"Why the fuck wouldn't I? God damn it, I can do whatever the hell I want!"
Admittedly it was a pretty brash statement to make over the dinner table on Christmas Day, in front of the whole extended family. But when it comes to making it clear you're not taking any more shit, one day's just as good as another.
Christmas was a very big deal to some of the guys on the team. It was a time to go visit the folks for one of those picture-perfect holidays, a 48-hour Hallmark movie with all the seasonal trimmings. They'd rush off to the childhood homestead where they'd be treated like celebrities or conquering heroes for two solid days before making their tearful farewells and heading back to campus all shiny and rosy, rejoining the team full of joy to the world and figgy pudding, and getting back into training with a renewed sense of vigor kindled by good cheer and familial bonds.
That was them, and I'd never in a million years think any less of them for it. But to me, Christmas was only a troublesome burden, something to be endured.
Usually it was just the parents and me, three different people who didn't really like each other very much, struggling to put on a show of getting along. It was uncomfortable from start to finish but nothing very cataclysmic would happen, just a whole lot of silent suffering all the way around. This year though, the maternal grandma and grandpa were up from Florida, and somehow our house got chosen for the big reunion. The old folks themselves were harmless enough but the rest were downright toxic.
In addition to mom and dad and the geriatrics, we'd be hosting my mom's prissy ass sister Betty, her dickweed husband and their two brain-dead teenage sons. They're all pretty clueless and annoyingly churchy, the kind that make a great big deal about reading the damn book every morning, noon and night, but somehow keep skipping over the part where you're not supposed to be judgmental.
So there we all were crowded around a turkey dinner with two extra leafs in the dining room table and barely enough room to use our silverware without bumping elbows. The dickweed was bragging as usual about his stellar career in small engine repair -- no shit, the guy fixes lawn mowers and snow blowers for a living -- how well "the boys" were doing in school, and piling on a bunch of crap about what was going on at their church, as if that had any relevance to the real world.
My mom tried her best to keep pace with him by bringing up my wrestling, even though she barely showed up to two or three meets a year. And my two idiot cousins were snickering back and forth the whole time. They're completely useless; they don't even play a sport, and are no doubt well on their way to a bright future in pizza delivery. But they still made fun of me, an NCAA D-1 scholarship athlete, every chance they got because playing video games is so much cooler than being a dumb jock.
And then Aunt Betty got into the act.
"Ryan, have you met anybody special at college? Somebody you might be bringing home one of these days?"
"I'm with Carter," I said, simple as that.
"Carter...?"
"One of his teammates," my mom chipped in, clearly trying to gloss over it.
The uncle smirked. "I think what she's asking is, have you met a girl?"
"And I told you, I'm with Carter. He's my true brother." Nailing him with a glare.
"But Ryan," my mom broke in, "you're not going to marry Carter. Brothers don't marry each other."
Laughter all the way around. And that's where I blew up.
"Why the fuck wouldn't I? God damn it, I can do whatever the hell I want!"
With that there was a minor commotion of dropped silverware clattering onto plates and choking on bargain shelf wine as they each clued in to what I was saying. Then the air got thick and everybody got quiet, until Betty gathered up her nerve.
"I don't think this is an appropriate conversation to have in front of the children..." Holy fuck. Children? They were in high school, for Christ's sake.
I cut loose right then and there with a stream of obscenities that would blister the paint off the walls. Left no fucking doubt about where I stood and what I'd do to anybody who didn't like it. And from the rattled looks on their faces, every one of them took me at my word.
That was all the Christmas dinner I could handle. I'd eaten enough; we'd be heading to the Midlands tournament in a couple days, and I had to make weight. As for being sociable, I'd had my fill of that too. I got up from my chair and headed for my room.
"Aren't you having any dessert, Ryan?" my grandmother called after me weakly.
"Wrestlers don't eat dessert!!!" I yelled back, and slammed the door behind me.
