The Big Ten Conference Championship is always a madhouse. Everybody's there, all the guys you wrestled at the dual meets all through the season. You've been on the mat with every one of them at least once before, in the past couple months - and some of them twice or more, starting with the Midlands or the Cliff Keen or the Southern Scuffle, or whatever tournament you wrestled in where the other team happened to show up.
You remember the guys who beat you, the ones you want your revenge on. And the guys you beat who want their revenge on you. The ones who pulled cheap shit, who got away with stalling, or who got the stalemate call right when you were gaining advantage. The arrogant fucks who wouldn't even look you in the eye once time ran out. The whiners who contested every damn call. And there were questionable calls that went our way too, and some guys probably held righteous grudges.
Those matches were the ones that determined your ranking, and decided whether you'd qualify for nationals. It was impossible not to take it personally. In the NCAA's biggest and best wrestling conference, you had to deal with it all, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Especially when your school was more toward the bottom of the conference than the top.
Carter was over the flu a week before the regular season ended but he still sat out the last meet. He was just too damn fatigued to be much good. Being sick will do that to you; wrestling hard for seven solid minutes isn't as easy as it looks. Jase thought he should rest up another weekend to make sure he was ready for the Big Tens, and Coach Wilson agreed. I made it my personal goal to spend every spare minute we had till then helping my brother prepare.
With the Big Tens looming, there was nothing more important than getting Carter back on track. Everything else had to take a back seat. We barely kept up with our classes, ignored Brady and Willis completely. The boys understood. Hell, they were our biggest fans. All we had to do was tell them we needed to train on our own for a while and they backed off and left us alone, with that almost sacred level of respect all serious athletes have for each other when it comes to getting your head and your body in shape for a major competition.
Every minute of every day we were consumed with our training. We drilled in the wrestling room, worked out with the weights, ran line sprints in the gym to build up our explosiveness and sharpen our reflexes. Even walking to class we never relaxed; we were constantly aware of our bodies, the precision of our motions. I can't say I'd been taking him for granted but truth was, I was more focused on my brother than I'd ever been since we were first together. Every muscle, every move, my eyes just drank him in. The way his forearms rippled as he sat taking notes at his desk. The way his glutes flexed when he walked. My cock twitched whenever I looked at him... and I could never quit looking at him.
And then there were the nights at Duncan's. We were there five nights a week, pumping out reps on the free weights and the machines, using the cardio equipment to stay lean and stay loose, rolling around together on the mat. With just the two of us in the room we could reach a level of wrestling self-awareness and understanding that we never could at our team practices on campus, penned up with thirty guys, clocks and whistles and Jase and the other assistants drilling us, hounding us, barking orders. Not that they were doing anything wrong; we needed their coaching, every bit. But we also needed time to ourselves. We needed to wrestle and wrestle and wrestle with nothing but each other, like there was nothing else in the world.
Of course we had our playtime too, once the serious shit was done. We'd strip down and grab the olive oil and mash up together like two slippery eels. But even our playtime had an edge; it wasn't so freeform and spontaneous like it'd always been before. We were keenly aware of each other, our bodies, the feeling of muscle on muscle. We strained to keep each movement under control, exact, precise. We felt the way our slick skins glided against each other, studied the way our hands gripped oily flesh and how we slipped out of each other's grasp, like it was the most important thing in the world.
Most intense of all was the night we knew for sure we were ready. Thursday, the very night before we left for the tournament. It started out just the two of us like usual, but as we trained, more joined us -- first Duncan, then Jase and Kyle. They sat at the edge of the mat and watched, mostly keeping quiet except for a few little grunts they made when one of us would pull off an especially good move. Low little growling-murmuring noises to each other like they were actually impressed. We weren't supposed to notice but of course we did, and that made us even more confident, and made us eager to show off our skills.
