Quarterback Club Chronicles

Celebrity)

THE QUARTERBACK CLUB CHRONICLES Chapter Six: Cane Enabled (2) By in2jocks@hotmail.com

Note: The following story is fiction and is NOT intended to imply anything about the true sexuality of any celebrities mentioned, nor any personal knowledge about their private lives. Comments and constructive criticism and future story ideas are welcome (if sending comments please make your e-mail subject line distinctive to prevent flagging as spam -- thanks)!

October 1, 2003 - Afternoon San Bruno, California

For one of the few times in his still-young life, Brock Berlin was literally and figuratively speechless. A million thoughts and emotions filled his mind, but no words were anywhere near ready to come out. It had unfolded in the blink of an eye. The last thing he remembered was hearing the metallic `click' as Dave had released his seat belt. For an instant, Brock thought that Dave was going to force him to get out of the car - maybe even beat him up or something But instead, the brown-haired young agent had lunged across the bench seat and planted a heated, passionate wet, kiss square on Brock's lips!

It was so shocking an act that Brock wasn't cognizant of the fact that he had not responded in any other way but to meet and join in the all-encompassing sensation of the kiss. The press of the lips; the contact of Dave's tongue on his own; clean male scent of Dave himself, and finally, at the end, the unbridled pleasure at realizing that he'd finally kissed another guy!

How long had it lasted -- thirty seconds, maybe a full minute? Brock wasn't really sure. Right now, he only knew that Dave had pulled away from him, saying nothing and settling back on his own side of the sedan's bench seat. Brock took a furtive glance to his left and saw that Dave was returning his gaze, expectantly waiting for Brock to react, to respond in any way.

Dave waited on. Waited for the extremely cute college athlete to explode in disgusted verbal outrage; maybe followed by a punch in the chops -- anything but this severe, awkward silence. It seemed a repeat of the prolonged silence that had occurred a scant few minutes before, when the incriminating DVD case had first fallen out of the backpack.

Dave felt the remnants of his self-control evaporate. The feelings of shame and regret --for giving in to the impulse of self-pleasure -- began to block out his other thoughts. How could he have allowed himself to cast aside everything he stood for? And more to the point, how had he rationalizing the presence of the male sex video into "permission" to make an unwanted advance on an innocent man? All the years of hard work -- the desire to accomplish good things, to live his life to standards that would have made his parents proud -- had been flushed down the toilet in one horribly selfish moment.

"Oh god -- Brock! I'm so sorry. I know how wrong what I just did was". Dave was barely was able to get even those words out. He tried to make eye contact with Brock, but the strawberry blond's face was expressionless - as if etched in stone. He just stared straight ahead, as if he were a million miles away.

Dave had no way of knowing the degree of inner turmoil his spontaneous action had unleashed within Brock. In the immediate aftermath of the frenetic kiss, Brock had had difficulty thinking coherently. But even in the last minute, Brock's thoughts had settled to a great degree. Relative clarity had replaced his initial confusion. And like the young man sitting next to him, Brock was struggling to find suitable words -- but n his case, the words he was seeking were those that would let the handsome young agent understand just what result his action had meant to Brock

The sound of Dave clearing his throat interrupted Brock's private ruminations. "Brock, you have every right to be royally pissed off. And the worst thing is that someone who is sworn to protect and serve you and the public had violated you instead. For my own stupid, selfish needs"

Dave paused, taking a short breath. A quick glance at Brock - still no outward sign of emotion or anger. He continued, as painful as it was. "This whole thing is so unfair to you; you didn't ask to be treated like this. Look - I won't burden you with any more of my crap". Dave's turmoil was at fever pitch, but he had to get these next words out, difficult as they might be.

"Brock, you have every right to not only be pissed off at me as a person, but to be outraged as a citizen who for the second time today has endured inappropriate action from a federal law enforcement officer". He took another breath. "But my action can't be described in any other way than as a physical attack, and I'm fully aware of the consequences of what I've done".

Dave reached into his jacket pocket, extracting his ID wallet, and placed it on the seat close to Brock's thigh (making sure to avoid physical contact). "I'm not trying to convince you to not press charges, but I am telling you right now that I'm going to tender my resignation. Not later, I mean today, as soon as we get back to the office. That way, at least you'll know that no other innocent person will ever go through what you just did. Oh god, I am so sorry"

As Dave got out his painful words, Brock had made up his mind and knew what he would say. He was completely sure - more sure than anything he had ever been sure of before. He would play it cool for another minute, just like when he was staring down a pair of blitzing linebackers. Time to call the audible of his life! He made eye contact with Dave for the first time since the kiss. It took some effort, but Brock spoke with as colorless a monotone as possible.

"Call Mr. Eastwood".

"What? I'm sorry, Brock, did you say you want me to call Ed"?

"Agent Andrews, do it. I want you to call Mr. Eastwood on your cell phone. Right now".

Dave suppressed asking Brock for an explanation, aware that none was needed and that he had no choice but to comply. A new wave of self-disgust rushed over him as he took his phone put of his jacket pocket. How had he gotten to the point that he would commit what could be construed as a felonious assault on this innocent young man? He could be -- no, he was -- in serious legal trouble. Brock obviously wanted to be sure Ed was in thee office to begin the complaint process.

Dave opened the phone cover and paged through the speed dial directory until Ed Eastwood's office listing was highlighted. He handed the phone to Brock, who was once more staring straight ahead, refusing to look in Dave's direction.

"Push the green `TALK' button to start the call". Dave was trembling, his senses heightened. He watched as Brock's face changed expression -- there! Ed must have answered.

"Mr. Eastwood. Hello, this is Brock Berlin -- remember me?" He was speaking as if nothing had happened. But Dave knew all too well what was coming. "Yes sir, he did tell me about the code people having success. Sir, you're very welcome. Like I told you and Ms. Wu, it was my pleasure to help out".

A momentary pause -- the small talk was over.

Death by anticipation.

"Actually, yes sir, there is something -- I, well, I have something to tell you and to ask you". Dave felt like he would jump out of his skin if he could. He involuntarily closed his eyes.

Here comes the axe.

"Well, sir, I was wondering. Is there any way that Agent Andrews could take some time off tomorrow morning? You see, he knows some people at Stanford who can get us into the football stadium and well, I'd really like to see it from the field level before I head to the airport to fly home. Excuse me? Oh, my flight's at 1:00 pm, sir... Yes. Yes, oh yeah that would be even better, sir. I'll tell him. And, thank you again, sir. Bye." Brock pushed the `END' button and handed the phone back to Dave.

Dave was soooooo confused. What in hell was THAT all about? .

"Brock -- I don't understand ...."

Brock interrupted Dave; he loved practical jokes, and this one was working like a charm. But he couldn't keep pulling Dave's chain. Time to let him have his REAL payback for having had the nerve to kiss him like that.

"Shut up and listen up, Mr. Hotshot FBI super-special agent. My close personal friend Mr. Eastwood has just given me orders to pass on to you. He said that not only are you to escort me to Stanford Stadium tomorrow, after we're done, you are to take me to the airport and not leave the gate until the plane is in the air. His orders exactly".

Ed's instructions, but more importantly this unexpected change in Brock's demeanor, sent Dave for yet another loop. Momentarily setting aside the issue of the kiss and its aftermath, Dave's mind focused on getting access to Stanford Stadium.

"Brock -- I honestly don't know anyone who can get us stadium access. Wait, hold on, I know how; there's this lady, Helen Chilcot, who works in the provost's office, who knows absolutely everyone on campus. I'll bet anything she can get the Athletic Department to set it up to us.

Brock raised his voice to the emphatic volume he used in the huddle. "Agent Andrews -- shut your stupid pie hole -- NOW"!

Dave was mortified. What had he said wrong? He turned back to face Brock, who now had the most evil grin on his face.

"David Andrews, for such a brilliant guy, you can be soooooo dumb. I've seen the insides of hundreds of stadiums. That's the last thing I want to see. The only thing I want to see the inside of is - your bedroom".

Dave froze. This was proof that he had lost all connection with sanity.

"Don't just sit there, you idiot, get this heap moving. Do it right now -- before I chicken out".

Dave didn't stop to try to figure Brock's command out -- he just obeyed! He did his best Michael Schumacher imitation in getting the big sedan out of the garage, peeling rubber as they went.

"But the call? The stadium?"

"I hated to tell Mr. Eastwood a lie. But I didn't know how else to get us time together".

Dave was flummoxed. Brock was not only as cute as all shit, but he was smart, too.

"You're sure that you ..." But he couldn't finish the sentence. Even with this fantastic turn of events, Dave still wasn't confident that it was true. It was as if he expected something to come up and snatch away his growing joy and happiness.

"Funny thing" Brock said, his joking manner replaced by a more subdued, serious tone. "I'm positive about wanting to be with you physically. But at the same time I'm scared shitless too". He paused for a moment, clearing his throat. "You see, it's because - because I'm so afraid you'll be disappointed with me".

In a day of emotional ups and downs, Dave felt like he was a yo-yo on a string. How could he remotely be disappointed? But he let Brock continue.

"You see, Dave -- oh fucking shit, you're going to find out anyway -- I'm a virgin"!

Brock's admission hit him like whiplash, but at least Dave was no longer confused. Surprised as all hell (after all, didn't BMOC football players always get whatever action they wanted) but not confused.

But it sure did make what he himself had to tell Brock a lot easier. "That's the funniest thing I've ever heard".

Bock was a little surprised at this response. It had been difficult to even say the "V" word. And now that bastard Dave was beginning to laugh. Goddamnit, why was he mocking him like this? Brock felt betrayed after having been so honest.

"Gosh, Dave, let up on me. I mean, I -- c'mon, please. It's embarrassing enough as it is."

"No"!

"What do you mean no?"

"No I won't stop laughing"

Brock felt anger start to overtake his initial embarrassment. Could he have been so wrong in what he thought he felt about Dave in the aftermath of the kiss?

"I sorry, Brockie, but I can't stop. Because, you see -- I'm a virgin too"!

Brock broke down immediately. The car was filled will rollicking laughter all the way down the Bayshore Freeway as it headed south.

= = = = = = = = = =

Back in Santa Clara, Ken was in jock lust heaven. He was addicted to the taste and scent of stud jock ass, but there was something extra-special about Kyle's ass. Not that the other jock's fuckholes weren't hot -- after all, just 12 hours ago he had been eating the Rattay boys super-hot holes, and they had been great. But Kyle's hole was just extra-sweet. Ken felt the lust surge in his loins. He knew his first load wouldn't be long in coming. And he could tell from the grunts, moans and dirty talk coming from Kyle that the younger boy was right behind him.

Instinct took over as Ken's ass eating shifted into overdrive. Kyle had never felt anything so deep in him, or anything so good. He figured that Kenny wanted them to blow their first load fast, so he stopped trying to fight the inevitable and lost himself in the sensations. Goddamn! A freaking NFL stud is eating my asshole out! That did it. He started slamming down on Ken's yielding face, sliding his sweaty boycrack against his buddy's nose as he reached the brink of orgasm.

"Fuck fuck fuck ohhh -- do me oh motherfuck eat my hole make me cum goddamnit.

And it happened. Without any further preliminary, Kyle's orgasm began in an explosion of teen jock cum. Not slow dribbles or squirts, fucking ROCKETS of jockboy jizzcream blasted out of Kyle's swollen erection, which he had not touched once during all of the sex play. It was more fun, more intense, to let it shoot out by itself!

