Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,gay-net.erotic-storys Summary: REPOST
THANKS, BUDDY
When I was eighteen years old and a high school senior, I was on the wrestling team. At least I was until practice one afternoon when I made the wrong move at the wrong time and got my arm broken. The cast wrecked gym class, too, so Coach made me do homework at a desk outside his office at the center end of the locker room. I sat there every day looking down a long empty room with showers on the left and lockers and benches on the right. The boring grind of an extra study hall was more than offset by the end of class when I just did what Coach told me to do: I sat there and waited... and watched.
I saw some cool stuff.
The popular jock Jeff had a lot of hair for a kid, even on his solid muscled ass, which was already one of the best things to look at in the halls. Wayne had an uncut dick so thick but so short that it rested on his fat furry balls and stuck straight out, looking like a third eye. Kevin was an aloof but handsome preppy with shaggy hair. They said he drank all the time. I got to see the weird cuts and bruises he tried to hide as he furtively dressed. Mark didn't hide much at all. He was a quiet kid with strong arms and shoulders and he sauntered around hanging half hard, checking out the other guys. Craig was an annoying redneck with black hair, pale freckled skin, and a cute butt. One day he came out of the showers with a raging red boner reaching for the sky. He just packed it into his worn briefs and greasy jeans and split.
I beat off for weeks to these pictures in my mind, but mostly I thought of John.
John was an eighteen year old senior and was the best wrestler in his weight class in the entire state. He proved it for two years. He also ran cross country and he had the incredible lean and defined body of his sports. He worked hard to win and also had a functioning mind, a quick wit, and decent grades. He was blessed with curly blond hair, clear gray eyes, and an easygoing manner. Nobody didn't like John.
When it was obvious John was contending for a third straight state championship, Coach cut him s ome slack in gym class. He'd have him demonstrate some advanced techniques for the dweebs or let him do his personal conditioning routine. Then he started showing up in the locker room early. Coach brought in a second desk. John would come sit by me and we'd pretend we'd studied. We would talk about upcoming wrestling meets or student council shit. John would laugh at the cartoons I drew of the teacher babe in our history class and the hopeless dork who taught us chemistry. I was happy just to smell him and sometimes get a good closeup look at the bulge in his jock pouch through his cotton shorts. Once he told me how Cindy let him go all the way with her, but then he went out of his way to tell me he really wanted a blowjob. Nobody else ever entered the locker room mid-period.
One day John complained vaguely about some soreness and disappeared into the varsity training room directly beside our desks to use the whirlpool. I actually studied for a while and when he came back he was naked a ênd wet. He started yapping about a book report, but I got a strange hot nervous feeling I'd never had before. I took in everything I could while trying to be cool: he has faint tan lines on his shoulders from his winter track uniform, his chest is chiseled and grownup-looking, the blood vessels on his forearms pop out, there are muscles defined on his lower abdomen I never even knew about, the fine blond hairs on his sinewed thighs are shining, his penis is pink and wrinkled... be cool, look away.
But when I looked John in the eye and forced myself to hear his voice, he wasn't making any sense and his eyes were liquid. I couldn't help but look again at his crotch two feet in front of me. His teencock wasn't pink and wrinkled. He was chubbing. His full balls were throbbing and the blood was flowing into his thickening rod. Suddenly, he made a whooping sound and took off. I got a great view of his flexing buttcheeks as he ran away. I got up and followed him to the furthest changing room. I was forced casual and leaned against the doorway.
John was doing handstands! He jumped around and sprang upside down. His dick was flopping around and his nuts rolled around in their sac; he was inadvertantly flashing me his crack and pucker. He was flushed in various shades all over -- from the hot whirlpool, from the exercise, from the excitement. He yanked his jeans from his locker, pulled them on without any underwear, laughed loudly and snarled, "thanksalot, buddy." I realized he was a sexual timebomb and somehow we were going to mess around.
The next day, John stayed in regular gym class the whole period, but the day after that he came back to the whirlpool. I could hear him humming a rock song and splashing around. Then I could see him in the shower stall soaping up. Next he's hollering, "Check it out, Kenny! I got a pussy!"
His stuff is jammed backwards between his tightly clenched thighs. His bright blond bush tops a taut white V. "That's just strange," I bark.
John thrusts his hips forward and tosses out his jockmeat: six inches hanging, red all over from the squeezing. But it's hanging, as in gravity over muscle... he isn't fully hard yet.
John strolls through the training room doorway to where I'm glued stupid to the seat of my crappy high school desk and says plainly, "Dude, you got a woody."