I don't think I was overreacting a bit. Granted, I'd taken enough shit from all of them over the years without making it an issue. I could've just bit my tongue and let it pass. But this time they not only disrespected me, they disrespected Carter too, and I wouldn't stand by and let anybody talk shit about my brother. He was worth more to me than all eight of them put together. It was about time I made that clear.
From my room I could still hear everything that was said at the table; I didn't grow up in any McMansion. Real quick my mom started making excuses about the mental strain of training for competition and cutting weight, basically dismissing the whole thing as me being an irritable bitch. And then my dad weighed in, griping about how "that college" filled my head with all sorts of left wing degenerate ideas, a sentiment that earned the entire God Squad's clear approval. As if any one of them had ever spent time inside a college classroom.
These were the same parents who put me in a wrestling program at the Y from the time I was five years old, just to get me out of the house for a while so they wouldn't have to deal with me themselves. And now they were somehow surprised that I liked rolling around with guys?
It's not like it was anything new. They'd seen me give Carter a full-on kiss right in front of them, three fucking years ago. I made sure they couldn't miss it so there wouldn't be anything more to explain. Didn't they take it seriously? Did they think I changed my mind, or what?
All of this just made me goddamn regretful that I ever decided to play the good son and came home for the holidays at all. It had never been a picnic. Usually I got through it by keeping to myself and thinking about my brother, remembering the last time we were together and imagining what we'd do when I got back with him again. But after tonight's outburst and the emotions that went with it, a fantasy just wasn't going to cut it.
I needed to talk to him. I knew he'd still be busy with his own family dinner, a much more open-minded and civilized affair. No telling when that might be over, and I didn't want to come off as needy, so I just texted him a casual "Call me when you have time."
And then I waited. I stretched out on my childhood bed and listened in on the clucking and quacking coming from the other room, rolling my eyes and shaking my head at all the bullshit pretense and posturing. Cringed at the remnants of the high school me visible everywhere I could see, tacked on the walls and propped up in the corners of the room and stacked on top of the chest of drawers. Tensed and clenched my jaw at the lame jokes and bursts of laughter at my expense that floated in from the dining room.
There was a stack of old muscle magazines in the closet. I pulled out a couple and started to leaf through them. Remembered how at fifteen and sixteen years old I used to get boned up staring at the pics of those ridiculously huge, ridiculously shredded guys... and somehow never figured out why. "Muscle porn," some of my teammates called it, and I'd laugh as if it was a joke, without ever realizing there was anything sexual about their interest in it, or mine.
Six or seven years later it was having the same effect. My cock was growing a good deal meatier as I flipped through those pages. Not that it was any wonder; I mean Jesus, those massive pecs with the muscle fibers standing out as thick as my fingers... deep cut abs like the motherfucker swallowed a bag of bricks... biceps bulging insanely, lined with bloated squiggling veins. It was a banquet for the eyes.
In a sudden attack of nostalgia I rummaged through the chest of drawers and dug up a worn-out wrestling T-shirt from long ago. I peeled off my shirt and squeezed into it, practically busting the seams. It was easily two sizes too small and frayed at the collar and had holes worn through it but damn, that soft cotton felt good shrinkwrapped to my skin. I popped in a pair of earbuds and punched up some favorite old tunes on my phone. Sat on the floor in the closet poring over spray-tanned, `roided-up bodies in one muscle mag after the next.
Yep, that's what Christmas dinner with the biological family did to me. Even after standing up and proclaiming myself a cocksucker to the world, there I was back in the literal closet replaying the most cringeworthy moments of my school days.
I must've made it halfway through the stack when my phone started ringing. I picked up my brother's call like I was grabbing for a lifeline. Carter's family had an early dinner and everybody was zonked out on a carbo load coma; he was wide awake and still hungry after his half-portion meal, and needed a distraction to keep him from raiding the fridge.
"What're you up to?" he asked.
