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Horny in the Dorms
Chapter 30
After getting our breakfast at the motel, I spent the better part of the morning shlepping duffle bags and gear in and out of the bus and into the locker rooms and gymnasium for the team. I never dreamed there was so much "stuff." I guess I assumed with wrestling clothing so minimal, and tight, no pads or cups, that each guy could carry his own tiny little bag. But, no, and many of them were incapable of keeping their gear together anyway, so I was their "mom" for the bulk of the day. Running from the gym down to the locker room in the basement to grab someone's something, or to wash off someone's something else. Or to find someone's mouth guard.
One of the main jobs was to be sure everyone had their competition singlet for their match. Most of the guys wore something else between bouts. The guys were every size from tiny and skinny little guys that looked like middle schoolers up to mountainous hulks of meat, like Mattie. Their team singlets were supposed to be in one large duffle, and I was to be sure each guy was geared up approximately a half hour before their match time slot. Some preferred their singlets to be snug but not super tight, others a little loose, and a few wanted theirs super-tight. Like their suit looked spray-painted on, and you literally couldn't grab anything on it during a match.
I had a clipboard with the schedule, and working ahead about a half hour, I would find the next guy on the list, give him the suit, and make sure he knew his time slot. Most of the guys were total strangers to me, and I needed Danny to help me keep them all straight.
I returned from a run to the locker room, and sat down next to Danny, saying, "Whew! That guy -- um Jordie -- forgot his jock, so he's freeballing under his singlet."
"Yeah?" he answered absent-mindedly, "He seems to forget his strap every match. I think he likes the look."
Glancing over to Jordie, I saw his package clearly outlined in the tight spandex. He was stretching and getting ready to go to the matt next. The smaller guys were first, working down the list to the heavy-weighters. But I couldn't help noticing that the smaller guys we just as likely to be hung as anyone. In fact, it seemed like the scrawny guys had more trouble fitting their cocks into their singlets than the bigger guys.
I could see several other teams nearby, and the testosterone level in the gym was palpable. Some of the grappling going on during the matches was pretty intense, and several times it was obvious that a guy was getting aroused during their match. Some of the smaller more agile wrestlers would grab their opponent between the cheeks, their strong grip locked deep in the ass, trying with all their might to flip their guy and pin him, or get points for the reversal, or escape.
"Okay, gotta go get the next one ready. Which one is Ronny?"
"Right behind Mattie. The little fire-plug with red hair and no neck."
I got up, and went over to Ronny. He was chatting with Mattie, and adjusting himself at the same time. When he saw me approaching, he slapped Mattie in the arm and gave me a nervous smile. It looked like he was trying to quickly change the subject. Mattie looked a little embarrassed, but he just walked away shaking his head. Ronny, who was wearing a string tank and baggy sweatpants, was shorter, really stocky and had extremely defined muscles. He'd been warming up for a while now, and was just getting mentally ready, and sizing up the other wrestlers across the gym in his weight class.
"I gotta get you geared up, uh Ronny is it?" I said.
"Right." He adjusted his junk again, pushing his ample bulge around a little before sauntering off towards the stairs leading down to the locker rooms.
"What size singlet do you use?" I asked digging into the duffle bag, resting on the bench.
"Extra small," he replied as he stripped off his clothes. He grabbed a pair of very tight supporter, like a speedo to wear under his singlet and stepped into it. "Can you help me out here?" he asked as he pulled his balls into the speedo. Then he got his legs started into the singlet.
"Sure," I mumbled, stepping behind him and pulling the singlet's spandex up high enough to fit his arms through the straps. He was already a little sweaty, a light sheen of moisture scattered across his back, especially right above the waist in the middle of his muscled back. The fabric needed to be pulled pretty firmly up his thighs, and way up into his crack, and I was afraid to pull any harder for fear of ripping the fabric. It didn't look like it was going to fit up far enough to clear his shoulders. When he turned around, he was struggling to get the straps over his arms, and his dick was semi-hard pointing down to the side of his thigh.