Down underneath, Ken was overwhelmed by the intense pulsing contractions of his jock buddy's rectal muscles. His deeply embedded tongue was getting gripped with every one of Kyle's ejaculatory spasms. After ten or eleven powerful squirts, Kyle's sperm blasting slowed down, and without hesitation he got up off of Kenny's face and reached over to the edge of the mattress, where a couple of good-sized blobs of his semen had landed. Scooping up his batter in his right hand, he moved next to Ken, who was waiting, his erection sticking straight up in the air. Kyle deftly coated the Dorsey-dong with his creamy jock lubricant, then paused and lifted his hand to his mouth.

"You're a bad boy, Kenneth Dorsey. You took an innocent choirboy and turned me into a insatiable sex demon" he teased as he savored his own jock spooge.

"Innocent choirboy? Yeah, right. Well, guess what - it's time to get even badder". Ken said, pointed to his jizz-coated boner, harder than ever.

"Oh OK -- just this once" Kyle giggled as he scampered over Ken' prone body, until his trim buttocks were resting against the point end of Ken's big shaft. Kyle knew Ken would love this next maneuver. Taking just a second to confirm that the head was lined up properly, Kyle dropped his entire 6'5 frame onto Kenny's shaft. No slow introducing of the helmet-shaped head -- he took it all in one fell swoop! Kyle knew it would hurt some, but it was worth it for the pleasure it would give Kenny.

And h was right. As Ken immediately began thrusting in and out, Kyle's tight asshole opened up; all of the saliva and the extra coating of cum that Kyle had applied made for a slick ride up the big kid's back door.

Ken didn't waste time -- he knew that he only had a few strokes before he'd blast off. So he thrust in and out of the long-legged blond's jock anus.

"Fuucking goddamnit, shoot it. Blast that load up my wet hole. Make it creamy"!

"Yeah studboy. Gonna' sperm your punk hole. Gonna give you my blow"!

The spasming of Kyle's super-tight rectal walls did it -- Ken blasted off into jock-sex outer space, letting out a yell as the overwhelming pleasure of his orgasm shook him to his core. The length of Kyle's colon filled with Kenny-kreme, with the excess volume of the gooey liquid leaking out the rim of Kyle's distended pucker as Ken's thrusting continued. And a little to his own surprise, Kyle popped again. The sensation of Kenny's blow splashing deep up inside him was so fucking hot that Kyle's own nuts expelled another load. Though he didn't shoot nearly as much jock semen as the first time, the pleasure was just as intense as before.

The heady aroma of fresh jockboy jizz and sweat hung heavy in the air as the two stallions came down from their intense physical highs. They both loved this part -- no words -- all touching, breathing -- just losing themselves in each other, cognizant only of the stud next to him -- and thinking how lucky they were to have each other.

= = = = = = = = = =

Brock's anticipation was building as Dave turned off the main road into a heavily wooded residential area. Dave had told him that his town was named Los Altos Hills, and sure enough there really were hills. The road narrowed as they approached a large security gate complex. Dave turned in and maneuvered the car to the guard position and gave the horn a light tap. Phil O'Connor, the security director of the development, grumbled as he got up to see whom it was. Many of the wealthy residents of this secluded enclave seemed to regard Phil and his staff as little more than servants, if that. But he smiled when he saw the dark sedan. This was the exception -- Phil found it ironic that the youngest resident was also the nicest and the most polite. Phil acknowledged Dave's wave as he opened the gates to let the car go through.

Dave explained that these properties had once been a single estate. But the last owner, a dot.com billionaire, had gone bust and had lost the estate to bankruptcy, after which it was divided into ten lots. "To be honest, this place is more than a little exclusive for my blood. But after the settlement came in, my uncle and I looked around and we realized that this was going to be the last time open property like this would ever come on the market around here. The tax and investment angles made sense, so I took the plunge".

Brock listened with interest. He could tell that Dave spoke without any hint of boasting or bragging. He loved that. "Wow, some of these houses are humungous"

"I know - I think as each buyer drew up their plans, they instructed their contractors to double the size of the house down the road. Mine's by far the smallest -- I think the gardener's shack of that one is bigger than my whole place".

Brock laughed as he looked up at a faux French Chateau on steroids. But as they turned the next bend, Brock saw a totally different type of house. Completely different from the others, low, single-level, lots of glass and shimmering white panels. "One of my classmates in biz school has a sister who is a partner at Richard Meier's firm. She came out and sketched such a fantastic preliminary concept that I decided to have her design the house. And it turned it pretty good".

Pretty good was an understatement. Brock was no architecture expert, but even he could tell that the house had been designed to complement the property's elevated surroundings. Now inside, it was even better; as Dave walked him through the rooms, Brock saw lots of natural light, dark rosewood furniture and moldings, high ceilings -- man, was this nice. But not like some museum that you would be afraid to sit in -- it looked like someone could actually be comfortable living here. !

"Here' let me show you this -- it's my indulgence" Dave said with a soft smile as he led Brock down a hall to a room that essentially made up the back of the rectangular structure. The long ceiling was in fact an arched skylight, and underneath was a lap-length exercise swimming pool. In the left corner was a cluster of workout equipment, all of it of the highest quality. Brock noticed that the same manufacture's equipment was also used in the football weight rooms in Gainesville and Coral Gables.

Dave motioned Brock back over to the entrance. Taking Brock's big hand in his own, he guided their hands to a rocker switch on the wall. Brock moved the switch forward, and jumped back a little as he heard a fairly loud motor start up. Then, looking up, he was awed as he saw the panels of the arched ceiling slide back. Oh man, this was too cool!

"Eun-Yee asked me if I wanted one of those big "infinity" pools in the back, but I thought this was better. The lapper is a lot better for exercise, and it keeps the back yard area open, which I really wanted. And the skylight -- well, I need to get some sun on my pasty carcass -- I'm inside sitting at desks way too much". Brock understood. He loved the outdoors himself. But he also found himself even more enamored of Dave than ever. His self-depreciating humor, his modesty, his matter of fact-ness all greatly appealed to him.

"This is gorgeous, Dave. It's like a place to get away from the world". Dave felt a pang in his heart. It was as if Brock could read his mind. How could he be having such a deep connection with a guy who he had only met a few hours ago? A plethora of feelings were welling in his mind. But he now also felt a pang of nervousness. He knew that, with the house tour out of the way, they were down to Zero Hour.

But how to do this - what exact words should he use? Dave was so afraid of being a klutz. Because it was going to be Brock's first time as well, he didn't have the option of letting a more experienced partner take the lead. But then the realization struck him. It was now time to shut down the analytical part of the brain, to let the emotional part rise and rule. Sure it was risky, but what thing worth having wasn't?

"Brock - I think you understand how much I love this place. But -- but it's been a solitary pleasure. Sort of like my life..."

But Brock was on the same wavelength, and beat him to the punch. "It doesn't have to be -- not anymore. Dave, I'm just a normal guy, a decent athlete, maybe. I'm not anywhere near in your league of accomplishments -- but like they say in football, sometimes you have to elevate your game. All I can offer you is what's in here". Brock gently tapped the left side of his chest, his meaning plain and simple.

Dave felt himself go a little weak in the knees. This was too good, too perfect -- Something was bound to ... NO! STOP THOSE NEGATIVE THOUGHTS, GODDAMNIT -- NOW!!

Brock looked right at Dave. The first hint of a tear was making Dave's clear -blue eyes that much more alluring. Brock was going crazy, waiting for Dave's response. He didn't have to wait long.

"Brockie -- before today, I started to wonder if I had a heart left. I now know I do -- or, more correctly, that I did".

Brock looked confused. What did he mean? Dave continued, "With your help, I found my heart -- but in less than two hours, it's lost again -- to you".

What a moment. Nothing -- no football championship, no previous personal moment of triumph had ever felt this good. `To you' he had said. How huge an impact those two little words were having on Brock.

"David -- I'm surprised at you. You're really a bad host".

"What do you mean?"

"You give me a tour of this fantastic house, and you leave out one room -- the most important one -- and I'm not talking about the laundry room".

Dave felt the warmth of one thousand suns envelope him. Brock approached him, taking him in his strong arms.

Kiss.

Bliss.

Kiss-Bliss.

Dave reluctantly broke the clench, starting to walk down the hall. "I think I know where a coupe of lost hearts might be hiding -- want to go look?"

"Lead the way. Mr. FBI -- let's go do some detective work".

= = = = = = = = = =

Just a few miles away, Ken and Kyle slept, entwined in each other's arms. They hadn't intended to take this nap, but their energetic sex (they had moved to the shower after their first orgasms where Ken had let Kyle slip it him deep and hard followed by another round of Ken knocking Kyle up) had left then needing some rest. They didn't know it, but their timing could not have been more impeccable.

= = = = = = = = = =

Unlike the rest of the house with its dark wood and soothing palette, Dave's bedroom was modernistic in its use of chrome, glass -- and mirrors. One entire wall was a continuous reflective surface, and opposite the door leading to the bathroom were two large sliding doors, which hid the walk-in closet. In all, it was a cool, private retreat. Oh, and it had a bed. A big bed, with the whitest crispest sheets Brock had ever seen. He was going to hate messing them up. Like hell!

Another awkward pause, but one that only lasted a moment. Slowly, each boy was getting used to just doing what felt right. Brock didn't want to seem like a clumsy oaf, but he so desperately wanted to see Dave's body. He knew it had to be a good one. Dave had told him during lunch that he had played soccer during his shortened high school years, so with his workouts and everything he should have really good legs.

Brock knew it was time. Time to go for what he'd only dared dream about. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, motioning Dave to come next to him with the subtlest of gestures.

"Agent Andrews, you're overdressed. Requesting permission to do something about that clearly impermissible state of affairs".

"Permission granted, Citizen Berlin. But exercise due caution - explosives may he hidden in the area in question"!

They both loved this -- talking, the back-and-forth banter. Separately, they both had wondered if communication during sexual activity meant nothing except grunts and groans. The idea of talking -- of mutual exploration -- instantly appealed to both of them.

Dave reached down, taking Brock's hands and brought them up to his trim waist. Brock got the message and began to undo the silver belt buckle. He then reached for the clasp of Dave's dark wool dress trousers. As Brock worked, Dave undid the buttons of his shirt. Once that was done, Dave went back to watching Brock. The expression on his face was priceless, like a kid opening his first present on Christmas morning.

But now Brock was having a problem -- oh my god no, he was fumbling. Having undone the clasp of Dave's suit pants, Brock had started to lower the zipper, when he got it snagged on the fabric part of the fly.

"Having a little problem down there, soldier"?

Brock was flustered. He couldn't even do this right.

"Babe, it's not your fault; it's stupid Brooks Brothers, they put that flap in all of their pants. There's a little trick to it -- here, let me show you".

After a second, the zipper was back on its track and Brock was able to continue the task at hand. He was rewarded for his perseverance with a sight to behold. The leg sections of Dave's dark blue Gap boxer briefs accentuated a pair of solidly muscular legs. His thighs looked and felt steely hard, proportioned, certainly not overbuilt. The aerobic and swimming exercises were obviously keeping Dave in superb shape.

And speaking of shapes, the front of the blue cotton shorts was distended be a rounded mound of masculine equipment -- a BIG mound! Yeah!!!! Dressed like this in his shorts and t-shirt, Brock thought of all the Calvin Klein ads he had ever seen, and realized that those models were DOGS in comparison to his Dave.

His Dave. Oh Yeah. That was such a sweet thought. Please let it be true.

