Singlets

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Author's note: Some readers were disappointed, frustrated, saddened or otherwise less than satisfied by the ending of another story of mine, Stuck in the Closet. I took one reader's heartfelt letter as a challenge to write something with a friendly, positive ending, which is not always my thing. I hope this satisfies.

Additional note: This is a long one-off story with more sexual teasing than actual sex.

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Singlets

A college wrestling coach saw the news report about me winning regionals and thought I had real possibilities for his team. Man, was I embarrassed when that article came out. It wasn't the story so much that got me – it was the picture that went with it. There I was in my light gray singlet with white trim standing next to the ref after my last match. He was holding my arm up high – and I was sprouting big time wood. Sure, it was under my clothes – technically – but have you ever seen what a wrestler wears? It doesn't leave much to the imagination, especially if things aren't positioned right, or, like in my case, you slipped out of your jockstrap. Now the whole world knows I'm circumcised complete with an intact frenulum. The way my arm was stretched up and my back was arched the moment that picture was taken, it looked like all I was wearing was silver body paint. You could see every rib. Even the texture of my pubes. So you can imagine how thrilled I was a college coach saw the picture, too. What a first impression.

In my defense, at the time I hadn't realized I'd sprung loose. I mean, I was so amped up from all the matches and kicking all those dude's asses and winning the whole tournament that I wasn't even thinking about my dick. But after that picture came out, everyone at high school was thinking about it, that's for sure. And it's not like anyone was letting me forget about my public boner. The picture was everywhere. Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, you name it. Complete with all the lame comments the internet is so famous for. Girl classmates came up to me in pairs and groups of three and stared at my crotch with their eyes bugged out and said they were glad to see me. Then they'd run off giggling as if they'd said something clever. If my dick wanted to do anything, it just wanted to shrivel up and hide.

But when guys came up to me and made the same stupid jokes, blood rushed to my crotch. And when a few of the guys winked at me (kidding around or not), my mouth went dry. Whenever girls winked at me – even the cute ones – I just rolled my eyes. They looked so pathetic. I noticed some of the guys who gave me the hardest time about my boner had boners of their own going on even while giving me so much shit. Noticing the bulges in guys' pants was new behavior for me so for the first time ever I began wondering if I just might be gay.

It wasn't like it was a big deal or anything. I mean, I wasn't ashamed or afraid my life was going to change in some significant way. It was just one of those things. Then one day I was walking to my English class and passed Harrison, the senior quarterback, along with his posse all going the opposite direction. They went into one of their "There's Boner Boy" routines and kept walking. I think I was supposed to be embarrassed or annoyed or something, but all I did was wonder if the erection I'd just seen Harrison sporting was seven inches or eight. Realizing what I'd just been thinking, I actually stopped in my tracks and said out loud to myself, "Huh, looks like I AM a fag." I took a second to process it then shrugged, said something like, "Didn't see that one coming," and resumed walking to class. I didn't think any more about it.

See, I'd never given sex much thought. Since I was in third grade, I didn't care about anything that wasn't either wrestling or videogames and I've got the lifelong sucky grades to prove it. I know, I know. Around all those tight singlets and showers and all that grappling on the mats, how could I have not thought about sex? All I can tell you is I didn't. Late bloomer, I guess.

So anyway, when I received the email from the college wrestling coach, I was majorly embarrassed. And excited. He wrote that he'd seen the article about me winning and thought I had something his squad could use. He wanted his boys to have a chance at me before any other teams did so he was inviting me to visit. I'd be shown the school, taken to some classes and meet some teachers. He'd even arrange for me to stay overnight in a dorm. But the highlight of the trip would be training with a college wrestling team. They'd put me through my paces, see what I had and teach me some of their moves. If I was up for it, I should come prepared to get hot and sweaty.

My folks and I returned the letter with a phone call. Coach was happy to hear back from me and seemed genuinely excited when I told him his was the first college to contact me. He promised there would be a lot more firsts in store for me if I came. Who knew? Maybe I'd want to go to school there. Dad said we weren't ready to nail down any decisions about college yet. Coach said he understood but added, "You can't blame us for wanting to nail him down." When Dad didn't say anything, Coach added, "I can assure you, my guys don't nail down anyone who doesn't want to be nailed down." It was obvious to all of us that Coach really wanted me to come.