"I love the feeling of the tight wrestling singlet right before a match," he grunted as he pulled. "Can you help me pull more of this up from the bottom? I'll get the front."
So, as he pulled bits of the spandex up from his crotch to give more space near the top, I did the same from the back, grabbing the material with one hand from inside the suit, the other hand outside his leg opening, and yanking it up to the waist, trying to even the stretch out. His thighs and buttocks were so firm, wet but warm and sweaty. By the time it was on him the way he liked it, I was the one who was sweaty. He turned around, holding his hands out as if to say, "How do I look?" And his cock was now settling into a more business-ready position. I could see he was circumcised, but he wasn't going to pop wood right away. He was running his hands up the smooth and very tight singlet, his muscled arms flexing as he moved.
"Looks good." I tried to keep my eyes from lingering too long on his package, but it was intriguing to say the least. "Hey, Coach wants to see you right away. Get your shoes on and come right up." I turned to go, and he challenged me with, "What do you want to bet I'll beat the guy by 3 points?" He asked as he started putting his footwear on.
"Yeah, yeah, sure. whatever, Ronny." I answered, turning to leave.
"Hey, Hitch, don't be a fucker. Just trying to make the day more interesting for you. I don't know you. You don't know me, but Mattie says you're cool, so just give me a chance, okay?"
"Yeah, is that what Mattie said? Great. So what are we betting?"
"Hmmm, well, from what I hear, I'm sure we can figure something out." He licked his lips suggestively and finished tying his wrestling shoes. He stood, and sauntered out, his semi still prominently tucked down and to the right.
I took a deep breath and wondered how he could possibly focus on wrestling with his singlet so tight, knowing everyone could see every nook and cranny of his junk. "Maybe he gets a kick out of it," I said to myself as I grabbed the list and went back up to the gym.
The next guy, Richie, was a little taller, I remembered him from the bus ride. He was white-blonde, with a buzz-cut, so his head looked almost bald, and his skin-tone was that Nordic pink -- almost transparent. Every muscle clearly defined, not an ounce of fat, and he had been warming up on the mat with another teammate, so he was breathing hard and sweaty already. I approached him waving the list to get his attention. He turned to face me and smiled. He was pretty. No other way to say it. His eyes were almond shaped, his lashes long and alluring. His lips full and red, and his build was like a smaller greek god. He was already wearing a singlet, with red and white stripes, but he needed to change into the official team version. "I'll get you your gear, um, Richie, right?" I said, looking down at the list.
"Yup, that's me," he replied, still panting and sweat dripping from his nose, his hands on his slim hips, and as he came past me, heading towards the exit and stairs, I got a blast of his musk. It was like a sex cocktail. I felt it hit me like a jolt from my scalp to me sphincter, and my cock stirred in my shorts.
"That has never happened to me before," I said to myself, catching my breath, and following him to the stairwell. My eyes were firmly fixed on his tight white and red striped ass as he bounded down two steps at a time. On the landing half-way down he pulled the shoulder straps down and freed his whole top half from his singlet, the light sheen of sweat glistening on each curve and dip of his carved back and shoulders. With the suit already falling off, he rounded the corner and entered the locker room, and left it in a where it fell off his hips. His now naked form kept moving in what can only be called poetry in motion. He went to the far side of the locker room and into the toilet section, saying," Just need to take a quick piss here, Hitch."
"Right," I stammered. "What size do you wear? I'll get it out."
"Small usually works best." I fished out a small uniform, and set it on the bench. "Do you have your wrestling shoes on already?" I called.
"Yes, but I'll put on the team shoes. Hang on." There was a weird silence. "Hey, Hitch, can you come here? I need you to look at something." He sounded worried. So, I entered the toilet area, and he was standing beside a urinal, both hands holding his balls up tight his legs slightly apart. "Can you tell me if there's something, um, down there that shouldn't be? I just felt it while I was pissing." And he pointed to his ass hole. "I can't quite see down there."