Dave stood up and faced Brock. "I always thought football players were so sexy in their tight uniforms. I never dreamed I'd get the chance to undress the cutest one on the planet". Dave planted a tiny kiss on the edge of Brock's nose. He then got busy, making deft work of the buttons of Brock's long sleeve checked shirt, pulling the tails out of the waistband of Brock's jeans. Even with the t-shirt still on, Dave was mightily impressed with the size of Brock's arms.

Dave noticed that Brock's t-shirt was quite soaked with sweat. "Brock, do you want me to adjust the air conditioning? Are you too warm"?

Brock had been dreading this particular moment. He naturally sweated a lot. He hoped that Dave wouldn't be turned off by that. Not to worry. "I think that's so sexy. And you smell good, too"

Who had sent this perfect angel to him?

"I see some hair down there -- let me peek. Dave playfully maneuvered Brock's t-shrt bottom out of his waist, and reached underneath, checking out the territory. The ridges of solid, powerful muscle were coated with a fine, damp layer of hair. Dave gulped. It was almost as if someone had sent him a catalog to custom-build a boyfriend -- and he had gotten all of his first choices!

The touch of Dave's long fingers tickling his fuzzy navel drove Brock crazy. "It gets a little hairier down from there".

"Is that so? I'd better check" And in a few more moments, Brock's jeans were down around his ankles. Dave took in the awesome sight of the stud athlete, 210 pounds of prime football jock stud muscleboy. A half-undressed, All-American dreamboat who was offering himself up for the taking. The stretch Lycra material of Brock's white Nike sports boxers showed off a bulge that was the impressive equal of Dave's sizeable mound.

The two inexperienced studboys stood together, renewing their unending kiss. One advantage of their partially undressed state was that their bulges touched. By instinct, they began a basic grinding motion, pressing their distended packages together. They then stepped back a bit from each other, just far enough to allow for the removal of their t-shirts. Brock took in a breath as Dave's beautifully smooth, solid chest was revealed. The best word to describe it was proportioned. Like a more slender version of the David statue. Pecs and abs, but naturally solid, not grotesquely oversized by too much weightlifting. All that running on the soccer field and all those laps in the pool had paid handsome dividends -- in more ways than one.

Brock had a thicker upper boy than Dave did, easily explained by the thirty-five pounds that he carried, in comparison to Dave's 175 perfectly toned pounds. Dave adored the hair on Brock's chest. Not too much --which would have been yucky - but a nice soft covering, a little heavier on his solid abs and tummy and even a bit thicker down from there.

But what really took his breath away was the size of Brock's arms. Dave instantly realized that as a top-echelon athlete, Brock would have been engaged in very rigorous weight training. And he fully intended to show Brock how hot his big guns looked! Dave's tongue went to work, and Brock immediately picked up on what Dave was doing. His chest swelled with pride. He was proud of his results in the weight room, absolutely no juice, not even creatine. People noticed his build -- even opposing players. And now all that grunt work in the training facility was paying off; but not for football reasons. The payoff was in the sensations being caused by the most incredible wet, soft tongue and the sound of the soft, ultra-alluring voice.

"Umm, so tasty. Good thing I'm not a cannibal". Brock flexed his guns, wanting to make them spread, to attract more of Dave's mind-bending oral attention. Both of Brock's hands moved up and very gently stroked the sides of Dave's brown hair, caressing the flawless skin, the high cheekbones, the strong jawline, the rounded, tanned shoulders. Brock was about to use his hands to guide Dave lower, but to his delight found it unnecessary as Dave moved down, down, down.

Dave paused just a moment to admire Brock's pecs, teasing the small nipples, which were erect with obvious excitement. For a half second, Dave paused and checked his own -- sue enough, his were to. As Brock's big calloused hands moved all over his blemish-free, tanned back, Dave had reached Brock's navel, which he touched and tickled, eliciting a little spasm of pleasure from the football player. Before he could go lower, Brock gently grabbed Dave's shoulders.

"Why don't you move up this way -- that way I can reach your chest at the same time"?

Who was Dave to argue with such a request? Within a moment, as he resumed his gentle nibbling of the hairy patch between Brock's navel and his waistband, he felt Brock's first oral explorations, laving the tawny skin of his firm chest. With the gentlest of pressure, Brock used his teeth to nibble on Dave's small nipples. Brock thought that their size further enhanced Dave's overall boyish handsomeness.

But there was nothing boyish about the size of what was waiting for each of them, once they managed to get past the waistband of their respective partner's undershorts. Although Brock had been enjoying the leisurely pace of their initial explorations, he was now ready to speed things up a little. Moving his head back a little, he reached up with both hands and yanked Dave's waistband down about halfway.

Oh my god, what a sight. Now in his field of view were two contrasts to what he had seen so far. Unlike Dave's well-tanned upper body and his strong, athletic legs, the area that was now revealed was snow-white, almost like alabaster. It was obvious that Dave had been wearing his Speedo when he opened that skylight to lie out in the sun. And even better -- in contrast to Dave's complete lack of body hair other than his head and armpits, a really nice brown bush was now in view. Yeah! Brock liked jock bush!!

Due to the position of the part of Dave's underwear that remained in place, the main part of his shaft was still covered. But the base of Dave's manhood was visible in the midst of the brown hair, and there was no doubt that it was big - really big!

Given Brock's escalation, Dave now felt it was all right to do the same. But he decided to up the ante just a little bit as well. He moved up and did something he had fantasized about ever since he became aware of his desire for guys -- he eagerly began to mouth the protruding bulge in Brock's shorts. The smooth Lycra material, already well moistened with Brock's copious sweat, now became super-soaked as Dave's hot saliva was added to the moist mix.

Dave wasted no time in Step 2. The waistband came down in one fell swoop! Surprised by the speedy movement, Brock looked up at Dave. His brown-haired sweetie's expression was one of total adoration -- and lust!

"Oh Brockie - I've never seen anything so incredibly hot in my life"!

All of Brock's worries, all of his remaining inhibition, went by the wayside. This perfect god of a stud was not only obviously attracted to him; the stud agent seemed to want nothing more than to provide Brock the maximum pleasure possible. Like right now -- oh god, his fingers feel so fantastic, playing with his nuts like he was right now.

After a few strokes, Dave released the big scrotum. Something else was demanding his immediate attention.

"Brockie -- oh man, it's so thick!" from being in locker rooms and showers so much, Brock was aware that his penis was quite a bit thicker than most other guys. Its erect length, at eight inches, was perfectly fine for Brock's own self-image. But the circumference was something to behold. The word `fat' was barely adequate -- a thickness on either side of the thick vein on its underside gave Brock's tool an incredible masculine heft. But everything, including the large tapered, circumcised head, was in proportion, in no way misshapen -- it was an incredibly hot jock dick!!

A hint of concern ran into Dave's mind. Was Brock's tool TOO fat? Would he be able to get his lips around it? Would he need to use two hands to stroke it? And most of all, would he ever be able to open his asshole to let Brock's monster inside? But in an instant, Dave realized that there was only one thing to find out - just do it!

"Oh Brockie -- you can't know how long I've been waiting to do this for someone".

In the last moments before the wetness of Dave's mouth destroyed all possibility of rational (and irrational) thought, Brock had noted Dave's words. He had said do this for someone'. Not to someone', implying selfish self-importance. Giving. Total giving.

Those thoughts faded into nothingness as the most incredible wet sensation overtook Brock. This must be what it feels like to stand under Niagara Falls. His whole universe of feeling was focused down on his big dick, as Dave began the most incredible up and down movement. The first strokes were a little tentative.

No words were exchanged. None were needed.

Dave did feel a tiny bit of discomfort because of how wide he had to open his jaw to take in Brock's big shaft. But he figured that nature would take over and it did in short order. He was very careful in keeping his lips positioned where they would prevent his teeth from making contact with the skin of Brock's fully erect boner. Hurting his big jock angel was the last thing Dave would ever want to do.

Dave loved the tastes, the smells, and the physical sensations. He also loved Brock's soft moans and sighs, indicating that his efforts were having the desired effect. What a concept -- he gave a guy pleasure, and he got back an equal amount, if not more. Hot damn!

Bock gently stroked the side of the other boy's head. "Hey -- this isn't fair to you, Davie. I'm being selfish, letting you do all that to me without returning the favor".

Dave didn't hesitate in responding. "You know, buddy, there's a number for what you just suggested". Hearing Brock giggle softly, Dave paused for a moment. He loved the idea that smiles and gentle humor were just as much a part of sex as was pounding and thrusting. Not that there was anything WRONG with those things!

Dave had an idea. "Brock -- what's your number -- your uniform number"?

What a funny question, right now, but he replied "Seven".

"From now on, whenever you and I do this, we don't call it sixty-nine'. Our code name is seven'". Brock loved the idea -- already they had an inside joke no one else would know about. Just one more thing to cement the bond between them.

"Time for go seven-up, big boy - move on up here" Brock commanded, patting the top of his chest. Dave understood and scooted up, planting his tanned hairless thighs on either side of Brock's head. Perfect. Smiling up at his handsome partner, Brock spoke in an emphatic, sexy voice "OK, mister G-Man, put on a show for me. Get those shorts off, but nice and slow".

What a lewd request! Dave thought that Brock was behaving in a very nasty, dirty manner -- and he loved it. "You want a show, huh, you filthy-minded superstud jock? I'll show you something. Look at this. Look at what being with you does to me".

Dave wanted nothing more than to forcefully yank his shorts off, but who was he to refuse Brock's request. He started by taking his right hand and lowering it next to Brock's face. Extending his index finger in a pointing manner, Dave slowly traced a clockwise circle around Brock's sensuous lips, listening as the strawberry blond cutie moaned with delight. Brock had already gotten a peek at the top of Dave's bush a few moments earlier, but now the most incredible sight was being revealed. Dave's blue Gap boxer briefs were just at the point where Dave's big dick would become uncovered.

As soon as the gray waistband moved, a spring-loaded rocket was out. Dave's beautiful, perfect-looking dick was not only sticking out, it was in fact sticking straight up. Almost against his navel and his flat stomach and abs, the big shaft was super-erect and was it ever BIG! At first glance, Brock knew it was at least an inch -- no, had to be more than two inches longer than his own. Not as thick as his, but sure as hell no pencil either. And the head was a big, perfectly shaped corona that gave it a perfect symmetry.

As Dave's prick had sprung out of his boxers, a large drop of pre-seminal fluid had flown out of the large slit -- and had landed right on Brock's upper lip! Brock saw Dave try to reach down to clean it off, but he reached up and stopped him. "No way -- that's mine and you can't have it back". With that, Brock extended his tongue and licked the dollop of Dave's precum off of his lips, savoring his very first taste of another guy's juice.

"Got any more of that for me, you big-dicked motherfucker"?

Dave was immensely turned on by the lewd talk and by the fact that he was turning Brock on with his body and with his dick. All of his past inhibitions and uncertainties were now in the past as he silently answered Brock's request for more precum buy forcing his extended erection at a low enough angle for Brock to start sucking on it.

Stupid thoughts momentarily filled Brock's head. Such as `why is the word cocksucker such an insult when it feels so good to do it'? But all such random associations were soon gone, replaced by the complete bliss of the realization that not only was he finally sucking big dick, but that he loved doing it. And best of all, that he was doing it to, and for, his David.

But Dave was now stopping him. "Babe -- that feels sooooo good. Too good, in fact -- you need to cover up your teeth a little bit".

Brock was mortified. Of course, in his eagerness he hadn't even noticed it, but he now realized that even the slightest contact with the teeth could eventually hurt the guy receiving.