So a couple of Thursdays later Dad drove me to campus. Since it was a two hour drive, he made plans to knock out some business meetings in the area, then he'd pick me up Friday night and we'd drive home.

The guys I stayed with weren't athletes. That was the only way Mom and Dad would let me go. They said it was critical that I understood college wasn't only about sports and getting sweaty body-slamming on rubber mats with a different guy every week; that academics were important, too. So Coach had me stay with some math majors or something like that. They showed me around the quad, the science hall, the arts department. Everything. And of course, everybody thought I was one of the math guys' little brothers since I was younger than everyone else at college and am sort of on the small side in general, being only 5'6" and 130 lbs.

The math guys showed me a great time, but I was really looking forward to the working out part of my trip. When I met up with Coach in his office, he just stood there with his hands on his hips shaking his head from side to side like he couldn't believe his luck or something. "Really? My boys are going to be the first ones to get their hands on you?" I nodded and he laughed.

In the training room he presented me to the whole team. "Here he is, gents, just like I promised. You think he's got what we're looking for?" All eyes turned to me. Eighteen guys, and talk about friendly. Each smile I saw was bigger than the previous one. A couple of the guys were biting their lips and bobbing their heads up and down a little, as if they were just as jazzed about the prospect of mixing it up with me as I was about mixing it up with them.

Earlier, when Coach told me there was only one guy on the squad in my weight class, I was kind of disappointed. I didn't come all this way to spar with only one guy over and over. But before I could get too bummed about it, Coach said I'd be mixing it up with everyone on the team, regardless of their size. I said I'd never heard of wrestling so far out of your own weight class before, but Coach said it would be good training for someone like me. Working with bigger, more experienced guys, I'd learn things I could never learn from the girls I wrestled in high school. Like an idiot, I said I didn't wrestle girls. What a stupid thing to say, right? Coach laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world, though. "I didn't think you did. Not for a second." Of course he knew I didn't wrestle girls.

I've got to say the idea of going up against so many heavier guys kind of scared and excited me at the same time. All I was thinking was how I'd do. Would I be able to pin any of them down? Would I at least not humiliate myself? What would they be teaching me? Stuff like that. I was one hundred percent in wrestling mode. Honestly, being turned on by the wrestlers never even crossed my mind.

That was before I met them. Man...

Those eighteen guys looking at me with those big ass grins, I had two thoughts right away. One: Holy shit, these guys are going to kick my butt. And two: Wow, they're good looking.

Then I had my third thought: Fuck me, my dick is never going to get soft.

It was totally the wrong time for me to become sexually aware. Seventeen-years-old. Gay. Alone in a small room with 18 hot college studs and their just-as-hot coach. All straight. (Hot? Studs? I'd never used words like that for guys before, not even in my own head.) And my dick was as hard as the cement walls behind the mats. I told myself to stay focused on the wrestling and to be grateful I hadn't fallen out of my jockstrap. Maybe it was as uncomfortable as hell, my dick getting hard in that curved position, but at least it was still where it belonged. So far. My one goal for this session was to not come out of my jockstrap.

All 18 of the guys were in their team singlets. About six of the guys were squatting on the floor which made the bulges between their legs that much more noticeable. I looked away from those guys really fast. But then I found myself staring at Matt's bald brown head and thought how much it looked like an erect penis so again turned away. I went from Donald's bulging forearms with those big, prominent veins that looked like urethras, to Tyson's big nipples to Cory's hair that was as red as his lips to Ricky's skin that was so white and tight it looked like a butt that never saw the sun. It seemed like it was no use. Now it wasn't just guys' bulges that made me hard. It was guys themselves. Everything about them was arousing me. And there was every kind of guy you could imagine. From black to white and everything in between. Blonde hair, black hair, you name it. When I had to open my mouth simply to breathe after seeing the eyelashes on Kit, the guy standing nearest to me, I knew there was no doubt about it: I was gay.

I begged my body – my hands, my eyes, my mouth and especially my dick – to not give me away; to please let these college guys think I was straight. I really didn't want to screw up this great opportunity to wrestle and maybe learn some new techniques. I guess maybe my eyes were sympathetic to my cause. They stayed on the floor.

The one guy in my weight class was Gil. Coach said Gil got me first. I mumbled something like, "He'll probably cream me."

Coach howled. "Probably, kid. Probably. But as long as you're having fun, what's it matter who creams who, right?" That was the strangest coaching philosophy I'd ever heard before but at that moment, I really appreciated it.