And then Duncan stepped onto the mat and pulled us apart for a moment. He spoke to us quietly, analyzing the series we'd just finished and giving each of us a pointer or two to fine-tune our technique -- where exactly I should grasp Carter's forearm, and when to the split-second he should apply pressure on me to set up his escape. This wasn't the usual coaching; it was more like sharing secrets. For the first time ever, it felt like he was treating us as his peers. We listened and tried our best to do it just like he showed us, and he smiled and gave our delts a squeeze and told us we were doing fine.
Honestly, it was like our hearts swelled up double size to get that kind of praise from Duncan. Around him, we'd always felt like two pups being trained by their master -- and that stud was definitely the master.
Jase and Kyle stepped up next. Duncan used them as models, to demonstrate the moves exactly the way he said they should be done, and it was obvious those two had been through it all with him before. But once again they didn't play it like we were doing anything wrong; it was more like they had genuine respect for our skills and were only helping us reach up for that next level. They were still our mentors and we were their boys; we'd always be -- but now they were treating us like grown men.
When the training was done my brother and I couldn't wait to peel off our compression shorts and break out the olive oil. The other three just grinned and let us have the mat. They sat close by at ringside and watched, giggling at our inevitable slipups and barking out encouragement to spur us on.
Carter's body felt incredible tangled up with mine. He was obviously back to full strength from his illness; the fatigue that had lingered on for a while was gone, and his muscles had that spring in them again. Even with my eight-pound advantage it felt like we were evenly matched, just like true brothers should be. His power, his quickness, those hard fucking muscles, his smooth oiled flesh slipping and gliding against mine... I was stiff from the time we stepped onto the mat, but now my cock felt like it was carved out of solid wood.
We rolled around together, scrambling and clawing for advantage but really just playing around and enjoying the feeling of being together. Everything about him was just getting me so damn boned it hurt. His hot breath on my shoulder, his scent filling my nose, his grunts as he strained to subdue me, his rigid cock rubbing on my abs, my quads, my hams, my ass cheeks. Our sweat was flowing, mixing with the oil, mixing with each other. Our two slick muscular bodies tangling and retangling, meshing, intertwining, coiling around each other like a pair of horny snakes. Working together like one organic machine.
We pulled each other in tighter and tighter as we wrestled, our bodies naturally aligning themselves without either of us ever really planning it. Before long we weren't so much scrambling anymore but just grinding on each other, completely lost in the deep, incredible sensation of skin and flesh and bone mashed up together. Somehow we found ourselves face to face, arms locked tight around each other, and shared a glance and instantly pressed lips and tongues together and began making out. Even after being with him all that time it still gave my heart a jolt when I kissed my brother. The wrestling match was over; I was lost in him, and he was lost in me. From here on, our cocks would lead the way.
I couldn't bring myself to break off that kiss, not for anything in the world, and the way he gave me his hungry lips and attacked me with that tongue told me he felt just the same. So we made out and squirmed together, cock grinding on cock, our slick skins rubbing on each other lighting us up from head to toe. Our bodies were so fucking well matched, nipple to nipple and abs to abs and cock to cock. I couldn't imagine how I ended up with anyone so goddamn perfect. He was like my mirror image come to life. Even better, because there was no fucking way I could ever be as hot and as hard for myself as I was for him.
Meanwhile, the three on the sidelines sat and watched and kept quiet out of respect. Respect was a big deal in out family, but privacy wasn't an issue. If Carter and I could wrestle in front of them, we could damn well fuck in front of them too. They were our mentors, for Christ's sake. There was nothing the two of us could do together that I'd be embarrassed to have them see.
My brother and I just did whatever we felt like, making out and humping, hands all over gripping each other's muscles, legs tangling and testing each other and showing off our strength. We rolled over and over trading off who was on top, alternating which of us was thrusting his cock against the other's and who was arching his back on the mat, pulling the other in tight with a double underhook squashing our chests together for all we were worth. As much as I loved being inside him, and feeling him inside me, having our two cocks battle it out rubbing and rubbing drenched in each other's sweat was as hot as anything I could ever imagine.
