a gay-curious vibe. Damn, I can just see it, both of us nude, me on top of some firm young dude, lettin' him 'accidentally' feel my hard, dripping cock, working my hands lower and lower, cupping his ass cheeks, kneadin' 'em over and over, each time let my fingers go deeper and deeper into his crack, teasing the shit out of him, then lettin' my fingers graze that tight young ballsac or cock-tip, strokin' his thighs all the way up, till he's whimpering with teen-lust, beggin' me to go for it. Or sittin' in the whirlpool with some big young boy-hunk, watchin' our dicks rise, playin' seductively with my own, wondering out loud what the fuck two horny dudes are supposed to do with these big luscious hard-ons. It's gonna be so damn sweet! My plan is to get a core group of boys together each year who are into hot, raw man-boy sex. A stable of young thoroughbred colts."

"Shit," said Kyle dreamily, stroking up and down Blaine's long hard man-pole, and tracing circles over his big hairy nut-sac, "that sounds hot as hell, dawg! Sure as fuck wish I had a coach like you when I was in high school, a total muscle-hunk stud into hot boy action, 'stead of the old fat fucks I mostly had. Fuck, I'd stay late every day after practice and suck that fine-ass man-cock o' yours, Blaine, then fuck that tight hairy hole. Prob'ly have to wait in a long fucking line to do it, though. You'll have every sexy jock boned up and eager for a romp with a stud like you. You fucking ooze sex appeal, dude! Just flash that laid-back smile o' yours, let 'em see that thick piece o' man-meat, they'll be dropping their shorts and bendin' over."

"No shit," said Tommy. "I sure as fuck would. A fine-ass stud-coach like you, when I was a teen, to teach me how hot gay sex was. Fuck, woulda saved me a lot of grief later on, no doubt. Guys that age, they don't know what they want, what they need. Sure as hell would help to have an experienced stud like you to show 'em what they really crave! Show 'em just what kinda hot sex an athletic dude is built for!"

"That's what I'm thinkin', too," Blaine's eyes glazed with lust over his boy-sex visions. Then he looked at the two hot young fuckers he was with and his eyes twinkled: "Maybe I'll hire you two dudes as my assistant coaches. You can break those young jocks in for me."

"Damn," Tommy said, his voice now low and thick with lust, "all this sexy-ass talk has got me totally boned."

He reached under and nuzzled his fingers into Blaine's hairy furry crack. "You got time for another helping of beef and cream, dude?"

"Mmmm," said Blaine, giving Tommy a deep soul-kiss while he played roughly with the hockey-stud's ripe young ballsac. "You been whippin' up a new helpin' for me, dude?"

"Fuck, Blaine, a stud like you, talkin' so sexy like you do - shit, my fucking cream makes itself. I sure as fuck like your brand of sex, dawg: hot, hard, and nasty as fuck!"

Blaine scooted down to nurse Tommy's cock a little. "Let me just get this jock-beef all hard and wet before you ream me with it."

Tommy lay back in ecstasy and ran his fingers through Blaine's thick blonde dreads.

Kyle didn't miss a beat, driven by hunger for more of Blaine's luscious ass, especially cause he knew there was a huge load of his cum still in there. Fuck, his dick got hard thinkin' about what an awesome treat was in store. He rubbed those sexy ass-cheeks and got down to business, first scooping out a glob and sucking his fingers clean. Then another glob, which he brought up to Blaine's busy mouth. The older stud stopped munching that hockey-cock long enough to suck off every drop. Kyle grinned, and then, back at that ass, he probed with his tongue to scoop out another glob. As he worked the cum out, he rubbed Blaine's rock-hard ass, loving the feel of that fine blonde dusting coating big, firm muscle.

"Fuck yeah!" Blaine cried. "Tongue that cum out! Lemme feel that hot tongue of yours all up in my guts. But don't get it all. Save some so I can have this thick jock-cock I'm slatherin' plunge right in to an assfull of your jock-spunk! Fuck, you dudes got me hard as fuck. You're even hornier than your friends!"

Kyle tongued out one last huge gob and eased his smooth musculature up the hard rough expanse of Blaine's back. Then the ex-jock stopped lapping Tommy's dick for a second to turn and kiss Kyle, gratefully taking all the cum the soccer-stud had for him. He tongued that young jock's mouth clean.

"Aw shit, that's good." Then he reached down and let Tommy's balls play through his rough fingers. "I'm ready for you, stud. Ream my ass with hard jock meat!"

Tommy wasted no time; his hard, jutting prick felt ready to explode. As he and Kyle switched positions, Tommy kissed him and whispered, "Dude, life is so fucking incredible with you. Love you, dawg."