Then Coach said everyone would have his chance to cream me. I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or to his team. Next he slapped me on the ass and told me to show him what I had.

Man, was he right about learning things I could never pick up in high school. And did those guys work me. I was flung onto that mat I don't know how many times. Over and over my face got smushed up against other guys' butts and biceps and armpits. It seemed like I was always ending up with my face in my opponent's crotch. I guess Coach could see me hesitate, because it seemed like in every match he had to yell at me to get right in there. "His balls aren't going to bite you! Your mouth's where the teeth are! His balls should be afraid of you!" He told me I was thinking too much and should just follow my instincts. So if I had to push my face up against the other guy's nut sack in order to get a better grip on his leg, that's what I did. I figured it must not look as gay as it felt to me.

I don't know why I was so hesitant to get right up in the other guys' business; they sure didn't hold back. I felt their chins grind into my balls. A couple of times I was sure I felt their lips on my shaft. Guys sure didn't do that in high school. But everything was happening so fast, I didn't have much time to analyze it. I told myself maybe I was imagining things.

It didn't matter who my opponent was, I ended up flat on my back every single time. Coach told me that when I found myself in that position, I should wrap my legs around the other guy's waist and squeeze, so that's what I did. Sometimes the guys would collapse on top of me, with sweat dripping off their face and onto mine. Sometimes it even landed in my mouth, which sounds more disgusting than it was. But all the same, I tried to look grossed out. After all, I wanted these guys to think I was straight and I was sure straight guys would hate swallowing something that came out of another guy's body even if it was just sweat.

I was being taught so much. And I guess I was a worthy opponent despite my small size. All of the guys complimented me and you could tell just looking in their eyes as they held me down that they could have kept going but Coach always blew the whistle. He had to blow the whistle about three times to get Kit's attention. Each guy gave me a slap on the ass or a cuff on top of the head as he left and made room for who came next. When Tom, the biggest one at 200 pounds, finished with me, he grabbed me around the waist with one arm and flipped me over, putting me in a modified handstand. Then he played my ass cheeks like they were bongos before passing me onto Nigel. I was positive he never would have done that if he'd known I was gay.

I mixed it up with every guy on the team and never once complained. Finally Coach called an end to our session. He was impressed with my endurance even if I did end up submitting every time. He said that's the kind of stamina he likes to see in his wrestlers: guys who stay in the game even if they're always on bottom. "It takes a real man to take a pounding but keep on going harder than before." I was pretty proud. Exhausted, but proud.

After we finished, we stretched. Coach winked at me and announced to the guys, "I think it's safe to say, if you boys go undefeated tomorrow night, this fine young man is all yours." The way he said it, I sounded like some kind of prize. Like me choosing their college was so important to them – and like I'd only choose their school if each guy won his match tomorrow night and nobody lost. But I guess Coach knew how to motivate his wrestlers. They went from high-fiving each other to pounding the wall and chanting, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" A few of them tilted their heads back and started yipping until everyone joined in and they were all howling at the ceiling like a pack of wild hound dogs.

Coach ended everything by saying it was time to hit the showers. The guys bolted from the room, but I stayed sprawled on the floor and dragged out my stretching. Yeah, I wanted to see the guys naked, but I sure didn't want them to see me naked. What if I got hard? How would that look in a shower? They'd know I was gay for sure. It would be so much worse than that picture of me in a singlet having a boner.

Coach came up to me. "Well?" he asked. "Too much for you?"

I stood up and switched from stretching my legs to stretching my triceps, holding my right elbow over my head and pushing it back with my left hand. Before I could tell him how great a time I had, Coach said to forget it. He said he had his answer. He pulled on my singlet strap and let it snap against my nipple, then he turned and headed out. Without looking back, he told me to shower up in the dorm. He sounded sort of frustrated, as if he wanted to work me even harder himself right then and there but was holding back for some reason. Then I thought maybe it wasn't frustration I heard in his voice. Maybe it was just disappointment. Shoot. Here I had thought he wanted me for his team. Was I wrong? Did he think I didn't have what his squad needed after all? What did he mean when he said not to bother telling him if the workout was too much for me? Had he already concluded I couldn't take it?