Finally we settled into a rhythm with both of us pumping away, timed just right so one cock would be drawing back as the other was pushing forward, dragging them back and forth against each other, driving both of us closer and closer to the finish. The feeling of his chiseled abs flexing and rippling and meshing with mine was flat out amazing, so goddamn intense. Every bit as exciting as the sensation of our stiff rods stroking each other. I could have shot a load just from that feeling alone.
He kissed me so fucking soulfully I couldn't bear it any longer; my body seized up and I blasted out a geyser of cum that spurted warm and sticky between us. I let it pour out with no restraint, rocking with the hot waves of pleasure that washed over me, loving his arms around me, his tongue searching mine, his cock still thrusting. And then I felt Carter's load welling up adding to the mix, and I held him close and felt the tremors swarm through his body as he shot his cream all over me.
We stayed locked up together until we'd each pumped out the last of our cum, given each other every drop, and milked the leftovers from our cocks. And then hung on to each other some more. I couldn't fucking move, and didn't want to. I only wanted to hold my brother like I'd never let him go, and know from the way he held me that he felt the same about me.
We took our time untangling, relaxing, rejoining the rest of the world. Those three big apes were still sitting there watching from the edge of the mat, set jaws and stern posture but a dopey look in their eyes. We were all romantic as fuck, whether we wanted to admit it to each other or not.
"So..." I said. "Mops?"
Duncan smiled. Jase and Kyle smirked. "You know where they are."
The Championships were being held in Minnesota this year, a long haul for everybody but the home team. We were flying in on Friday night so nobody'd be coming along, aside from the ten wrestlers, a couple trainers, and the coaching staff. As a wrestler you were always in the spotlight. You step onto the mat with just one other guy, and the whole crowd watches your every move. But without all the other guys on the team filling those seats behind you for support, you could feel especially alone.
That's one good thing about training naked. If you're already used to everybody in the room seeing you balls-out bare, you won't have any trouble performing in front of a few TV cameras and ten thousand screaming fans. A skin-tight singlet with your colors on it feels like a suit of armor.
Carter and I shared a hotel room with Travis and Justin, two to a bed as usual. By the time we got into our room we were already exhausted from the stress of the airport and the flight and the van to the hotel and sitting in cramped seats thinking over and over about all we had to do tomorrow. We downed some water to rehydrate and then stripped and jumped into bed. My brother and I drank a load of each other's cum and cuddled up in each other's arms and passed out together.
We woke up in the morning fresh and crackling with energy. No breakfast for us till after weigh-ins, just a little water to get us going. The team grouped up and we piled into the vans and rode to the arena.
And there they all were, just like I said. All the guys we'd wrestled against in our meets all season long. You couldn't help looking each other over, making eye contact with every guy you'd faced on the mat. But you wouldn't admit it. You just gave him that blank stare, like you were looking right through him, like he didn't exist. Game faces are for ball players, and for guys who think they need intimidation to win. You never want to show emotion to another wrestler... nothing but quiet resolve and cold hard confidence.
The matches began, lower weight classes first, and it was all pins and needles waiting for your turn. You'd seen the brackets, you knew who you were up against, and already charted in your head the clear path to the finals. It would never end up going just that way in a million years; there were always surprises, you could never tell who would beat who. But still you had a plan, and all the way up to your first match you did your best to loosen up and burn off the jitters and clear that shit out of your head so when the time came you could forget it and put yourself entirely in the moment.
And then you were squaring off and shaking hands, and the whistle blew, and you clashed together. Now there was nothing but Spandex and sweat, and raw smooth flesh, and muscle on muscle. The whole world collapsed down to your body and his, locked up together on a small patch of Resilite. All your training, your skills, everything you'd learned came automatic or not at all. It was action and reaction, back and forth, and no letting up for a second until the whistle.