"Well, it's kind of a long story..."
I laid it all out for him, the cast of characters, the family dynamics. Recounted the dinner conversation word for word as close as I could recall, and how I blew up, and how they reacted, and that's the reason I stormed off and shut myself in my room. He was fairly entertained by the whole thing and could barely keep from laughing -- which would've been fine with me; at least one of us should have a good time. When I got to the part about the muscle magazines and the kid-sized T-shirt he couldn't hold it in.
"We should cam," he said.
"Aw c'mon, this isn't the time. I'm a mess."
"All the more reason. Cam with me. Please?"
I tried to squirm out of it but he was persistent. It's tough to turn down a video chat with the hottest guy I'd ever known in my life. He pestered me about it until I agreed, and then told me to stretch out on the bed and get ready to strip down.
"Look, I can't be talking dirty with you on the phone," I told him. "I'm twenty feet away from the dining room. And my bedroom isn't soundproof."
"You don't have to say a word. I'll do all the talking. You just watch and play along."
So I propped the phone up on the nightstand and spread out a couple magazines next to me on the mattress, in case I needed a little extra inspiration. We fired up a video link and peeled our clothes off together. He talked me through it every step of the way, telling me first to lose the shirt and then the pants and finally my briefs, which were pretty well tented by that time. I stripped naked and showed myself off for him while he did the same for me, his deep sexy voice spilling into my head through the earbuds.
Carter told me how good I looked and how hot it made him to see me. He stroked his cock for me, pushing and pulling, and had me stiff as a board in no time. I saw that meat on a daily basis, sucked it, felt it drilling me, held it in my hand, but still it made me drool just to look at it on a tiny screen. It excited me even more that he was jacking in his childhood bedroom just as I was, each of us only steps away from our parents. Like two horny teenagers desperate for sex, risking the ultimate humiliation to stroke together.
Right on cue there was a light rap on my bedroom door. My mother, naturally.
"Ryan, the guests are leaving. Don't you want to come out and say good night?"
"Sorry mom, I'm on the phone with Carter, I've got my dick out and we're stroking. Fully boned up right now and I don't think I'll be able to hide it, so... probably not the best time to come out."
She let out a weary sigh and backed away.
"Jack it for me," Carter growled. He'd heard what I said of course; it made him laugh but also got him aroused. I saw him jacking his cock and holy fuck it looked great, his biceps flexing rhythmically as he jerked that meat up and down. I gripped my own shaft, pulled the camera in close to fill the screen with gorged veins and swollen head and a drip of precum at the tip, jacking myself with no restraint.
"Hump the mattress," he ordered me. "I wanna see that ass work," and I pulled the camera back out for a wider view and fucked the sheets with long slow strokes, rubbing my cock on soft linens leaving a thin wet trail. It was fun and hot as hell to perform for my brother like that. He moaned and grunted as he watched me, in a way that I knew was designed to get me even hotter... and it worked.
"Blow a load with me now... show me your cum spurting out. Make me feel like I can taste it." I sat up on the mattress and leaned back against the wall, legs splayed out, stroking and jacking with a vengeance. I watched as he did the same; I saw his shoulders twitch and knew he was close. Just seeing him getting ready to blow had the cum surging up and my balls drawing up tight; I heard his breathy moans and strained to keep from shooting too soon, holding off my load as the blood pounded in my head.
Carter let out an urgent yelp. I saw his whole body tighten up and I lost it, unleashed a huge gush of cum that splashed hot and thick on my chest and ran dribbling over my abs. My brother cut loose too; I couldn't tell which of us was first but I saw him erupt, blowing his seed all over. I watched him spasm and shoot and my balls drew up tight again and spouted another slug of juice, and another, and another.
We poured out our cum until we were dry. For a few minutes we just lay back and relaxed, listening to each other breathe and trading smiles. I could see his skin was glistening with sweat, watched how his chest rose and fell with each breath.