Alone in the training room, I checked myself out in the mirror. Maybe he saw how tired I was. I was covered in sweat, that's for sure. Then I saw it. Shit. I had a boner. Another one of the jockstrap-popping kind. And the fucker was even pulsing. No wonder he didn't want me to take a shower with the team. The last thing they'd want is a fag among them. Great. Just great. I mean, I was glad they weren't going to see me naked in this condition, but I really liked those guys and wanted to wrestle with them again.

That night I felt kind of bummed. Here I thought I'd had a great day but Coach didn't want me after all. I went from feeling like the guest of honor to feeling like a big reject. I played some cards with the math guys and their girlfriends, but all I was thinking about was the wrestlers. Bummed as I was about how the whole thing turned out, I was still turned on by the whole experience. All that tossing around and heavy breathing and grunting. The way their balls seemed to always land in my mouth and my nose would get buried in their ass cracks. The number of times guys' hands gripped my dick. It was no wonder I came out of my jockstrap earlier.

I really needed to jerk off but the math guys never left me alone. The bathroom was semi-private so even when I was taking a shower, someone else was right on the other side of the curtain brushing his teeth or shaving. The curtain wasn't clear or anything, but they'd have known if I had started playing with myself, so I just tried to ignore my frustration.

That's how my whole night went. I didn't get to see any members of the team, which somehow made my frustration worse, not better. Instead, I was with the math guys and their girlfriends. After cards, we had dinner together, went to the movies together, played late night silly board games together. The math guys told me they were under instructions from Coach to not take their eyes off me but I think they overdid it. Even when I thought I might be alone to use the toilet, someone else followed me about a second later and pounded on the door, telling me to hurry up, they had to go. I thought maybe late that night I'd get up from my sleeping bag on the floor and go to the bathroom and finally deal with my blue balls, but the math guys kept me up so late that I was too exhausted to do anything except sleep through the night.

The next day I went to say goodbye. Nobody on the team was around but at least Coach was. I briefly thanked him for the opportunity and then headed out without looking at him. I was feeling pretty bad. I was still crazy horny from yesterday and not being left alone long enough to deal with my situation but mostly I was feeling bad. Was this how my future was going to be, guys not wanting to wrestle with me once they find out I'm gay? I kept walking.

If boners were going to ruin my life like this, I never wanted to have another one, regardless of how good they felt. I sure didn't want anyone to see it if I did get one. Maybe I'd wear a catcher's cup from now on. And really loose pants.

I wasn't very far when Coach called after me. He said not to thank him; that he wasn't done with me yet. He said he knew it was last minute but wanted to know if I'd be interested in going to their match tonight. It would mean spending another night on the floor since it was an away match and we wouldn't get back until late, but he was pretty confident I'd enjoy myself. I was stunned. I thought he'd lost interest in me for his school once he figured out I was a homo. But here he was, inviting me to come with the team. It looked like I was wrong about everything. He hadn't figured out I was gay after all in spite of getting an up close look at that damn boner of mine throbbing away with a life of its own.

I told him hell yeah I wanted to come, but my dad wanted to get back home. "The guys will kill me if you're not there," Coach said. "How can they have a victory celebration without you?"

Coach was with me when I called Dad. I was right about him saying no; he had to get home. After I pleaded my case a second time, Coach got on the phone. He told Dad how well I did the day before and how this was a unique opportunity he was sure I wouldn't want to miss. The whole time, Coach tousled my hair and squeezed my shoulder or neck. Once, his hand wedged between my arm and body and wrapped partway around me. His rough fingers went under the strap of my tank top and he pulled me into a bear hug. I can't tell you why that felt so good. Man, I was so gay. I was just glad I was wearing jockeys so he couldn't tell the effect he was having on me.

Coach wound up the call repeating praises about my abilities and talking about my untapped potential. I bent over to tie my shoe. I heard Dad on the speaker say, "And you want to tap it?" Coach laughed. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I do. We all want to tap his potential." For a second it sounded like he was struggling to remember the word "potential." When Dad didn't say anything back, Coach offered to have some of the guys drive me home Saturday. There was silence for a bit before I finally heard Dad sigh and laugh and say okay. He'd stay another night in his hotel and pick me up Saturday.