I heard Jase's voice cutting through the noise from someplace far away, barking out directions. I responded without a thought, every move, just like we'd drilled, just like he told me. The guy in the Michigan singlet wasn't making it easy. I moved and he countered; he shot and I barely slipped free. I could feel his strength, the tightness of his muscles, his mat sense, his balance, his power. The incredible lines of his body.
If you're wondering how guys can be wrestlers without being completely in love with the male body, that's easy. There aren't any wrestlers like that.
We battled for three solid minutes, and then two more, and then two more. We each had our chance to be on top and on bottom. Each gained advantage, scored takedowns, made escapes, made our mistakes. I imposed my will and dominated his body and he dominated mine. At the end, at the final whistle, Michigan was sitting on his ass dejected peeling off the green ankle bands and I was pumping my fist at the stands, and getting my hand raised.
He was the favorite on paper and I was the underdog, but every dog has his day. We shook hands soaked in each other's musk, and I flew off the mat into Jase's arms and then trotted off to cool down and gear up for the next round.
I'd have two more matches that day if I kept winning, same as if I got my butt kicked. As it was, I lost in the next round -- the quarterfinals -- but won my first match in the loser's bracket, so I'd get another and then one more. Four matches in one day is a fuck of a lot but it's better than being sent to the showers. After a while it's all a blur; it's one guy and then another, a different color singlet, a new strategy and a new set of moves to deal with, but the same muscle mashed up against muscle, the same sweat, the same struggle, strain, hustle, fatigue, the same rank scent of hot flesh filling my nose... just a whole lot riper as the day went on. And yeah, the same stiff bulge in my Spandex.
At the end of the day I had just the one loss. It was as good as I could have expected. I lumbered off the mat in a daze, a shit-eating grin on my face, my body doused in the sweat of four different guys, and my cock still as hard as ever. I'd be back on the mat tomorrow.
The other guys did pretty well too. Justin made it all the way to the semifinals before taking a loss. Travis would be wrestling tomorrow too; I was so fucking proud of that kid. And Shafer, our senior at 174. My brother had a tough draw; he lost to Penn State in the first round, and then went up against Iowa in his final consolation match of the day. At least they were top-ranked wrestlers; it wouldn't hurt his ranking much. But he'd be watching us from the stands tomorrow with Duncan.
"I should've done more," I told him after dinner, back in our room. "I didn't do a good enough job. You weren't ready."
"Yeah, I was. I just got beat. They were damn good. I'm not ashamed."
"Well, maybe I should've - "
He shook his head. "No. Worry about your own matches. You're lucky I'm out of it. Who the hell else do you think's gonna be cheering for your lame ass tomorrow?"
We grinned at each other, one of those goofy, brotherly moments. I grabbed his hand and squeezed. I couldn't wait to get our shirts off... but someone was banging on the door.
I sneered. "If Travis and Justin forgot their keys, let `em sleep in the damn hall."
Carter strolled over and swung the door open. A big muscular figure filled the whole doorframe... but it wasn't Justin. I blinked for a moment and then broke into a smile. It was Troy, from Indiana.
"Hey c'mon in," I called to him, and he stepped into the room with his brother Aiden right behind him. Troy had bulked up to heavyweight same as Justin did, and he was big as a tank. Aiden was still wrestling 125. He could easily have passed for 16 years old.
"What's up, guys?" Carter asked them.
"Well, uh..." Troy was sort of a shy type, in spite of his size. "We thought you might wanna hang out with us a while."
"Troy's up against Justin next round," Aiden chipped in, and then pointed at me. "And you might end up wrestling Noah tomorrow. So it seemed like maybe we should switch it up, have us come over here and your two buddies can hang out in our room."
"Oh, right. Justin and Travis should be on their way back..."
"Dave and Noah headed `em off already," Troy said. "They're over at our place now."
"Gotcha." Carter shot a glance over to me and we both grinned. "Get over here and get comfortable."