"Feeling good now?" he asked me.
"Fuck yeah. I feel great."
"Good. I'll see you tomorrow."
At least for one night I had no trouble getting to sleep in that house.
Late the next morning my dad dropped me off at the Greyhound station. He barely said two words on the ride over, which was fine by me. We got there way before my bus arrived so for a couple hours I waited around the station with the drug addicts and the crazy people and creepy old guys. By mid-afternoon I was back on campus.
Justin met me in the hall on the way to my room. He gave me a big grin and bellowed out, "Hey bud! How was your Christmas?" Wrapped me up in his beefy arms and squeezed hard enough to crack ribs. I grunted back at him; didn't really feel like talking much. Ducked into my room, stripped down and crawled into my bunk.
About ten minutes later there was a rap at the door. I ignored it but it creaked open anyway and Travis poked his head in.
"Justin sent me over, he told me you needed a buddy."
That made me smile a little. "Yeah, I guess I do. Come on in."
He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. "You're just here by yourself? Where's Carter?"
"Family stuff. He won't get back till later tonight."
"Gotcha. And you're just gonna lie in bed?"
I shrugged. He stepped a little closer.
"Can I join in?" he asked.
He started shedding his clothes, slowly in case I reacted badly. I watched as he pulled his T-shirt off over his head, exposing a pale, lean, very defined torso. His shoes and socks came off next, one by one. Then he dropped his shorts, gave me a look, and peeled down his briefs.
I smiled at the sight of his cock flopping out, soft and limp but still impressively long. I pulled back the covers to welcome him in and he sat down on the edge of the mattress and slid in next to me.
At first we just lay there side by side, sharing the pillow. He talked a little about his trip home, and the training we'd have to do the next few days before the Midlands. As he talked, he nudged in closer; there was no way we could both lie in that narrow bunk without at least our shoulders touching, but now his whole arm was resting on top of mine. He teased my palm with his fingertips and I instinctively took his hand and interlaced my fingers with his. I was looking into his eyes as he talked through the training schedule, casually slid his other hand across my abs and ran his fingers over my package.
My cock wasted no time; as he gently stroked me it straightened out and stiffened to full length. I rolled onto my side to face him and pulled him in close; pressed my lips to his and we began making out at a leisurely pace, no rush, taking our time to show how we felt about each other.
Trav's cock took an interest too, and before long that thick meat was rubbing up against mine. I loved the feeling of his tight little body in my arms, and loved that his small frame packed such a hefty shank. I thought back to our redshirt year, before he had Justin, how Carter and I used to bring him to our room and let him sleep in between us.
We held each other close, chest to chest, our hands exploring each other and cocks grinding together as we kissed. It made me feel like I was truly home. I could almost forget the last two days ever happened.
"What do you wanna do?" Trav asked when we came up for air, in way that said he'd be down for anything.
"Just exactly this," I told him. "I wanna have a full load for Carter when he gets home, so right now this is perfect."
"Cool."
So we cuddled and kissed and groped each other, on and on for hours. It was just what I needed. The worst part about Christmas was being away from my brothers... not only Carter, but everybody. I couldn't be myself when I was all alone with those people. My brothers knew me and understood me like nobody else ever could. Especially Trav, who'd waited for months before they paired him up with Justin and had to spend all that time on his own.
We cuddled right on through dinner. The big guy brought us sandwiches and we took a food break and then cuddled some more. When I knew it must nearly be time for Carter to come home I told Trav I was good -- truth was, by that time neither of us wanted to let go of the other -- and we headed to the showers together and eased our way back into our regular lives.
My brother came strutting in the door while I was still toweling off and getting dressed. I bounded over to him in my briefs and gave him a big hug. He smacked my ass and laughed at me; I was already boning up again.
"Back to normal I see," he cracked. I couldn't help grinning.
"What, was I supposed to dress up or something?"
"Well, that depends on... wait..." He spotted the T-shirt draped over the back of my desk chair. "Is that what you were wearing last night?"