The match was 90 minutes away. We all crammed into one small bus which Coach drove. The team rode in their singlets, which seemed unusual to me. My high school team wears sweats over our singlets when we travel, but I guess college is different. Coach told me to wear mine too since I was practically on the squad and all members should be seen in singlets. He said I should look at this as my initiation. Talk about making me feel good. There was a lot of titty-twisting and noogie-giving and putting each other in headlocks. The usual bus trip stuff I never thought twice about a few months ago but now seemed really gay to me. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part. I couldn't relax enough to enjoy myself as much as I would have liked because I was so worried I'd do something that would give away that I was into guys. I'm glad to report that I managed to stay in my jockstrap.

Before the first match, the guys pulled me into their huddle. Coach concluded his pep talk with a rousing, "Remember what you're fighting for!" It felt like everybody's eyes were on me before they broke out into a collective howl. This time they sounded less like hound dogs and more like a pack of wolves.

The matches flew by, one win after another. After each match, the victor gave me a tight body squeeze. You'd think I was an Olympic medal the way some of them hoisted me up in the air. I swear, a couple of the guys were so thrilled, they lip-smacked me. Kit even got me on the mouth, which was weird. A good weird but weird all the same. I sure hope no one noticed. I wasn't even so sure Kit noticed what he'd done, it was that fast.

It came down to the last match and Tom was struggling. A genuine sense of panic was setting in. Don't get me wrong. The guys were still supportive and cheering Tom on, giving him all they had, but underneath all the positivity, there was a noticeable fear of losing. As if there were more on the line than just Tom's record or the school's record. Somehow you had the sense that none of their victories would mean anything if Tom didn't win, too.

Then Gil got right behind me and yipped and howled. Right away, Donald and Tyrone joined in. Tom looked our way. Now the whole team was howling with me at the center of the group. I could see Tom's nostrils flare as his eyes bored into me. Anyone could see the power the howling was having on him – as if the howling alone reminded him of why we were all there – so I jumped up on the bench, leaned my head back as far as I could and howled louder than anyone else. I fell back into the guys, who caught me. I guess they couldn't quite get a firm grip because their hands kept slipping and sliding all over my body before they finally got me upright. When I could finally see Tom again, he was grinning and snarling at the same time. A long line of saliva hung from the corner of his mouth and hit the mat. I tried not to think about the time he wrestled me and his saliva landed in my mouth. I couldn't afford to get any harder than I already was.

The match resumed. Tom tossed his opponent around like he was a rag doll instead of 200 pounds of solid muscle. I was grateful it wasn't me, but my dick kind of wished it had been.

After they annihilated the other school, not giving up a single match, the guys told me I was their motivation. Knowing a bunch of hot guys like that were fighting so hard because they wanted me so badly – really, how could I choose another college? So what if I had to hide my boner for the next four years, right? I didn't want to lose these guys.

On the bus ride home, I thought the guys would have been exhausted since they all fought so hard in their matches earlier, but no. The longer we drove, the more amped they got. It was as if the big event were still ahead of us instead of behind us which was nutty since the match was over and we were headed home. Guys tossed towels around and jumped over the seats and cheered out the windows. They hoisted me above their heads and had me crowd-surfing from the back of the bus to the front and then back again. And again their hands were all over me. My pecs. My thighs. My ass. More than a few times I got fingers in my mouth. Once I was flipped over into a backward somersault and some guy's hand – I think it was Kit's – slide inside my singlet all the way down to my bellybutton. They had no idea of how all the manhandling was affecting me, which was fine by me. Let them have their fun. I was enjoying the experience in my own way.

I guess Coach got caught up in the excitement, too, because after awhile he announced we were lost, though he didn't sound all that concerned about it. I looked out the window. I sure didn't remember driving through such a rundown part of the city on the way to the match. Cory asked if we weren't near some hotel they'd used on their last visit to this school. The way Cory said it – sharing a big wink with Mark and exaggerating every word as if it were an old familiar joke – convinced me that regardless of how much he motivated his team, Coach sucked at navigating.

He looked out the window and said, "I'll be damned if you aren't right. Man, I must be more tired than I thought." He said since it was obvious he was in no condition to keep driving, we'd have to spend the night at the hotel. He apologized for the inconvenience but it sounded to me like he wanted nothing more than to stay the night at the hotel. I figured he must really be exhausted. Not that apologies were necessary. If anything, the guys seemed to get happier the closer we got to the place. And I sure wasn't going to object because I didn't want my time with the team to end.

Running up the eight flights of stairs to the floor we had all to ourselves, the guys chanted "Par-ty! Par-ty!" Nick and Glenn tripped a few times, kicking off their shoes and even peeling down their singlets as they ran. I thought, "Wow, somebody wants a shower bad."