Neither of us had been with either of them before. When the two sides of the family got together we'd always paired up according to size. But the logistics were simple enough. Troy and I had ended with wins today; Carter and Aiden had dropped out of the tournament with their second loss. So, my brother would be railing the big guy, and I'd be taking it from the youngster. It's our family tradition. Winner takes cock.
Troy peeled off his shirt, and one look at that big tanned body nearly had me wishing I hadn't done so well in that last match with the Wisconsin guy. He was beefy as fuck but very toned, with nice fat veins running over his delts and right down along his biceps. Abs as cut and as solid as the tread on a tractor tire. And those goddamn pecs and big pop-out nipples... I licked my lips just thinking about them.
But Troy was Carter's for tonight, and I couldn't complain. Aiden was dick-stiffening enough in his own right. He was out of his clothes like a shot, a great big smile pasted on his face. His small tight body was flat out gorgeous, every muscle carved up and delineated like somebody drew them on with a pencil. His hard cock begged for attention. He caught my eye with a look that just brimmed with energy. And it was infectious; in an instant I was as eager for him as he clearly was for me.
I stripped out of my clothes and reached out to him. Aiden bounded over and grabbed my hand, and I pulled him in and wrapped him up in my arms. Damn, that body was tight. It felt great rubbing up against mine, especially with the way he wriggled with excitement, and twitched every time I found a new handhold. I guided him onto the bed and we stretched out together. His hands were all over me, exploring, testing my muscles. I squeezed his ass cheeks; they were as solid as fucking cantaloupes. Held him in my arms, and we just gazed into each other's eyes for a minute, grinning hugely and taking each other in.
Meanwhile that big stud had all but engulfed my brother. With Troy's arms around Carter, all I could see was one great big mass of muscle. They were rolling around on the other bed, making out and playing. I swear Troy's thighs were as big as my brother's waist; his upper arms looked the size of Carter's thighs. It was hard not to keep glancing over, but I had my own stud to deal with.
Aiden and I kissed. His hands were frantically roaming over my body, kneading my muscles, squeezing my cock, my balls. His tongue attacked mine just as vigorously, striking at me like a cobra. Those little guys move like lightning. I crushed him in my arms to get him to settle down but it only seemed to make him more excited, and more aggressive. It wasn't a bad thing. He was a bundle of energy, and it made my cock drip to be with him.
I grabbed his meat and began stroking. His whole body reeled with every beat. When he started to leak I couldn't help myself, I just had to have a taste. I spun him around and dove down on him, sank that cock deep into my mouth until his head was pressed against my tonsils.
There's nothing quite like sucking cock. It makes me feel so damn good to hold a guy's most vital organ in my mouth, to watch his body ripple and hear him whimper as I run my lips and tongue up and down his stiff shaft. Aiden didn't have the biggest package in the world but that didn't matter; this was all about his pleasure, not mine. I fucking loved lapping at his head with my tongue, swirling around and around the sensitive edge, then plunging his whole cock deep in my mouth again. The way his hands clamped to the sides of my head, grabbed handfuls of hair, his body jerking in rhythm as I gripped his balls and pounded my throat with his meat, everything about it gave me such an incredible feeling.
The taste of his precum filled my mouth. It seemed to be flowing in a steady stream. Aiden eased his cock out, rolled me over and spread my legs wide as he positioned himself in between. I reached back over my head and fumbled around on the nightstand until I found the jar of Vaseline, handed it over to him and watched him grease his meat, then slip two slimy fingers into my hole.
Meanwhile from the other bed, grunts and moans and jangling bedsprings, and the smell of coconut -- Carter had appropriated Justin's stash of oil. Troy was on his knees bent forward, face mashed into the mattress, while my brother banged him powerfully from behind.