"Love ya," Kyle answered, giving his boyfriend's cock a quick squeeze. Then Kyle scooted under Blaine, taking the surfer-stud's long, twitching pole in his mouth and working his fingers through his bush and all over his fur-covered ballsac. Blaine just gave out with a deep, guttural "SHIT YEAH!" and re-filled his hungry mouth with another side of jock beef.

"Fuck," Tommy said, "I see why you liked fuckin' this stud's hot hole. Fuckin' amazing, dude!" He loved how into it Blaine was, bucking and clasping and wriggling, ecstatic at the feel of hard young jock-meat gliding in and out his greedy hole.

Across the hall Jordy Madison, sophomore tight end, was coming home from a night at the library.

"Hey, bro," said his room-mate, Miklos Czerny, junior point guard from Hungary. Miklos, who everybody called Mick, was lying naked on his bed, studying chemistry for tomorrow's test.

"Yo, Mick. 'Sup? Jordy immediately kicked his flip-flops off, pulled his tight T over his head, and yanked off his sweatpants. He loved being nude in the dorm; it seemed, lately, like most guys went around nude, which was kinda cool, like living in a locker room. Jock dorm, maybe that explains it; probably different in the other residence halls. And he was glad he had a roommate who was comfortable with his own nudity, too. And, Jordy had to admit, Mick had a lot to be comfortable about: extraordinary definition and a cock Jordy never got tired of sneaking peeks at: long, thick, and uncut. Jordy loved seeing that head covered by that thick fleshy hood. He'd never been with a dude before, but Mick sure as hell was the kind of dude he could go for.

"I'm gonna do some curls before bed," he said, getting his dumbbells out from under his bed. "Wanna do a few sets?"

"Sure," said Miklos, looking for an excuse to stop studying - and always eager to watch his big, chiseled American room-mate pump up that buff body. He hopped out of bed and walked over to Jordy's side of the room. He could tell Jordy was tying to scope out his cock without seeming to, which he thought was kinda sweet and funny. In Hungary, boys were much more comfortable with each other's bodies; the line between 'gay' and 'straight' was a lot blurrier than it seemed to be in the U.S. Guys would stroke and suck each other off without a thought. But here, guys seemed awfully uptight about that kind of friendly intimacy.

Soon he was doing reps with thirty pound weights, watching Jordy's arms strain and flex under fifty pound dumbbells.

"Sounds like Kyle's bangin' some broad across the hall," Jordy said, between grunts. Their door was open, and so was Kyle's across the way.

"Yeah," said Miklos, "sounds, I think, like Kyle and another guy banging some broad. They've been going at it for a while now. Sounds like Kyle sure got lucky tonight."

Miklos stared at those massive, sexy arms. His whole body was sexy: very pale, almost white skin, totally smooth; as muscular on the bottom as he was on top, with thick cut thighs, enormous thighs, and an ass like two ripe melons; plus he had a little poof of a pubic bush on top of a long thick dangling cock. Miklos sighed; he wished Jordy was more open to the kind of boy-play he was used to back in Hungary. They could have all kinds of fun together at night.

Finally, red and sweaty, Jordy let his weights drop. "I'm ready for a shower, dude. How about you?"

"Sounds cool." And they grabbed their towels and headed out the door.

Once in the hall, Jordy winked at his roomie. "Hey, Mick," he whispered, "what say we take a quick peek?"

Miklos's eyes lit up, "Sure! Hot!"

They crept to the half-open door and peeked.

"UN-FUCKING-REAL!" Jordy whispered, but loudly. The sight that greeted him was not Kyle banging a broad, or Kyle and another dude banging a broad. It was Kyle, lying on his bed, with some totally hot older guy in dreads. Kyle and the dude were 69'ing, something Jordy always wanted to do with a girl (but couldn't find anyone willing to take his cock in her mouth). Even wilder, the incredibly beautiful blonde-furred stud was having his ass fucked by Tommy Bolton, Chance's roomie. And Tommy was digging the shit out of it, judging by the wild cries and moans of passion erupting from him. Jordy watched, fascinated and utterly aroused, as that hockey-stud's long, thick, glistening dick kept poking that hot, wiggly ass.

Miklos was loving it - it was like the old days for him. Maybe American boys were not as uptight as he thought. He began stroking at the scene, as did Jordy.

"Surprise, huh?" Miklos smiled, watching Jordy stroke himself in excitement at the scene. He was all thick and veiny. The Hungarian licked his lips in raw lust.

"NO SHIT!" Jordy whispered. "So Kyle and Tommy must be gay. Damn." He was pumping away like crazy, eyes glued to the action Kyle's bed. "Damn!"

"Look like fun to you?" Miklos asked, pulling lasciviously on the fleshy skin of his long, smooth cock.

"Oh yeah!" Then he thought better: "I mean, no. Well, I mean, fuck yeah, I can't front. Looks like some of the hottest fucking sex I've ever seen."