But Dave set his mind at east. "It's OK babe -- I caught myself starting to do it to you a couple of minute ago. Just go with your instincts like I did -- I trust you completely, Brockie".

The gentle reassurance was salve for Brock's concerns. And a catalyst for his sexual urge as well. Now certain that he knew he wouldn't be hurting his handsome boyfriend. Brock went lower on the extra-long shaft, letting its satiny smooth length fill his mouth. Now, it was at the entrance to his throat. How do I do this?

Dave felt the results of Brock's correct guess. The walls of the studly football boy's throat had opened just enough to admit Dave's super-erect boner, and the wet pleasure was beyond incredible. Instinctively, Dave pulled back a bit; no way did he want to rush this best moment of his life.

"Oh no, was I doing it wrong again?"

Dave smiled and reassured his sweet jock baby. "No, Brockie - you were perfect. Beyond perfect. It's just that I'm a greedy little piglet and I want some too".

Brock was overjoyed. So happy -- and who ever knew it would be this much fun, too. "So, mister, it sounds like you're calling an audible -- changing the play"?

Dave picked up the reference. "That's right, buddy. I know that your quarterbacks usually call the plays, but since we're playing in my stadium, I'm calling a seven".

Brock loved it. One hour and already insubordination! But hell -- who cares?

"OK, but only cuz this be your crib, blood" Brock joked, applying mock street patios.

Dave chuckled as he wasted no time in moving so that his head was now lined up with Brock's hairy crotch, while his own harder-than-ever erection remained nestled against Brock's lips. The time for gentleness was over -- they both went for their partner's big dicks with relish and abandon. Both of the young men proved quick studies -- each had no trouble adjusting to the challenge being presented by their partner's larger-than average jock penises. Dave's jaw had no problem adjusting to Brock's thickness, while up above Brock had Dave's nearly ten-incher lodged deep inside his throat -- right where it belonged.

As they continued to sixty-nine - errrrr, seven -- they had no way of knowing it but each of their thought processes were remarkably similar, Everything so far had gone better than either of them had dreamed it could. But on their mental to-do lists, two things -- acts -- remained to be explored. And Brock, was in the perfect position to initiate one of them.

Letting Dave's huge tool slide out of his mouth, Brock wriggled his body lower, so that he now had direct access to his desired prize -- Dave's perfect little pink butthole!

There was no denying that there was an associated taboo about it -- about such an intimate act, Brock thought. You really have to want to please your partner to do that. But then he remembered the DVD that had started this whole adventure. When he saw it in the store, the back of the case showed two guys licking each other's butts. He had stopped looking at any others and had bought it, knowing for sure that the particular segment would get him off. And now a few hours later, here was a firm set of trim, soccer-boy melons, untanned and with flawless smooth skin, jutting out from the back of Dave's solid thighs, ready and waiting.

Dave was about to ask Brock if he was sure he wanted to do that -- but he stopped. Another lesson in the books -- learn to trust feelings. And more important, learn to trust his partner. Like when he did his survival training at Quantico -- go by instinct. But even intense FBI training could have prepared Dave for the incredible burst of pleasure that washed over him as Brock made contact with his never-touched butthole. Dave had never even played with his own butt when he had masturbated. And now Brock, who Dave felt could have his pick of just about any guy to have sex with, was willingly eating his hot little asshole!!

Brock was in rapture. There was nothing -- absolutely nothing - dirty about this. Not only from the physical aspect -- Dave was very clean and fastidious about his grooming and all that - but there was nothing dirty about being able to give his friend pleasure. To his delight, Brock noticed some telltale signs that his efforts were having the desired effect. He noticed that Dave's hairless little pucker was spasming, moving -- a sweet soccer-boy hole ready for a good licking! But after another few moments of ass-eating delight, Brock felt Dave lift up. He was afraid -- he thought he knew what Dave was going to ask for.

Though Dave had very genuinely told Brock that he liked hi sweaty upper body, Brock knew that down below was a wholly different story. His meaty muscular asscheeks, like his legs and thighs, were lightly hairy; but between his glutes he had a heavier amount of hair, and for whatever reason he always sweated a ton down there. In fact, a few months ago the team center, thinking that only team members were present, had made a private joke to the other guys about the fact that Brock's ass was so sweaty that the sweat came through his football pants, making the football hard to grip. It was a funny joke amongst the team, but the problem was that it was overheard by a radio reporter who put it on his website. The center had been royally pissed and the reporter had removed it when asked to, but the damage had been done (once it's on the Web, forget it). The grief he'd taken had been really bad. But those were just words and anyone who played major college football had to have thick skin about stuff like that. This was different.

So Brock was apprehensive. Not about cleanliness -- he was a very fastidious kid and always showered in the morning and at nigh before going to bed, in addition to any football related showers. But the fact that Dave had momentarily gotten up to change positions gave him a chance to try to mitigate the situation.

"Davie -- do you have a towel or something"?

"Sure, I can get you one in a second from the bathroom -- but why -- is everything ok"?

Damn, I've gotta tell him. I have to be honest to Dave. "It's me. You see, I sweat like a Finnish sauna down there -- I mean, a ton. And if you were going to do what I thought you had in mind...."

But Dave understood. Moreover, he was further impressed by Brock's concern and thoughtfulness. Bu no way was he getting a towel -- not now!

"And what makes you thing I don't want to taste some of that juicy jock ass-sweat of yours? Remember, I'm an investigator -- I have to gather all potential evidence".

Brock was so happy. It was hard to get over his inhibitions, his deepest feelings of self-image. He needed to begin trusting. Trusting David. His David.

Brock's ruminations were interrupted by the sensation of Dave's left hand working its way between his muscular asscheeks. "Ooh, you weren't kidding. Nice and moist.". And turning to Brock, he half-whispered "and don't ask me if I'm sure. I've never wanted anything so much".

Dave moved up to kiss his jock boyfriend. Ummmm, that was so nice. But as they broke, Dave realized something. "Was that my butt I tasted on your lips"?

Brock realized what he was talking about. "Yeah, it sure was. Grade-A David butt-juice. You should bottle it -- I'd buy cases of it".

Damn! Twenty-three years old and Dave just discovered that he had a sweet butt! But right now, he didn't care about his ass -- he wanted Brock's sweaty butt-essence on his lips and on his tongue! The last taboo was crashing down. Full speed ahead! With no regard for preliminaries, Dave dove between Brock's muscular glutes, pushing his chin forward to gain access. Brock's crack had just the right amount of hair -- it accented his jock masculinity without being too gross. And it was also a well-scrubbed boyhole, too!

The taste was incredible. Brock-essence flooded Dave's sensitive taste buds. But there was another prize waiting -- and Dave got to work in making it his own. First he circled the tip around the hair-covered edged of the football hero's darkish-pink pucker, teasing it. Then he pressed forward - a direct blitzkrieg into the warm, moist insides of his Brockie's most private body part. The tiniest amount of copper taste-- like touching a penny with your tongue but absolutely nothing unpleasant -- indicated that he was tasting Brock's insides! Dave was surprised by the powerful contractions of Brock's rectal muscles. They were almost pinching is tongue, in sensitive response to the wet probe that was busily engaged in the exploration of Brock-booty.

Brock moved back to Dave's smooth boybutt and they pleasured each other for a couple of minutes. Brock then pulled away from Dave's ass. He shouted out 'FOURTEEN'.

Dave was pissed. He'd been thinking the same thing, but Brock's butthole was so tasty that he hadn't wanted to stop. But he was actually glad that Brock had moved enough to let him got up, because he wasn't going to last a lot longer. And there was thing left on Dave's to-do list -- the final acts of jock sex love. It was time to offer Brock his virginity! Dave got up and went quickly over to the bathroom - returning as fast as he huge boner in front of him would let him walk, that is. He was back -- with a bottle of tanning lotion. It was all he had -- he had never had occasion to buy anything more specific for sexual play. The cocoa butter would have to do -- at least it would smell nice!

Noooo. Brock wanted it the other way around. "Hold on Dave-please. I really wanted to take you inside me first".

"But buddy, I ....." . But Dave melted. How could he deny Brock any request? If Brock asked him to put on a grass skirt and dance a hula in Union Square at twelve noon, he would have no chance to comply.

But then Brock had a sudden inspiration. Tell you what -- I'm a football player -- let's do a coin flip". Dave smiled and reached down to his pants, extracting a coin from the front pocket.

"Ok, I'll flip and let it fall, you call" Brock called out "Tails" as soon as the coin was airborne. But the quarter landed on the bed, right next to Brock's left leg. It was tails. SHIT!

Dave climbed back into the bed. "Brockie -- I could never deny you anything. Of course I'll go first. It was just that I . Brock started to say something but stopped, realizing that Dave wasn't finished. As he waited for Dave to continue, he picked up the quarter. It was one of those commemorative quarters. On the back was -- Louisiana, his native state.

Fuck -- Karma!

"It's just that --oh damn, I can't --help my stupid logical mind. You see, I figured that when we take turns fucking, I'm going to need more time than you to adjust. Because you're so beautifully thick, you stud. Babe, I can' help it, that's the way my stupid logical mind works. I'm sorry -- I have to learn to think with my heart.

That's total bullcrap, David Andrews! What you did down in the car when the DVD case ell out -- that wasn't logic. If that wasn't your heart thinking, I'm going o be rooting for the Seminoles next Saturday"! . Dave fought back the beginnings of a sob as they embraced again.

Brock reassured his gorgeous boyfriend. "I'll always listen to you, Davie. Always. How could I not listen to the man I'm falling in love with?

Pow! There it was. And Dave realized -- it was true for him as well. He was falling in love with the beautiful football star. How ridiculous this story would sound to an outsider. If someone wrote a screenplay they would have been laughed off the studio lot. But this WAS happening -- right here in his own bedroom.

"I -- love you too, Brockie Berlin. I goddamn love you so much

The Fortress of Solitude was turning into the Palace tress of Studboy Love. Sweet.

Brock cleared his throat. "So, what the hell did you do with that cocoa butter? And use a lot of that creamy stuff on my pole" Brock grinned, giving Dave a look of total lust.

At last -- it was going to happen! Dave slathered a generous amount of the aromatic lotion all over Brock's extra-thick boner and then removed his hand, allowing Brock himself spread it up the entire length and girth. Dave didn't want to risk making Brock shoot early, as Brock's load had another destination earmarked for it.

They were ready. Two incredibly handsome, big-dicked, muscular studs in heat. Dave lay on his back and adjusted his shoulders, feeling the cool Frette sheets against the smooth skin of his back. He then raised legs, bending them at the knees. His strong, toned thigh muscles allowed him to hold this position with no strain, as Brock got next to Dave and bean to climb on top of his stud lover boy.

"Brockie -- yeah -- that's it -- put my ankles right there -- on your shoulders. Now get on up here and claim your prize. It may not be one of those Heisman things, but it's a hell of a lot warmer and tighter".

And with that, the banter ceased. All attention was on Dave's pink little asshole, wedged between those white tan-lined bubbles of soccer-player ass. Brock summoned every bit of his self-control as he placed his big dickhead up against the coated fleshy entrance. Dave had smeared some of the cool lotion over his pucker, and the creamy substance of Brock's pole bonded with the same substance on Dave's cocoa-scented opening.

Brock was determined to do it without touching his own dick. He feared even gripping his fat pole would cause him to lose it, but he also wanted to focus all of his attention on the tactile sensation of the moment of contact and junction.

Dickhead against pinkhole. Heat seeking missile locked in on target. Love-pole against love-hole.