Aiden pushed my legs up over my head and slid his cock into me with one smooth, aggressive stroke. I felt it stretching my insides inch by inch as he shoved it in. He wasn't as thick as Carter, much less Justin or Kyle, but that was fine - and maybe even better. With a looser fit he could bang away to his heart's content and I wouldn't be too wrecked for tomorrow's matches. He started pumping me with short, hard thrusts and my own stiff cock bounced and twitched in response. It was so fucking sweet to have him inside me, nailing me with all his stored up emotion behind it.
That was the true value of our little tradition. It sounds like a joke - winner takes cock - but it works. For the guy who lost his match, it gets his head back in the game, and makes him feel like he's still a stud, a Grade A champ. Pounding the ass of a smoking hot Division I wrestler will do that for you. And to the guy who won, it's a reality check. It brings him back down to earth, shows him no matter what happened on the mat he's gonna take dick and take it like a man.
Win or lose, wrestling is a hell of a grind, and any given match can send your head all kinds of directions. But when you know what you're in for afterward, it just makes it a whole lot easier to level out and stay on track.
I was having such a goddamn good time with that kid, loving the way he threw his whole body into dicking me. I stroked and squeezed his triceps as he flailed away. Our eyes locked in on each other and he grinned so fucking big and then bent in and started kissing me wildly. We made out like crazy; I hooked my hand around the back of his head and held him in, and he jacked my cock and kept right on kissing and fucking me. I could feel my precum running warm and thick over my abs and dribbling onto the sheets.
Troy let out a series of deep moans. My brother grunted sharply as he pounded him over and over again. Then a tense pause, and the big guy erupted in a loud long bellow. He was blowing his load, and it sounded like a huge one -- and soon enough Carter was making his own familiar yelps, joining in.
The sound of his big brother's cum shot really stoked Aiden up. He was fucking and jacking me furiously. I clenched my arms around him and held him close and tight, and he jerked and thrashed and whimpered but still kept right on pumping. It was more than I could stand; the kid was so damn hot and eager I lost it. A big shot of cream blasted out of my rod as a hot wave of pleasure washed over me, and I spurted and spurted, my meat still gripped tight in his fist, splattering between our bodies while he strained to get deeper and deeper inside me.
Finally his muscles seemed to all seize up at once. He held off a moment and then bucked hard into me, and gushed his thick juice into my guts. I clenched him ever harder as he jerked and bucked and poured himself into me, both of us sweating rivers. He collapsed on top of me and we hugged each other until our cocks twitched out the last of our seed and our balls were drained dry.
I couldn't even think about moving. Even lying on my back the whole time, I was beat. All I wanted to do was pass out, with Aiden beside me.
"You guys wanna stay over?" Carter offered.
Aiden nodded. "Yeah sure, if Travis and Justin show up we can always bail."
"What about your coach? He'd be okay with it?" I asked.
"Who, Pete?" Troy snorted. "Last I saw him, he was heading for Duncan's room with your man Jase."
The rest of the tournament was kind of a wash. At least it didn't start so early; we could take our time rolling out of bed. I won my first match but Noah lost his; we wouldn't face each other on the mat. At the end of it I finished sixth in my weight class, Travis eighth in his -- we made it to the podium, and automatically qualified for nationals. Justin, that son of a bitch, took third. Our brothers in Indiana did okay too; Troy snagged fifth, Noah seventh, Dave sixth.
We had a big meal and piled onto the plane for the redeye home. Got back to our room ridiculously late, or early, depending on how you look at it. Passed out without even a thought of making it to class in the morning.
Another Big Ten season come and gone... damn, it really flew by. Another two weeks and the boys will be on the road again, this time to the NCAAs. They'll have to make one more big push for fame and glory on the national stage -- and as usual, there'll be a lot of monkey business to go along with it. So, stay tuned!
And guys, as usual, I'll remind you that this website offers a lot of good times and doesn't ask for much in return. So please, after you blow a nice hot load consider making a donation, so my family of wrestlers and all the other smoking hot stories will always have a home!