Of course, my snake has crawled several inches down the leg of my boxers and is now so boned that you can see the outline of my glans through my Levi's.
John stands quietly - no, he's breathing sharply - and lets it happen. His cock lengthens and swells. It bobs and jerks as three more inches curve out and upwards. "Please, Kenny," he hisses, "I know you wanna help me out."
"Yeah, John, let's go."
We go back into the training room and slam the door.
I move around behind him and heave my left arm cast onto his left shoulder. I tentatively slide my right hand around his right hipbone to grab his hot hardon. Oh jeez, this is really happening. He reaches around my right side and grabs my denim-clad buttocks. His left arm sneaks around my left leg and gropes... Oh shit, he's gonna wrestle me right over his back and slam me against the wall.
But he turns his head and finds my lips with his. He grinds against my face and whips his tongue against mine. I tickle, stroke, and flail at his stiffy -- now so vertical heÕs almost fucking his own navel. John moans into my mouth and finds my trapped tool with his fingers. He starts rolling my boner around in the folds of boxers and jeans, grasping at the underside of my shaft and pulling on my dickhead. I can see over his shoulder that his cock is so fat and purple the whole thing looks ready to burst.
John is gasping hot breath down my throat and starts rocking back and forth as he rams his burning pole through my fist and rubs his wrestler gluts against the base of my rigid cock, jamming it sideways against my left thigh. The friction from the fabric and his busy fingers is too much ... I flood my boxers with jizz. I'm cumming so fast it feels like pissing. The juice drips past my knee, down my calf, and into my sock.
John humps my hand for another few minutes, then unloads without warning. He pumps a long white arc towards the whirlpool. I'm still yanking as he spatters his thighs and feet and the floor with steaming spunk. He sags against my chest and spews a final wet wad into my grasping fingers. We slump there for a minute until he whispers the words I'll never forget:
"Thanks, buddy."
Things were nice and loose between us for weeks afterwards. John won the state championship again and I got my cast off. We didn't get to repeat our scene in the locker room.
But it turned into spring, school got out, the neighborhood swim club opened, and they were having a teen party. John was still going around with Cindy and I had a warm friendship with ultrahip Pam. We'd all sneaked some beers and were having a reasonably good time dancing to new wave tunes on a boombox. A slow song came on and the women all sidled up to the shuffling boys. I put my chin down on Pam's shoulder and watched John stumble around with Cindy. He was wearing some ole baggy plaid shorts but I noticed the big curved lump in his crotch. It was cool I really recognized his hard cock, but it must have been bent double. He was obviously uncomfortable; when his darting eyes connected with mine, they were like lasers. The song ended and he excused himself politely , heading for the bathroom. I followed in a minute.
Inside, he was pacing. His face was sweaty. "Kenny, you gotta help me." I reached for his zipper.
"No, man..." he mutters. In one smooth wrestler's move, he pushes the waistbands of his shorts and jockeys to mid-thigh, lands on all fours, and sticks his firm white asscheeks in the air. "C'mon, you know what to do."
I whip my nylon soccer shorts and boxers off, drop to my knees, and assume the wrestling start position. I reach my hand underneath his t-shirt and his tight chest is damp and quivering.
John slaps his palm on the floor and growls, "Bone me, Kenny. Stick it in and hurry."
I gob spit all over my left hand and dripping woody. I hock more on my right fingers and press it onto his pink hole. John spreads his butt muscles apart with both hands and slaps his own spit in his hairless crack. I push my purple cockhead at the hot opening, grunting and probing. John moans and shoves back, flexing his rectum. My steely teendick slips inside and I almost cum right then.
The wrestler takes over, rocking forward and slamming back. In minutes, he's making high-pitched noises in his throat and clutching at my cock with his ass. His pants are all bunched up around his upper thighs and as he grinds his butt muscles against my crotch hairs, my balls slip inside the waistband of his briefs. I find his throbbing boner with my right hand and he arches his whole body down and forward, scraping my knuckles bloody on the bathroom floor and squashing his swollen boymeat in my palm. He humps and bucks a few more times and creams everywhere beneath us. He smacks his jizz-slicked belly against my slimey forearm and his hole clamps down on my aching shaft. Just as the pungent spunk smell hits my nostrils, I squirt hard up his ass and drop across his back. I bite at his neck and gush again and again, filling his guts with my sperm.
John turns his head for a deep, silent kiss, then says it again: "Thanks, buddy."
Thanks, John.