And before either of them could say or think of anything else, Brock was in. Just the head, but IN! FUCK YEAH!!!!!

Dave felt his virginity being taken. Taken forever, claimed by the All-American jock muscleboy who he had never even known a scant few hours ago. It hurt -- not as much as he feared (some deep breathing techniques he had learned helped that) but still enough to know it was exactly a #2 pencil that was going up his ass. But whatever low-grade pain he was experiencing didn't really matter.

It had happened at long last. Dave was no longer a virgin!

Brock marveled at Dave's total body control. He was obviously straining, but nothing did detracted from Brock's total pleasure. Dave looked into Brock's sparkling eyes. Pure joy and bliss - mixed in with horny lust! Now it was Dave who was sweating - just a little bit, but enough to give his flawless skin a natural glow. Dave continued concentrating, and then, rather suddenly, the pain was completely gone!

Brock could tell that something had happened, something good, because Dave's rectal walls started to flex around his embedded dickhead.

"More -- slow and easy, but do it -- push it in me, you gorgeous stud"! Oh yeah! At some future time, they'd have slam-bang monkey sex. But today was for something else. Slow and sensuous. Making love.

Brock proceeded, still continuing to watch for any sign that he was hurting Dave. But although his breaths were short intakes, and he was very softly repeating the words `like that -- oh yeah -- like that - farther -- like that'.

Within a few moments Brock had hit bottom -- he was all the way in! Inside his new boyfriend's impossibly small, tight asshole! "Don't move for a second -- let me feel you in me for a second. Oh god -- Brock -- it's so incredible -- I can feel your pulse -- your cock throbbing way up inside me!"

Yes! There, he felt it too! It was so unexpected and so wonderful. But then Brock realized it was TOO wonderful. They had a game plan, after all.

"OK. I'm gonna take some more strokes and then pull out and then it's your turn, Davie".

Brock did exactly that. A few wonderful in and out slides -- with Dave responding to each thrust, willing his love tunnel to loosen just a little so that his thrusting boyfriend could move in and out.

But Brock was too close. He had to pull out, and right away, or he'd shoot! Brock stopped his thrusting and Dave also ceased his complimentary responsive lunges. After a few moments to ease the peaked sensations, Brock slid out -- steadily. A little "plop" sound indicated that he was all the way out. Looking at Dave's small little pucker, he was amazed that it had opened to take his fat tool. But now it was his turn.

Brock lost no time in getting into the same position Dave had assumed just a few minutes before. Dave waited patiently. As incredible as it had felt when Brock was in him, what was about to happen would be even better. Brock looked over at Dave, standing next to the right side of the bed. Dave's flawless torso was caught in the late afternoon light hat continued to filter through the opaque skylight. With his tan lie in full display, Dave could have been an aquatic athlete, maybe a pro beach volleyball dude. But it wasn't often that any of those would have been standing, waiting, with a nearly ten-inch jock shaft sticking at a forty-five degree angle. And it was even moving some up and down. Was Dave doing that? It looked so incredibly erotic.

Then Brock involuntarily let out a quick yelp -- he closed his eyes and tightly gripped the end of his erect tool. And he was mumbling something which Dave could not quite make out. But then he figured out what it was -- Brock was close to shooting, and he was delaying it. To help him, Dave remained as still as possible until Brock's breathing returned to normal.

"Man, that was to close. It's your fault, Dave".

Dave was confused, but was reassured when he heard Brock continue "You're so hot looking, I could cum just looking at you standing there".

"Oh babe, I'm just a normal guy; you're the beautiful one - so fucking big and muscular" After a short, sweet kiss, Dave continued. "So let's not waste anymore time. Are you ready to join the non-virgins club"?

"Initiate me, hot stuff" Brock smiled widely at the young man who was about to take his stud cherry. Without further ado, Brock lay back and raised his muscular football player legs up, shifting his back to get comfortable. Then he turned to look directly into Dave's eyes. "Hop on, big boy. Time to cowboy up and take a ride".

Dave was very excited, so much so that he was shivering a little bit. All of his life had been a prelude to this moment. After slicking his big erection with additional cocoa butter, he climbed up on the bed and looked down. Never in his wildest dreams would Dave have believed that a gorgeous football hero would be laying back, inviting him to get on top of him. `If this was all a dream, he thought, then let me at least get my first piece of ass before I wake up'.

But the first contact of his sensitive dickhead with the wiry hair at the edge of Brock's pucker told him that he was very awake, Even before beginning to insert, Dave could feel heat radiating from Brock's hole. Oh man, this was going to be great!

"That's it, Davie. Line it up -- just like that".

Contact! The large moistened tip of Dave's poker was in position to poke.

"I'm ready, studboy. Do it now, put it in, take my cherry Show me how much you love me, Davie boy".

Dave didn't hesitate. He pushed, keeping an eye on Brock's face, hesitant to cause him undue physical pain and discomfort. But the concern was for naught -- after a bit of hesitation, the oversize dickhead slipped right in. Brock was no longer a virgin!!

"Don't stop, Dave. Keep it pushing it in"

"Are you sure -- you don't want to take time to adjust to it"?

"Oh man I think I'm ready right now. Keep pushing in".

Dave complied, and couldn't believe the sensations as he penetrated the depths of Brock's juicy colon. It was as if, as his head pushed further, the rectal walls closed behind it like a glove. Snug and tight, but not so tight that it hurt Brock.

As Dave achieved maximum penetration, neither boy was in the mood for a slower mood. Their previous action had them both keyed up, and Dave's first slow in-and-out slides made them even more eager to consummate their lovemaking.

Dave absolutely loved the slickness of Brock's ass walls as he pulled his dick all the way out, then pushed back in. Underneath him, Brock was also getting off on this maximum friction. In fact, he urged Dave to pull all the way out, then plunge all the way back in.

"Oh yeah, just like that -- drill me deep, you huge-dicked bastard".

"Yeah -- tell me what it feel like getting fucked! You like having that muscleboy ass of yours fucked , Brockie"?

"I do -- as much as you like fucking it"!

Dave pushed in and, fully implanted, moved up so that he could kiss Brock's sweet lips. As fantastic as the sucking and fucking was, kissing was the very best -- nothing turned him on as much as tasting his partner's sweet mouth and mingling their stud saliva.

The intensity of the kissing spurred Brock on to even greater reaction to Dave's thrusts. Brock proactively fucked right back -- in no way was he a passive partner to the stud who was now really pummeling his ass.

"Fuck yeah -- you ass feels too good. I'm not going to keep this up much longer".

"Then don't! Really nail my ass -- real fucking hard! C'mon' Dave, do it! Give it to me -- and give me your cum. Fuck my ass full of your studboy cream, you hot bastard"

Dave was so getting off on both the friction and the talk. He threw himself completely into it, knowing that he could throw his body into Brock's as hard as he could without hurting his tough muscle-jock partner. "Yeah, I'm getting ready. I'm gonna shoot. I'm gonna fill your hole with sperm"!

"Fuck, fuck, fuck -- shoot it -- yeah!"

Dave felt it first in his shoulders. An overwhelming wave of total lust seized his body and moved downward as his entire world shrank down to the super-intense sensations of his deeply imbedded dickhead. And then there it was! The first big glob of semen blasted into the deepest recesses of Brock's ass. Dave continued his deep thrusts even as additional jets of sperm came out, with the newly shot sperm providing an even slicker ride. But after the third or fourth squirt, Dave left his huge pole embedded -- all ten inches of his soccer-boy dick buried deep inside Brock's super-hot football player fuck tunnel!

And for Brock, it was even better. The sensations were incredibly intense, but he still was determined to keep focused on Dave's pleasure. Joined as they were by Dave's deeply implanted dick, he tightened his now-very-wet hole all around his lover's shaft. But Brock was aware that his own orgasm loomed dangerously close.

Very shortly after he was certain that Dave had finished his blasting off up his ass, he pushed up on Dave's hips.. Although still on he end of his post-orgasmic high, Dave knew exactly what Brock wanted. Since Brock was already lying down, it was easy for Dave to scoot up and straddle Brock's torso and hips.

"You ready, buddy -- ready to blast me full of your jock sperm"?

"Fuck yeah ` sit on my fat dick -- spread those little white cheeks of yours and open up that hole"

"Yeah -- you want to fuck it, you big bastard? I can tell you get off on sticking that dick of yours into holes -- show me!"

Dave reached down, about to position Brock's big head at his opening, when he saw something that turned him on immensely. It was a little nasty, but fuck it! He shifted jut a bit, so that he was able to reach down to Brock's sweaty crack. What had caught his eye was a slow but steady flow of fluid from Brock's hairy, freshly-fucked pucker -- his own sperm mingled with Brock's assjuice!

Wasting no time, he scooped up some o the warm wetness and spread it all ovr Brock's big dick "There!. Now, when you plunge in, we'll be even more united than ever."

Without further ado Dave gripped his boyfriend's fat slippery pole and sat right down on it, hard! There was a momentary pause, just a bit painful, as Dave's pucker struggled to admit the invader. But with an additional nudge, success! Brock was back in, an unlike the first time, Dave's tunnel was ready. The additional lubrication let the wide-track girth of Brock's shaft get all the way in.

Dave decided to take Brock's invitation to "ride" literally. The instant Brock was back inside him, he started moving up and down on the cute football star's wide shaft. Brock was loving this more frenzied activity -- especially Dave's energetic movements up an down on his prick. With every stroke, Brock felt his partner's inner muscles squeeze the hell out of his big cock.

For a few strokes, they reversed their interaction so that Dave was letting Brock do the work. Not that he minded -- this way, he had full control of the increasing pace of his inward plunges into Dave's smoking hot fuckhole. But the pleasure couldn't go on forever, and to both of their surprise, the onslaught came out of nowhere. Rather than a gradual buildup to his orgasm, one particularly firm gripping of Brock's dick by Dave's ass walls was the trigger that set off the football star's intense orgasm.

Unlike all the times when he jerked off by himself, when he could control the amount of pressure o his dick, Brock had no control of the incredible sensations that Dave's asshole was providing. No warning throbs, no dry pulses - the first realization of the explosion was the first of many ejaculatory squirts. Since his dick had been halfway outside of Dave's fuckhole, the initial squirts served to make Brock's subsequent thrusts go even deeper. The flow of stud jism pouring out of his nuts into Dave's rectum seemed unending -- neither boy was counting, but it seemed that Brock had unloaded at least a dozen times up into Dave's guts.

Dave was surprised by the lack of warning, but in another instant all other external thoughts faded away as he focused on the wetness that was being injected deep into his canal. Sperm -- fresh, creamy jock semen straight from Brock's big nuts, was wetting his hole, and it felt so warm and slick as Brock's still-thrusting shaft pushed in as deep as it could get. All he knew was that his boyfriend was getting off up his ass, and what else mattered? The Brock-Blow up his ass was the whipped cream on the cake!

Neither boy urged the other on -- as much fun as the verbal talk was, this second orgasm (and Dave came again, not even touching his dick, as Brock made his final thrusts) was really primal -- they just rode the pleasure wave like surfers on a 12-foot ocean swell.

After a few moments, Dave and Brock uncoupled. The kissed, gently, whispering sweet words of love to each other.

Dave moved off of Brock's hot sweaty body, and they took a few moments to lay together, silently, gathering their private thoughts.

No further words were really necessary. Brock and Dave luxuriated in the most basic, yet in some ways the most intense pleasure -- simple togetherness with the human being you are in total love with.