It was a crummy place, that's for sure, but I guess wrestling teams don't have money for decent hotels. There was no carpet on our floor, no bed frames, not even sheets. The desk guy said sheets cost extra. Coach said we wouldn't need them. Each room came furnished with a single stained mattress on a raw wooden floor and a bare, dim light bulb dangling from a cord in the middle of the ceiling. I didn't count the cracks in the plaster as furniture.

The guys dragged mattresses from the other rooms and pushed them all into the biggest room, so it was one big wrestling mat. For the victory celebration, I figured. I knew we couldn't have beer, but where was the pizza? Where was the treat? The guys insisted the party couldn't start until I wrestled, too.

"How about it," Coach asked. "Feel like taking on the team?"

If only I could tell him just how much.

"Maybe we should start with Gil."

Tom said, "First time in my life I wish I was smaller than Gil," and everyone laughed. Gil stuck his tongue out at him, stretching it down until it reached the bottom of his chin.

Gil and I faced off. Coach blew the whistle to start and Gil and I lunged for each other. We rolled and pulled and right away we were both face to crotch, just like in the practice sessions. Only this time, when I felt something brushing against my shaft, I knew I wasn't imagining it. You'd think I had corn on the cob between my legs.

I started to say something, but my words got muffled when Gil pushed his balls right up against my mouth. I tried to get out from underneath them, but he just kept grinding them into my face.

Coach shouted, "Are you going to let him get away with that?"

I didn't know what to do. Gil was using all kinds of illegal moves I didn't know how to counter. For a second, Gil let go of me with both arms, wiggled around a little bit and then grabbed me again. Now his face wasn't on my dick, it was at my ass. He was blowing through my singlet onto my hole back there.

I knew I was supposed to wrestle and fight him off but at the same time it felt really good. He used one hand to pull down my jockstrap and the other to pull up my pant leg and then he was blowing right on my hole with nothing in the way. I could feel his nose dragging up my ass crack and something wet that had to be that long tongue of his sliding from my balls to my asshole.

Coach had his face right next to mine on the mattress: "Are you just going to lie there?" Looking right at Coach, I twisted my mouth and forced both of Gil's balls inside. If that was the way Gil was going to fight, then I was going to fight that way, too.

You'd think I'd just pounded Gil in the gut the way he instantly released me and let out a loud mouthful of air. I kept swirling my tongue around his balls covered by jock and singlet. It was the first time I had a guy's balls in my mouth, and while I really dug it, I didn't have much time to savor it. I was struggling to overpower him. He sat up so his whole body was on my mouth. He wiggled around and now there was more fabric pushing against my eyes and nose. I backed off a little bit so I could breathe and I noticed it was Gil's singlet in my face. He had pulled it off his shoulders and was lowering it. Then he collapsed on top of me and pulled my armstraps down.

Tom said, "There we go!"

Gil's nuts still in my mouth, I looked around for a second. Kit was stroking his dick. Tyron was playing with his own nipples. Aaron and Mike were kissing.

Wait a minute...

They were gay? All of them? I saw Coach standing by the door, beaming.

Gil got loose of my mouth and twisted around so now he was in my face, our noses and foreheads touching. When he caught his breath, he said, looking me right in the eye, "You don't have to do this. We can stop any time."

The room got real quiet. I looked around. Kit had stopped beating off. Aaron was holding Mike's hand. Tom had stopped peeling off his singlet. Even Gil had loosened his grip on me.

"Stop?" I finally said – and then flipped him over so I was on top. I smiled down at him. "Fuck you if you think we're stopping."

Gil smiled back. "I think the idea is to fuck YOU."

And then it was on... (I think that's when Coach left. I have a vague memory of his smiling face on the other side of the closing door, but he wasn't what I was interested at that moment, if you know what I mean.)

Gil strained to pull down my singlet while I was ripping down his to get to the very first cock I would ever suck in my entire life. We twisted and shoved and next thing I knew, there it was, big as life and right in front of my face. His five inches looked identical to mine, but I didn't have time to admire it; I had to get busy. I gripped him by the ass and pushed him into my face, forcing his entire cock into my mouth. Wow. Why had I waited so long for this experience? Texture, smell, flavor – it was better than I could have ever imagined.