Then his voice trailed off. He'd turned to Mick to say that last remark, and now he realized his Euro-stud roomie was stroking off just like he was. Aw shit, he'd always wanted to see that uncut beauty hard, and here it was. Incredible. He stared in fascination as Miklos pulled a thick, loose sleeve of flesh over his long thick hard cock, then ease it slowly forward, covering the whole head of his cock. Back and forth. Miklos knew Jordy's eyes were mesmerized. He could just feel that hot football stud's lips on his dick.

"Shit," said Jordy, in a boy-lust daze, "that's awesome, how you stroke, Mick."

"You wanna try?"

"Me? You'd let me? Take a few turns on that awesome cock?"

"Sure," he tenderly put his own hand over Jordy's, which was still working his cock, and he brought it over to his. He guided Jordy's hand up and down his hard thick shaft.

"AW SHIT! Mick, this is so cool. Never been with a dude before. Always been so damn curious. Fuck, another dude's cock! Fuckin' awesome!"

He worked the foreskin up and down, slowly, softly, treading carefully in unknown waters, but amped as hell. It got his own dick harder and twitchier; he could tell he was oozing.

"God, I'm bonin' something fierce now! Fuck is this ever hot!"

Miklos saw glistening boy-juice. "Ah, making honey," he smiled, and he swiped it off with his finger and brought it to his lips. "Mmmmmm, tastes so good, Jordy."

Jordy was stunned. How hot was that? Mick sucking his juice off his finger?! Then he moaned in trembling ecstasy as Miklos's hand enclosed his own cock and stroked sensuously.

"OH FUCK YES, DUDE!" he cried. "Mick, this is so fucking hot!!! Fuck, I'm gonna cum in like a minute. Shit, fucking amazing!"

He closed his eyes, reveling as all time stopped and just his body mattered. His hand on that huge hunk of uncut Hungarian meat, and the wonderful feel of a hot boy making love to his own leaky prick. Fuck, too fucking much! Soon, Mick's other hand was jiggling his balls and then working down lower, under his nutsac.

"Oh fuck yessss!" Jordy said, his voice coming low and grunty from a part of his body he wasn't even aware of.

He opened his eyes and looked at Mick. His room-mate was pure lean muscle. He had a classic basketball player's tight, bulging hardness, lean and wiry from all the constant running. Jordy loved looking at him, he always had, so different than his own hefty bulk. That lean, beautifully defined chest and those small red nipples; his round, perfect ass; and that amazing cock that he actually had his hands around. He stroked it so gratefully. That cock felt so fucking natural in his hand.

"Shit, dude," he said shyly, "you're so fucking beautiful."

"You're so hot, Jordy. So strong. A real hunk."

"You're dick is like huge. I ain't never seen it hard before. It's so damn long."

"Yours is longer, I think," Miklos said, slyly.

"What? No way, dude. This sweet meat is way bigger. Thicker, too. Fuckin' real mouthful." Damn, he thought: did I just say that? But it did; it looked scrumptious. His mouth and tongue and lips seemed to be crying out for him to take that sweet piece of meat in.

"Let's measure, huh?" And Miklos wasted no time scrunching tight in front of his roomie - and soon-to-be fuck-buddy. He mashed their balls together, then carefully lined up each cock. He grasped them hard in one hand, barely fitting his fingers around, and squeezed tightly, running his hand straight up.

Jordy was in ecstasy. The feeling of that hard, thick fleshy cock against his own was unbelievable. He was having gay sex, he knew, for the first time. And all he could think was how much more of it he wanted to have.

"Aw fuck," he mumbled, his balls drawing up, a huge orgasm stealing over him. His legs were weak.

"I think maybe I am like a centimeter longer. Not much." And he kept stroking both their cocks together, slowly, up and down, sensually, giving Jordy the ride of his young life.

Miklos could just about hear the cum slowly erupting from deep within his room-mate's body; he could hear it in the deep rhythmic moans and sobs and cries. He reached in and kissed Jordy passionately on the lips, still stroking their young hard-ons together. Jordy kissed back with a desire unleashed, wild, furious. Their tongues went crazy, and that's when Jordy erupted, sending gusher after gusher of hot cream all over both athletes' abs and chests.

"Mmmmmm," said Miklos, "so hot, bro. Let's go back in the room and clean each other off, huh? Maybe have more fun?"

"OH FUCK YES, MICK! Fucking damn! Fuck, Mick, I gotta feel that beautiful cock of your in my mouth. I just wanna kiss it, lick it, rub it against my face. Fuck, I wanna suck you till you cum in my mouth!"

Chance and his friends, then, were a beacon, showing boys the way to the most mind-blowing sex imaginable. In Miklos, the Brotherhood had gained an experienced veteran; in Jordy, a new - and very fervent - recruit.

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