After a few minutes, they both became cognizant of the clock. Now the difficult process of separation was going to begin. Both boys knew deep within themselves that what had just happened was definitely not a one-time thing --that in a way the sex had represented a beginning, not an end unto itself. But when would they be able to physically get together again, to renew the sexual bliss they'd just experienced?

For a moment Dave considered suggesting that Brock call Ken and say he couldn't make it to is house. But he couldn't thin of any credible rationale. If they called ken and said that Brock was sick or had slipped and fallen or something, their logical thing would have been to get to Brock right away. Damn, what a problem!

But Brock was two steps ahead of him. He turned to his Dave, another impish grin on his face. "I have an idea -- why don't you come with us -- I'd love for you to meet Ken and Kyle, they're really great guys. And even better -- if we go out to eat and stay late, we could probably stay at Ken's place together. After all, you don't have to be back to work until you drop me at the airport. And Ken said I was going to have my own bedroom at his place. And bedrooms have doors ....".

Dave was happy at the idea of more time -- any time -- with his boyfriend. "I'm shocked at you, Brock Berlin. A good Christian kid like you would suggest defiling your friend Ken's pristine residence? Shameful"!!

Brock gave Dave a smirk and a one-fingered response. "Give me a break -- I'd say that the defiling happened on the night Ken moved in. In fact, I'd bet anything that Kenny and that hot punk Wright are probably doing the nasty right now".

Even if it was restricted to a social setting where they'd be restrained from further sexual activity, Dave loved the idea of learning more about Brock's world, like meeting his friends. Dave also happily realized that Brock had no hesitation admitting him into circle of friends. It was a tangible affirmation that what had happened had been much more than 'just sex'.

"In fact ...." Brock's mind was on fast-forward. Thinking -- details -- plot -- that's it!

"In fact, Dave I want to ask you something. Do you like practical jokes?"

"Well sure, I guess like anyone else. I guess playing them is more fun than being the recipient, but if it's in good fun and not hurtful, then absolutely".

"Here's the scoop. Ken played a practical joke on me last year -- got me good. I've been promising revenge ever since then, but I've never gotten the chance to pay him back". Dave listened as Brock laid out his idea, It had, Dave he had to admit to himself, the potential to be a classic joke".

"Just one thing -- you think Ken will really get it -- some guys don't always appreciate being the butt of jokes".

"No, I really think he'll appreciate it -- after we finish it that is".

"OK -- I'm in. But, under one condition".

"Anything, babe -- just ask".

"That we hop in the shower and get clean for our hosts. I don't play practical jokes unless I'm squeaky-clean".

"Can we do dirty things while we're getting ourselves clean"?

"I'm counting on it".

In another minute, the rainforest-style showerhead was inundating the two entwined muscular bodies standing under it. And when they were through, Brock and Dave had learned that the only thing better than jock sex was wet jock sex.

= = = = = = = = = =

Ken groggily started to awaken. He turned over in the bed, away from Kyle, still happily off in dreamland. Was he hearing knocking - was someone ringing the doorbell at the same time (having just moved in, he still wasn't used to the particular chime). There! There it was again - that's what had awakened him.

Ken slipped on his pants and a t-shirt, but just before reaching the entry area, a terrible realization stopped him in his tracks. Oh my god -- Brock! He and Kyle had forgotten all about Brock. The poor kid must have been frantic when his phone calls went unanswered. This must be him at the door -- he must have taken a taxi or a SuperSuutle van. Ken figured he'd reimburse him, since he knew that Brock wasn't a rich kid.

Ken peered through the security port and, sure enough, there Brock was. But wait -- there was someone else just to the edge of the field of view. The person moved a little closer, and Ken could now see that it was another man -- young, wearing a suit and dark sunglasses. He thought for a second, and realized that the guy in the dark suit could well be a limo driver. Hoping he had enough cash in his wallet to pay for Brock's ride, Ken opened the door to the sight of an outstretched arm holding up a photo I.D. card and a badge. The large block letters FBI made Ken all too aware that this was no limo driver.

Dave's courtesy would have made Miss Manners proud. "Good afternoon, sir. My name is David Andrews, special agent with the FBI's San Francisco field office. Am I speaking to Kenneth Dorsey"?

"Yes, sir. Can I ask what this is about?" Ken remembered that, although he was a big celebrity amongst sports fans, many other people had no idea of his public identity.

"Mr. Dorsey, would it be possible to go inside"?

"Yes, please -- come in". Although Ken's new neighbors were very good about extending him privacy; he preferred to get out of open sight. Then he remembered Kyle. His first thought was to go and warn him not to come out undressed. But, realizing that the FBI man might think he wanted to hide something, he thought of an alternate way.

"Mr. Andrews, sir? I have a houseguest -- is it all right if he comes out and joins us?"

Dave used his most somber expression. "Yes, please do. It will actually save us all time, as I will need to interrogate Mr. Wright as well."

Ken was momentarily taken aback. The agent had obviously learned Kyle's name from Brock, but why in the world would there be any need to question him? Kyle was just a freshman -- a kid, really, just barely 19 years old.

Ken gathered his wits and called out in the direction of the bedroom. "Hey Kyle! You have to end your nap. We have two visitors. It's important. Get dressed and come out as soon as possible". Ken figured that by stating the number of visitors, Kyle would be tipped off that Brock hadn't arrived alone.

And speaking of Brock, Ken shifted his gaze in his blond friend's direction. Brock was sitting with head down, eyes nearly shut, the complete opposite of the normally outgoing, cheerful self. Had he done something wrong? Something criminal? Why had an FBI agent brought him here?

Kyle came out, fully dressed. Looking first in ken's direction, he froze as soon as he saw the others. He moved to the sofa opposite Ken, taking and looking at the badge and I.D. that the suited man had handed him.

"Mr. Dorsey; Mr. Wright. I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, however, Mr. Berlin has stated that the two of you may be able to vouch for some instances of his whereabouts on specific dates. Events occurring on these dates have come to the attention of the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of Florida. I want to empathize that no decision has been made as to whether Mr. Berlin is implicated in any wrongdoing. That is the purpose for this off-the-record conversation."

Dave paused. He dared not look at Brock, because they'd give it away.

"If I ask anything you'd rather not answer, that is fine. All I ask is whatever answers you both choose to provide, that they be truthful".

"Yes sir, of course we will. Right, Kyle?"

"Um, of course" Kyle was startled when Ken spoke to him. He was scared, but forced himself to face the federal agent. "Yes I will, sir!"

Dave resumed speaking. "Gentlemen, I am part of an interagency task force that is conducting an investigation into money laundering in Florida and in California. An unknown courier for the suspected ringleaders was on the same flight that Mr. Berlin arrived on yesterday, and Mr. Berlin fits the general description that our Miami office provided us. We simply need to verify that Mr. Berlin has no involvement with the aforementioned suspects, and then we're through".

Ken nodded slowly. At least the FBI man hadn't said the one word he was fearing -- gambling. Even if Brock Berlin would be the absolute last person he would ever suspect of shaving points. Dave continued. "The investigation focuses on two forms of illicit vice activity -- skimming and prostitution. First off, have either of you heard of an topless dancing establishment in Pompano Beach, Florida named the Booby Trap?"

Ken knew that this was no time to lie. Cops could smell a lie a mile away. "Yes, I have been there once. Last December, for a bachelor party. But that was it. I was probably there for an hour max. But not Kyle -- he was still in California in high school".

Kyle was happy that Ken was sticking up for him.

Dave consulted "Thank you. The Miami office will probably check the club's booking records, but for now, I'm satisfied that none of you is implicated.

Ken took a breath, relieved that it seemed to be going so well. Kyle was also a little less frightened than before, but he still kept his mouth shut. If they needed him to say anything, they'd let him know; otherwise his lip was zipped!

"The second matter is a little more convoluted, I'm afraid. We are investigating reports of a male prostitution ring on your college campus -- or former campus, in your case, Mr. Dorsey. The investigation is actually ninety percent completed. All but two of the primary suspects have been identified. About those last two, our undercover source has indicated that, as shocking as this may sound, the two so-called "working men" were -- one second, it's here in my notes -- and I quote `two very tall football player -- two Caucasian quarterbacks who were tall, almost like basketball players'."

Ken was stunned. This was beyond impossible -- it couldn't really be happening. He immediately realized why he and Kyle might be implicated, as they were 6'6" and 6'5" respectively. Brock was 6'1 and none of the current or former backup quarterbacks fit the description the source had provided.

"Agent Andrews, with all due respect, are you seriously suggest that Kyle or I ....."

"Well, Mr. Dorsey" Dave interrupted, "ordinarily I would agree that you and Mr. Wright would be at the very bottom of any list of suspects in this particular criminal activity. However, during his interview with my supervising agent a few hours ago, Mr. Berlin admitted that he once observed you and Mr. Wright engage in" - he paused for effect, again making a show of consulting his notebook - "and I quote 'and then Ken and Kyle started French-kissing like crazy'. Bureau guidelines require us to determine whether those statements have any meaning to this case".

Ken felt the air rush out of his lungs. It was worse than last January when the Ohio State defender had tackled him during the third overtime that ended the Fiesta Bowl. He thought back, then the horrible realization came over him -- of course, that day Brock returned my playbook -- that HAD to be when Brock saw Kyle and me. One of the mini-blinds must have come open, and Brock had been able to see inside my bedroom. SHIT!

He had to stay cool. Screwing around with guys was no crime --al long as no money was involved. Surely the FBI man would see that.

"Agent Andrews, I can assure you that money was never involved in anything Kyle or I ever ....."

But Dave cut him off once again, with a raised arm. Ken's mind raced as the agent looked at his notebook once again. So Brock had known about Kyle and him all this time. He never said anything whatsoever.

"Mr. Dorsey, I fully respect your privacy rights, and I have no interest in passing judgment on your and Mr. Wright's personal preferences. I only want the facts as they relate to these allegations. As a rule, when a person like Mr. Berlin gives direct eyewitness testimony, we must investigate to the fullest extent. It's certainly possible that Mr. Berlin was mistaken in his interpretation ....".

Brock suddenly flew to his feet. In a frantic near-shout, he pointed at Ken and Kyle and cried out "But Agent Andrews, I did see them! I swear to you - they were necking, like in the movies"!

"Mr. Berlin, please - calm down. I'm not casting your veracity into doubt. I just need to hear directly from the two gentlemen that they have never been involved in anything involving sexual activity for money, and my work is done. What they do in private life is of no interest to me or the Bureau". .

"No, they're lying!"

Ken was becoming livid. Not at Agent Andrews -- he was being extremely reasonable and even seemed to be taking his and Kyle's side. But Brock -- that fucking SNAKE! It was as if he wanted to get Kyle and him into trouble on purpose. For his part, Kyle was so confused -- he didn't know what in hell to expect next.

"Mr. Berlin, please calm down".

"No! You HAVE to believe me. Look, I'll show you what they did"! Moving quickly to his left, Brock leaned over and planted a big wet kiss right on the federal agent's lips.

Ken and Kyle looked at each other, too shocked to say anything, or even to move.

When the kiss ended, Brock moved back to allow Dave to stand up. Keeping a straight face, he took off his suit jacket and handed it Kyle, who, not knowing what else to do, took it.

Dave's delivery of his next lines was worthy of Sir Laurence Olivier.

"Mr. Berlin -- I'm sorry, but I didn't quite get that - could you please demonstrate again? And Mr. Wright? While Mr. Berlin is demonstrating, would you please reach into the inside pocket of my jacket -- there's a 3x5 index card inside. Please read it, then pass it to Mr. Dorsey if you would. Thank you".