Gil screamed, "Teeth!"

Kit laughed. "Still wish you were first, Tom?" I caught a glimpse of the big guy. It was the first time he'd looked intimidated since I met him.

Heh heh. As if I didn't know I shouldn't use teeth on somebody's dick. But I wanted to get Gil's singlet off him before he got mine off me and that was the only way I could think of in the heat of the moment that would definitely give me the advantage.

I had Gil naked in less than a second and he still hadn't got my singlet past my belly button. His fingers were reaching up my leg holes and pulling apart my cheeks, but if I had anything to say in the matter, the first time I fucked, I was going to be on top, not bottom.

And I was. :-P

Later on, Gil told me he really did try to be the top but I just completely overpowered him, with him on his elbows and knees, my arm around his throat and my dick pushing at his hole. It probably helped that we were both so sweaty, but my dick just slid up his crack and as soon as it touched the opening, in it went, like it was sliding into home or something.

How'd it feel? Let's just say I was really, really, REALLY glad to be gay right then. I still am.

The party went on all night. It wasn't a gangbang where everyone just tried to mess with me, the virgin. It was a free for all – and a blast. Kit was my first top. His dick was bigger than Gil's by a good (and I do mean "good") two inches, but it wasn't hard to take. I guess all the sweat down there along with the saliva from all the rim jobs I had gotten made me nice and wet. Kit took his time and was kind of gentle, letting me catch my breath and get used to the new feeling. But before I knew it, discomfort in my ass turned to pleasure all over my body. I discovered nerve endings I didn't know I had. And when Kit kissed me, I shot, my load hitting our chins. Kit pulled away from my mouth long enough to catch a blast of my cum on his tongue and then shoved his tongue back in my mouth again. Some guys fucked harder than Kit did. Some guys sucked better than Kit did. But nobody kissed better – and I kissed them all.

When Tom had my hands pinned down and that donkey dong between his legs buried between mine and pounding without mercy, I started laughing uncontrollably. The giant pulled out and sounded like a worried kid. "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah," I said, reaching down to put him back where he belonged. Tom wouldn't let me re-insert him. Instead he pushed Cory and Tyson off my nipples and shoved Ned away from my right foot where he was licking my toes. Tom wanted to know what was wrong with me.

"Nothing," I said. "Nothing at all." He just looked at me, still thrown off by my attitude. I looked around the room at all the guys fucking and sucking and licking and laughing and smiling. "It's just funny because I was afraid you guys didn't like me after you figured out I was gay." I laughed again and Tom laughed with me, and this time he did let me push his cock back inside. Ned went back to work on my toes and Cory and Tyson resumed sucking my nipples. My legs wrapped around his waist, Tom fucked and we kissed and I was as happy as I'd ever been.

Saturday, we slept on the ride home. Kit held me against him. Gil had his head in my lap. Tom snored in the seat behind us, slumped down with his legs flopped over the back of our seat, so he had one knee on Kit's right and one knee on my left, with his foot on Gil's chest.

When it was time for me to go home, the whole team came to see me off, which impressed the hell out of my dad. Coach said if I could maintain a B average, a full ride scholarship was mine. Dad turned to me, proud, and said with a little laugh, "Looks like these guys nailed you down after all." All of us – Coach, the guys, me – joined him laughing. Tom even raised his hand and said, "Guilty." That lead to more raised hands and more "guilty"s. Kit winked at me and said, "I guess that makes me guilty four times." Dad laughed along with us, having no idea what was so funny.

For the rest of my senior year, guys from the team drove down every week to help me boost my grades enough so I could secure the scholarship and get into their school. Sometimes guys made the two hour drive twice a week. And you know what? Some of those nights, we actually studied.

There have been more pictures of me with boners, but they don't bother me any more. If anything, they make me proud. Screw cups and loose pants. I've got nothing to hide anymore. A boner means a guy's happy and excited. Fuck, it was a picture of my boner that changed my life. I ask you, what is there to be ashamed of in that?

END

Below are a few of my other stories, all of which are listed under my name, Abba Dabba, in the Prolific Authors section. Among them is "Stuck in the Closet," the story which prompted the letter that got me to write the story you just read.

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/stuck-in-the-closet

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/eighteen

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/the-hand/the-hand-1

Also, visit me on tumblr where I have images which convey the tone I try to capture in my stories.

http://dabbaabba.tumblr.com/