Gladly, I got on my knees right beside him, grabbed his one thigh and lifted it away and up to rest on the sink nearby, to get a clearer view between his legs. He was already holding his balls up and out of the way, I saw they were freshly shaved. As I ducked down to look, I got another wave of his musky scent, my nose just inches from his hot sweaty crotch, and saw his tight puckered little ass hole. Almost swooning with desire, I tried to focus. There, on the rim of his hole was a small bump. I put both hands on his thighs and pushed gently to get a closer look, and he said, "Do you see it? Is it a tumor?"
"I think it's a small hemorrhoid, and aside from the fact that you feel it there, it looks harmless enough." I said. I poked it with my index finger, "Did that hurt at all?" He jerked slightly at my touch.
"Not pain really, but, like I've never had one before. Should it hurt? is that bad?"
I stood up saying, " I've only heard what you hear on TV when there's a commercial, but I'm guessing it's only a real concern if it gets red and inflamed."
"Oh," he said, and dropping his grip on his balls, did a few toe-jumps up and down seemingly to shake off his stress. He closed his eyes and I gaped at his completely hairless white-pink skin, his darker pink cock and balls flopping freely around. His dick was thicker than most, about 4 inches long, his balls were tight up, and not flopping much at all. He stood there, eyes still closed, and took some deep breaths. "I'm all warmed up, but now I'm feeling too tight, too tense." He adjusted his dick tenderly, grabbing it and pulling it up, his other hand pulling his balls up and checking his bump again." Now his cock began to grow, and as he jumped, his cock hit against his thighs and then within seconds became longer, more red and pointed straight out. "I think I need to rub one out, or I'll never wrestle well today," he whispered quietly.
Opening his eyes, he seemed to arrive at an idea. And my standing there watching seemed to be the whole point.
"Um, do you want me to leave?" I asked tentatively. "How much time do I have?" was his only response. He was already masturbating, one hand cupping his balls, the other stroking with purpose. I heard noises of someone entering the locker room.
Glancing quickly at the clock and the list, I saw his time slot. "Fifteen minutes until your match time."
"Good, I'll be quick." He said, ducking into the nearby toilet stall, but leaving the door open. I still had a perfect view of his actions. A locker slammed shut, and someone entered the shower area and turned on the water.
I was leaning against the porcelain sink, and Richie was sitting naked on the toilet and jerking off, and he seemed to not care that I was watching. His face got really red, his grip tightened and his pace quickened. Seconds later, he stood, walked a few steps closer to the sink next to me, where he could see his reflection in the mirror, and placed his balls on the lip of the cold sink. In a few final strokes, he quietly erupted in a truly impressive fountain of cum. Some hit the mirror, some hit his chin and dribbled down to his chest, and some landed in the sink.
"Bravo!" I said. "Truly one for the ages. Now, you should get back up to the match soon.
"Thanks, dude. I've never done that before," he said as he turned on the water and washed his hands.
"What?"
"I mean, I've never jerked in front of another guy before, but I've always wondered what it would be like." He wiped the glob from his chest and tossed it into the sink, washing it down. "It always relieves the tension I feel before a match," he continued, "but my father always insisted it was a mistake, and I'd be stronger if I saved it up til after a match."
"I've heard that was debunked ages ago."
"Yeah, and my dad is a real dick anyway," he walked away from the toilets toward the bench with the gear, seemingly oblivious to the cum still on his face.
I couldn't let him leave with spooge on his chin, so I said, "Hold on, Richie, let me get that." I put my hand up and wiped his chin, his thick glob of warm sperm juice now between my fingers.
He grabbed the singlet I had laid out for him, and pulled it on. After getting his wrestling shoes on, he said, "Hitch, you're all right," and smiled again at me in a way that just melted my heart.