Dave barely managed to get the last word out before Brock was on him again, this time wrestling him to the floor of Ken's living room. Kyle was even more numbed by this new outrageous activity, but he followed the agent's instructions. Extracting the card, he read it, then starting laughing. In fact, he laughed so hard that he accidentally swallowed the small piece of chewing gum that had been in his mouth

Ken thought he would bust a vein, he was so angry. The world was going mad. Brock Berlin, the straightest arrow he'd ever know, was wrestling lip-to-lip with an FBI agent on his living room carpet. And now Kyle was in hysterics. He stormed over and picked the card up of the floor where Kyle had dropped it. On it he saw the two little words that instantly explained everything:

ICY HOT

Waves of emotion washed over Ken. Relief, of course, but mostly embarrassed anger at being taken in by the joke. He had to hand it to Brock -- this was the all-timer, the best practical joke ever. The words on the car were a reference to the day Brock had first joined the team, when Ken and two other teammates had rubbed some of the stinging muscle salve into the pouch of Brock's jockstrap. Everyone on the team got hazed that way, nothing destructive or cruel like on other teams, just fun stuff. Ken remembered that Brock had laughed it off, but he had also told the perpetrators that he believed in not getting mad but getting even.

And for Ken, payback day had arrived. But he had one question left in his mind. Thos kisses sure looked real. But Brock -- surely he wasn't. Nah -- but someone who didn't know him would have thought differently. But wait -- what about the FBI agent? Brock had never mentioned that he had a friend in California that worked for the FBI.

Ken's mind overflowed with questions. But nothing prepared him for what came next. Everyone went back to their seats, then Dave and Brock began a story so improbable that if it were being told in any other circumstance he would have called the men in the white coats. It was so outrageous a tale that it sounded like total fiction -- like a story one of those Internet sites where people posted sex fiction stories -- but he was a real-life character in this one, so it had to be true.

= = = = = = = = = =

A habitual early riser, Ken opened his eyes and gingerly climbed out of the bed, where Kyle was still fast asleep. Ken took a moment to study his young friend. He was grateful for even this short amount of time they had had to renew their physical relationship. Ken quietly went down the hall to the other side of the townhouse and gently opened the guest bedroom door. It was a sight he had never expected to see in this lifetime - Brock Berlin in bed with another guy! Brock and Dave were laying next to each other in `spoon' fashion -- Ken had the thought that the young agent, his arms wrapped around the strawberry blond hunk from behind, was instinctively protecting his partner. Sweet.

The world is so unpredictable, Ken thought, as he gently closed the door and went outside to get his morning papers. The timer on the coffee maker had kicked in, filling the kitchen with the aromatic scent of java. Ken poured himself a mug and sat at the dining table, looking over the front pages of the Chronicle and the Mercury-News. Suicide bombers, kooky recall elections, the Marlins thinking they seriously had a chance in the baseball playoffs - what the hell was the world coming to?

Ken opened the sports section and found the NFL Notes column. It confirmed what he already knew; that his friend Tim Couch would be starting for the Browns since the other quarterback, Kelly Holcomb, was still out with a hairline fracture. Ken had gotten this info directly from Tim who had sent him an e-mail about it. In the message, Tim had also reminded Ken about meeting up on Saturday night in Cleveland. Ken had been intrigued at Tim's mention that a hot college football player would be joining them. Damn', Ken thought, Timmy is ALWAYS banging some hot piece of college jock snatch'. He tried to remember the new kid's name - `Justin', I think.

"Hey mister -- think I could bum a cup of that coffee off of you?

Ken's thoughts were interrupted as he looked up to see Dave Andrews, smiling a million-megawatt smile. Ken jumped up and poured Dave a mug of Starbucks Breakfast Blend, also grabbing the carton of half-and-half out of the refrigerator. Ken looked the agent over for a moment -- yep, just as he noted the previous evening over dinner, Dave's resemblance to Cody Pickett, the Washington Huskies quarterback, was striking. Ken had met Cody for just a moment, at the end of the Miami-Washington game during his sophomore year. He'd have to ask Brock later if he noticed the resemblance

"Thank, Ken. And I'm really sorry about that practical joke yesterday. It was Brockie's idea but I'm just as guilty". Ken laughed it off, assuring Dave that there were no hard feelings. He loved a good practical joke, and when the time was right, he'd get Dave and Brock back. You could be sure of that!

"Ken". Dave paused. His mind was full of thoughts. He wanted to talk, but he wasn't sure he should burden this nice guy, who he'd just met, after all. But, picking up on the soft smile and understanding look that Ken gave him, he decided to go ahead.

"I get the sense I can talk to you -- are you sure you don't mind?"

"Any buddy of Brock's is my friend too. And I always have time for my friends. Please go ahead.

Dave took a sip of his coffee and continued. "Well, it's just that all of this has happened so fast -- I mean, I've known about my feelings for guys for a long time, that's not it. It's -- it's that, well, I think what I feel for Brock is way beyond infatuation about finally having sex. Way beyond puppy love".'

Ken smiled. He's been here before -- had advised other friends too. Ken told Dave a story about a wedding last year that he had been a groomsman in. The night before the ceremony, Brandon, the groom, had shown up at this place unexpectedly. At first Ken thought that Brandon was drunk, but it was actually far worse -- cold feet. "Brandon had proposed only three months after meeting Ashley. Before he met her, he had been engaged to three years to this other girl. Brandon was afraid he was marrying Ashley on the rebound. But we talked it through, and he realized that it was really was a soul-mates thing. Ken told Dave that he realized how much of a trite cliché that must sound like, but that it w true in his friends' case.

Dave felt more relaxed. This guy really understood. Accepting Ken's offer of a refill, he realized that Brock's description of Ken's good character and innate leadership traits had been right on target.

Ken continued. "That was two years ago, and they're doing great. The thing that really stands out for me is that they almost missed each other. What if Brandon had married the other girl? What I'm saying is, don't let the uncertainties stop you. Don't ignore tangible warning signs, but don't go out of your way to invent them, either.

Dave contemplated the words, and realized how good the advice was. "You know, Ken, you're in the wrong line of work. You should hang up the football thing and go into television and replace that ridiculous quack Dr. Phil"!

Ken laughed, well aware that basic common sense was far more valid and helpful than the Oprah-spin-off's sappy pop psychology. But he returned to a more serious tone for his next words.

"Dave, you probably already know it's not going to be the easiest road for you and Brock. Long distance relationships never are. When you mix the type of work you do with the huge demands on Brock's time, especially right now as he enters the roughest part of his football season, it complicates it even more. But as long as the two of you go forward with your eyes wide open, I want you to promise me that you'll give your feelings for Brock a real chance. Brock Berlin is one of the highest-quality individuals I've ever met, and my first impression of you is the same. You both deserve no less than the best. And a final thing -- you two make a damned cute couple"!

Dave blushed, but decided to enjoy the compliment. He was impressed at the wisdom behind Ken's words. Having gone to Stanford, Dave had always been aware that not all athletes fit the "dumb jock" stereotype. But Ken seemed especially sensitive and perceptive. It must be a quarterback thing!

Ken had written something on a post-it note, and now passed it over to Dave. "This is my unlisted number. I want you to promise me you'll call me if you ever want to talk -- about anything, but especially about you and Brock. 24/7, and I mean that. I'm there for both of you, bud".

Impressed anew at Ken's loyalty and generosity, Dave felt it was all now all right to ask about something else that had been intriguing him. "Ken -- if you don't mind me asking -- about you and Kyle?'

Ken smiled, and didn't mind the question at all. "Dave, I've wondered about that myself. I've always been a "play the field" kind of guy. But with Kyle it's a little different. In all honesty, it's too early for me to tell if it's deeper". Dave could tell that Ken was being completely honest. "The important thing is that Kyle and I will continue to talk our feelings through, and we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. And between you and me, Dave, it's fun being around his teenage enthusiasm. I mean, I'm only four years older than him, but I'm starting to feel like an old timer"!

The conversation was interrupted by a commotion outside the kitchen. The kitchen door burst open as Kyle and Brock tumbled into the room. Kyle was once again bursting in laughter, while Brock was making a mock effort to beat him up.

"Wright, you are such a LIAR. I'm gonna get you, you jackass"! Kyle sought protection behind Ken, as if to use him as a human shield. "What are you two brats up to now"?

Brock paused as he looked at Dave. The room, the world melted; he saw only one thing. Even in his white t-shirt and his mussed hair, Dave Andrews was the most beautiful sight in the world. He sat next to his new boyfriend and lifted Dave's large right hand with his own, gently griping it. "Davie, that bastard Kyle came in to the bathroom and said that you had taken off and left this note".

Dave read the paper, and started to laugh. Ken took the "note" from Dave, and instantly recognized Kyle's handwriting.

GOTTA RUN -- IT'S BEEN FUN -- C-YA.

He understood the mild joke, but he made a mental note to talk to Kyle later about timing - given that Brock and Dave were still at the very beginning of their relationship. There's a right time for jokes, after all. But for once, Ken's concern was for naught. He saw that Dave and Brock had immediately realized it was just Kyle being an imp.

"No way would I ever let you go that easy, Brockie".

"You see - I told you"! Brock exclaimed in triumph, smirking at Kyle. "Dave, isn't there anything you can arrest that delinquent for"?

"Well, I could take him in on a 459, but then we wouldn't have time to do this" Dave said as he stood up and deeply kissed his friend. Correction - his boyfriend!"

"Dude, you are so lucky -- more escapes that that David Blaine guy" Ken said to Kyle as they looked at the two other boys embrace. "But" he warned, "I'd check my jockstrap for Icy-Hot when I got back to Miami"!

"Hey Kenny", Kyle said, pointing. "Do those two give you any ideas"?

"Yup -- they sure do" and within a moment Ken and Kyle were imitating the love couple, their jock tongues colliding as they kissed passionately.

Ken paused. This felt so damned good. Maybe he should call Tim Couch and take a rain check for Saturday night. Maybe.

Dave broke his embrace. "Anyone hungry? Breakfast is on me!"

Kyle laughed. "You won't have to ask Brock. On the team we call him the Eating Machine"

Now Brock was pissed! "And what about you, Mr. I'll Have Thirds? You aren't exactly on any diet".

Ken and Dave looked at each other, bemused by the adolescent bickering. Dave was about to say something to Ken when he paused to listen to a faint sound.

"Wait -- I think I hear my phone"

The others didn't hear it, but Dave's hearing was especially acute. "Sorry -- I'll be back in a minute". The others waited in the kitchen, wanting to give Dave privacy.

Back in the bedroom, Dave looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Ed. Checking up on him, no doubt. "Morning, Ed. How are you".

"David". Oh-oh. This was Ed in business mode. Something was definitely up.

"You'll have to excuse me, I don't mean to be rude. How are you"?

"Just fine - great, actually".

"Are you taking care of young Mr. Berlin"?

Dave bit his tongue -- what a great set-up line and he couldn't use it. But he knew Ed well enough to know that this chitchat was a prelude to something much more serious.

"Uh -- in fact I'm just going -- to take him and his friends to breakfast".

"Good. What time will you be at the airport"?

"We'll probably be dropping him off at about 1:00pm. Do you need me to come in earlier than that"?

"No, actually, that's perfect. David, are you sitting down"?

"I am now -- what's up"? Now his curiosity was really up. Ed's shorthand left no doubt that he was about to pass along something important.

"Dave, I've been called to go to Italy. Tonight."

Dave knew that, because of his expertise, Ed was often called to consult with other countries' law enforcement agencies. But an assignment to go overseas with no real notice had to be really important.