"Yeah, it's a super old wrestling shirt."
"Put it on."
"I wore it when I was fourteen, it's way too small..."
"Even better. Put it on."
I hesitated. "I used it to mop myself up after our chat. I was gonna throw it out. I wouldn't have even brought it except I didn't want my mom to find it, there's dried cum all over it."
He grinned. "Definitely put it on!"
After a little more token complaining I gave in. He stripped to his underwear to put me in the mood while I squeezed into that tight skanky T-shirt. The cum stains were more than obvious and Carter seemed to like that just fine; sure enough, he was sporting a good bulge. He stepped in close, ran his fingers over the stains, leaned in and took a deep whiff, then gave it a lick.
"Mmmm! Damn, I'd love to fuck you in that shirt!"
Well, those were the magic words. I wanted his cock in me more than anything in the world. I gripped his package and fondled him through the fabric of his compression shorts; he shoved his hand into my briefs and grabbed my already hard cock. In seconds we'd yanked each other's underwear off and he was bulldozing me toward my bunk.
I rolled onto the mattress on my back and lifted my knees high. Carter eagerly moved in, snagged the jar of Vaseline and started greasing his shaft and plumbing my hole with two fingers. I gripped his triceps and pulled him in, kissed him deep as I coaxed him to get his meat inside me and start plowing. He had no idea how ready I was.
My entire body shuddered as he pressed his tip to my hole and pushed in, sank his whole cock into me with one smooth thrust. I goaded him on, told him to give me dick and more dick until his cum came dribbling out my ears. He wasted no time and started pumping away, driving into me good and solid, reaming my ass like he hadn't been laid in a month. God, I was lucky to have him.
And it wasn't long before that shirt came into play. Carter seemed to be mesmerized by it, feeling the soft cotton as he fucked me, reaching up inside to stroke my abs and play with my chest. It was hot as fuck the way he teased me, licking and sucking on the cum stains, biting my nipples through the worn-out fabric. I'll admit I enjoyed it too; as much as I loved being naked with him, variety has its place.
He was clearly into it more than I'd imagined... or maybe he missed me just as much as I missed him. He was huffing and practically snorting as he railed me, pounding away on animal instinct. I fucking loved that unbridled energy. His eyes glazed over; the veins flared out on his neck and his face glowed deep red.
He bucked into me hard and I knew he was shooting his load. I wrapped my arms around him; his whole body was tight and solid as a rock. It was too fucking carnal to bear. I blew a big shot of cum all over his abs and mine, the pleasure so intense it made my body seize up, and I spurted over and over again while he poured his hot load into me.
We were both shaking by the time we finished; it was a shattering session. We lay together side by side looking each other over, catching our breath while our bodies recovered. Eyes locked in on each other like there was nothing else worth looking at anywhere on earth.
"I like that shirt," Carter said. "You may have to wear it again."
I squirmed a little, feeling the tight cotton binding my muscles.
"I would, except... GRAAAHHHH!!!!" I grabbed the shirt at the collar and ripped it open all the way down to the waist, pulling the classic WWE move.
Carter and I busted out laughing. We locked our arms around each other and squeezed, our bare chests pressed together, lips mashed up and tongues grappling and playing. That was my real Christmas. I loved that son of a bitch like never before.
We lay there smiling at each other. He brushed the hair back off my forehead and gave me a devious look like he had something incriminating on me.
"So... what's all this about getting married?"
That was Ryan's little sidetrack. You guys already know how a wrestler's emotions run high and can easily spiral out of control. Thankfully they have their brothers to keep them sane. Next time we'll get back to some wrestling action, and everything else that goes with it -- hard training, lean ripped muscle, tough competition, injuries, meltdowns, victory and defeat, and lots of good healthy sex. So stay tuned!
And guys, as usual, I'll remind you that this site 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! The link to lend your support is here:
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