"Before I give you the details, I want you to know that I've put you in charge of the Lamuccan sting. You've done most of the planning and a great majority of the legwork. I have no doubts you'll do an outstanding job".

"Yes sir". It was an awesome responsibility. But the affirmation of Ed's confidence and trust in him felt really good.

"When you drop Brock off, just come up to my office. I have to go home to pack in few minutes, so I'll probably get to the office the same time you do. We'll give the sting operations plans a final review before I head for my flight"

Dave was dying to ask what the Italy thing was about. But he respected Ed, and knew that his mentor would tell him what he could. He didn't have long to wait.

"Dave -- this case in Italy is tricky --and hot". Dave knew that Ed meant politically hot.

"In fact, it's so hot that the Italian justice minister called Ashcroft directly to request my involvement. And shocking as it sounds, our illustrious A.G. found the time between his search for naked statues at DOJ headquarters to approve the request".

Dave stifled a laugh. Ed Eastwood was a conservative man, but he had no tolerance for B.S., no matter what high position the bullshitter occupied.

"Do you remember when you first reported to San Francisco, when you helped me archive some of my case files? Remember the Grey Hand case"?

Dave did remember the case -- kidnapping for ransom, targeting wealthy people. The Carbanieri. Italy's equivalent of the FBI, had asked for Ed's help as a published expert in kidnappings and negotiations. Dave further remembered that some of the suspects had escaped the dragnet and were thought to be hiding in the hills, awaiting the chance to strike again.

"There's been a new abduction"?

"Bingo! Two days ago a wealthy American couple on vacation near Catania was abducted. Unfortunately, the woman died, but the husband is unhurt and is being held." Dave was surprised to hear this. These types of kidnappers were usually in it for nothing else but the ransom money, and were careful not to harm the source of ransom money. They were nothing like Italy's Red Brigades in the 1980s, who had intentionally killed their victims for political reasons.

"Dave. Listen carefully -- I want you to hear this from me, because it's bound to leak to the press at some point". Ed paused. "The American couple in question is -- was - Luigi and Oranella Rooster".

Dave felt as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him. My god.

"The ironic thing is, the kidnappers didn't kill her -- not directly. Why would they destroy their meal ticket? What happened is that, the old woman's liver had essentially been destroyed by cirrhosis. She was on her third transplanted liver. Unlike the first two, her system didn't reject this new one because of an experimental drug that is still in FDA trials. It was working, so much so that she was able to travel, but she had to take it like clockwork every six hours. When they grabbed her, the medication was left behind, and she was dead within a day. Afterwards, the kidnappers dropped the body at the door of a rural church, with a hysterical note swearing that they hadn't killed her".

Ed didn't verbalize his next thought, fully aware that Dave knew it as much as he did. In this indirect but very real way, Oranella Rooster's drinking had claimed another victim -- its final victim.

"Dave. We'll talk more this afternoon. But I have to say one more thing -- off the record. This is not your boss speaking. This is from me as a human being, man to man. And after I say what I'm going to say, it stays between us. Understand"?

"Yes, of course".

"Karma".

Dave let the word sink in. It was the last thing he'd ever expect to hear from Ed. But somehow, in many ways it was the only reaction possible.

"See you at 1:00. Bye".

Dave felt like he had just climbed off some amusement park ride. The last twenty-four hours had been the most topsy-turvy of his life. But now, it seemed to be making some sense. As one part of his life seeming to be reaching closure, a new one was blooming. And he'd take the second one any day.

He quickly dressed and went back out to the other room. Kyle and Brock had finished packing their gear, so that they'd be ready for head to the airport after they ate.

"Guys -- do I have a story to tell you over breakfast".

Brock instinctively went to Dave's side. "Is everything OK? The call ...:

"Actually, yes. It's just weird timing. I'll tell you all over breakfast". Dave looked at Brock, motioning him closer. He whispered something to him, to which Brock obviously agreed, shaking his head up and down.

"Guys" Brock said to Ken and Kyle. Dave and I want to thank you both, for everything, but most of all for being real friends".

"Aw, don't getting mushy on us" Kyle kidded.

"No, I mean we want to thank you in a way we won't be able to at the airport". With that Brock moved over to Ken and gave him a big hug and then a sweet, warm kiss, as Dave did the same to the surprised Kyle. Nice. Then they switched, as Ken tasted Dave's lips, amazed that he was kissing an FBI agent, as he accepted Dave's profuse thanks for all he had done.

"Hey, ouch!"

Ken and Dave looked over at Brock, who face was flush. "He pinched me -- hard"!

"Hey, just checking out the merchandise -- maybe I'll be hiring you as one of those male escorts".

"Too late" Dave declared to Kyle, "he just retired, permanently"!

"He sure did" Ken injected -- "but it was because he couldn't get it up!" He waited a moment, looking directly at Brock. "Payback's a bitch, buddy".

They all laughed heartily, Brock the hardest. As they locked up and headed out to the cars, Ken smiled at Dave and asked "Are you sure you really want to get involved with this bunch of nuts -- especially that boyfriend of yours? I have to warn you -- he has an off-the-wall sense of humor sometimes".

"Thanks for the warning -- but I think I'll take my chances. The potential rewards are too good not to".

Ken nodded as he got into the car. That was it, short and sweet. And the decision was made - he'd be asking Tim Couch for that rain check.

= = = = = = = = = =

EPILOGUE

Six Months Later

A lot happened in the months that followed Brock and Dave's fateful encounter. The two studs burned up the phone lines and the Internet, staying in constant touch as they planned their next physical meeting.

The undercover operation had been a great success. However, as the suspects were being rounded up, one of the SFPD uniformed officers on the team failed to search one of the perpetrators, who then brandished a concealed weapon. With no hesitation as to his personal safety, Dave disarmed the man before the incident escalated out of control, earning himself a commendation from the Director of the Bureau.

Across the world, Dave's boss, Ed Eastwood, had had similar success. Working with the Carbanieri analysts, and even applying Brock's "plain view" example, the ad-hoc task force was able to find the kidnapper's hideout, rescuing unharmed Luigi Rooster and another German couple who had been abducted by the same group a month earlier.

But the day after a small ceremony where Ed presented Dave his commendation, Ed excused himself to take a call from Washington shook all of their lives up.

Investigative journalists had unearthed widespread illegalities in John Ashcroft's 2000 Missouri senate campaign, forcing the disgraced moralist to resign. George Bush, looking for a "clean" nominee to run the DOJ, appointed Bureau director Mueller to the AG's post. In turn, Mueller decided to ask Ed to serve as Acting Bureau director. Mueller actually wanted to have Ed take the job permanently, but he knew that Ed was unlikely to accept a permanent appointment. Ed asked Dave if he wanted to transfer to Jedgar, but instead they worked out a rotation by which Dave shuttled between Washington and the Bay Area.

Dave's boyfriend had an equally adventurous fall and winter. After a narrow escape over a charged up Virginia Tech team in November, Brock had led his team to the BCS championship game in New Orleans on January 4th against the only other undefeated team, the Oklahoma Somers. What had been expected to be a gritty trench war turned into an offensive showcase, with Brock and the Somers' quarterback, Jason White, each throwing for over 400 yards each. At the end of regulation, the score sat at 45-45. And just like in the previous year, the overtimes were tension-filled, but finally in the fifth overtime, on a fourth and fourteen, Brock saw daylight and scampered into the Superdome end zone and on into glory. And no yellow flags -- early or late -- this time.

Watching the game from the Superdome sideline was Ken Dorsey. Ken had also had a good fall -- further concussion problems for 49ers starter Jeff Garcia had meant that Tim Rattay had started most of the November and December games, with Ken also getting significant playing time. The Niners had won the wild card game, but had fallen to the defending Super Bowl champion Tampa Bay Bucs in the second round of the playoffs. It still marked an excellent comeback from the losses of the first half of the season.

On a personal level, Kan and Kyle decided not to make any exclusive commitment to each other, at least not yet (but they didn't close he door to it by any means). As Ken's NFL season progressed, he had ceaseless opportunities to mess around - it seemed that eager NFL and college player were lined up in every city the Niners visited, begging for a chance to ride the Dorsey Dong. And Kyle started to experiment some more as well. He and Ken realized that they'd always be special friends, but for now it was ok to play around with other guys.

And also -- mustn't forget.

Luigi Rooster exited Saints Peter and Paul church, the old San Francisco parish that had served the Italian community since the 1880s. Aided by his chauffer, the elderly patriarch settled into his limousine for the drive back to his home in the San Joaquin Valley. He opened the small wet-bar compartment and poured himself a half-glass of the new reserve cabernet that his older daughter, the company's chief winemaker, had hand crafted from the pick of the current crop.

Luigi opened his briefcase and shuffled through the documents he had just executed at his attorneys' Financial District offices. The family business, if you could call a worldwide concern by that name, was in good hands. Besides his eldest daughter, with her graduate degrees in enology from he University of California, Davis, his younger daughter had returned from Pennsylvania with her MBA from the Wharton school, and was already integrating herself in the business end of the company. With talented non-family executives rounding out the management team, the future of L&G Rooster was assured for the foreseeable future.

Sampling another bit of the Limousian oak-scented wine, Luigi opened the folder from the private investigator who had completed the discreet background investigation he had commissioned. He glanced at the photo of the smiling young man. So handsome -- and a decorated law enforcement agent serving his country. Yes, his instincts had been proven correct.

Luigi had not been aware of the young man's whereabouts after the legal case was settled. It was Ed Eastwood, on the military transport returning them from Italy, who had made him aware of his present situation Upon his return, he had hand-written a long note offering his personal apologies and regrets, explaining that the attorneys had forbidden him doing so earlier. At the end of the letter, he had offered to make very significant contributions to whatever charities Dave wished, whether in his parents name or anonymously.

Dave had responded, accepting the words of apology, relating that recent changes in his life had made it possible to understand the need to forgive and understand. But it was the words that followed that had really made a serious impact on the old man. Saying that he accepted and appreciated Luigi's sentiment, he felt that the money for charity should go to something more personal. The young man had expressed the hope that Luigi think back to the positive aspects of his life with his wife, and to contribute in her name in an area related to those good times.

Luigi was surprised at the response -- surprised and deeply impressed. What a mature, genuine response. And that was the twofold purpose of the trip to San Francisco.

Luigi finished the last of the wine, taking a moment to jot down some tasting notes on the outside of the folder (it was too ingrained a habit). At the attorney's offices, Luigi had just approved the first grant by the just-launched Oranella Rooster Early Education Foundation. Oranella had always been a good mother and had, despite everything else, shielded her children from the negative effects of her increasing alcoholism. So it seemed like a perfect fit.

Luigi took one last glance at the accountant's spreadsheet before putting the folder away. There had been one other piece of business at the law offices. With the family and his late brother Giuseppe's children and grandchildren well provided for, and with the foundation launched, Luigi had placed the remaining body of his wealth into a living trust, allowing for a probate-free, tax-insulated transfer upon his death.

As the long black Lincoln progressed down the rural countryside, Luigi closed his eyes and reclined into the plush seat, relieving the pressure on his arthritic left knee. If life had taught him anything, it was that great wealth could not change the world, could not reverse the past. But great thinking, great ideas, could. If he and Giuseppe had created a great industry and had derived untold wealth in the process, at his death he would give another idealist the opportunity to dare to do truly significant things. Surely, if anyone could handle a two billion dollar bequest, young David Andrews of Los Altos Hills, California could.

-end-