Hot Jocks, page 11
“That must have been rough,” Paul said, shaking his head.
I explained how I’m an aide to our state’s governor. “I work long hours, especially when the legislature’s in session. And I have to be discreet in my private life. Understand?”
Paul bobbed his chin.
Now, Paul’s knee nudges mine. He reaches for my hand, taking it in his and resting both our hands on his thigh. I can feel his leg muscle twitch against the back of my wrist.
He looks at me and says, “Can I kiss you?”
I nod, thinking, Hell yeah. You can do whatever you want.
Our mouths mash together and our tongues rub like they did last night in the truck. Paul’s stubble grinds against my chin, making a funny sound: scritch-scritch. Already my cock’s stiff as a peg. Paul’s breath steams my upper lip. It’s been a year since I’ve had sex and my last experience wasn’t too fulfilling; I can’t even recall the guy’s name. But this feels very nice, getting intimate with Paul.
I run my fingers through his hair and toy with an ear while our lips smack. I think back to the day when I saw him barechested and the memory makes my pulse race. Reaching for the hem of Paul’s T-shirt, I pull my lips from his and gaze into his eyes.
“Can I take it off?”
He nods and I pull the shirt over his head and arms. His tiny nipples and dark armpits come into view; they make my mouth water. His torso is slender, but defined. I can count every rib. I toss his tee aside and tease the line of hair descending from his navel while we kiss anew. Popping the button at his waist, I lower his zipper. He wears charcoal-colored briefs.
“My turn,” he says, yanking my shirt off and throwing it halfway across the room. He sucks my nipple. I shiver and goose bumps appear on my arms. I run my fingers through his hair again; it’s so thick and wavy. It shines in the glow from a table lamp. He opens my jeans and tells me to lift up, then he slides them to my knees. I’m not wearing underwear and my cock springs forth, pointing at the ceiling, as firm as a green banana.
Paul whistles.
I say, “What?”
“It’s big.”
He takes it in his warm mouth and a tingle runs up my spine. He works it with his tongue and lips, head bobbing, making slurping sounds. When he cups my balls in his hand I groan. Despite his limited experience, he knows what he’s doing. After he goes at it five minutes or so I ask him to stop.
He looks up, his eyebrows arched.
I say, “Let me suck you.”
I peel his jeans down his legs. His cock bulges in his briefs, a dark spot appearing where precome leaks from the head. I tease the spot with a fingertip while I suck Paul’s neck, just below his ear, giving him a hickey he’ll sport for a few days. When I’m done I slip my fingers inside the waistband of his briefs.
“Time to get naked,” I say.
He lifts up and I slide the briefs south. He kicks them aside and joins his hands behind his neck while I seize his rigid cock in my fingers. It’s a beauty. The shaft is smooth, as white as cream cheese. The violet head leaks more precome. I dip a fingertip in the sticky liquid and bring it to my tongue. It tastes…citrusy.
“Suck my cock for me, Chip.”
Forming a circle around the base of his cock with my thumb and index finger, I swallow half of it, caressing Paul with my tongue and lips. I bob my head, making smacking sounds while Paul shifts his hips on the sofa, groaning.
“Shit, that feels good.”
Despite his recent shower, Paul’s crotch smells gamey. The scent makes my pulse race. I bury the tip of my nose in his pubic hair and draw a deep breath, the head of his cock poking the back of my throat. How nice it feels, having his entire cock inside me. Already I find myself wondering: is Paul a top or a bottom?
As if he’s read my mind, Paul answers my question.
“Chip?”
“H-m-m-m?”
“I want you to fuck me. Will you do that?”
I answer by patting his smooth, firm thigh, then I suck him afresh. His cock’s as rigid as PVC pipe. I tickle his nuts in their tight sac, then the sensitive area behind them, while Paul plays with head of my cock, teasing it, then stroking the shaft. Waves of pleasure spread through my body when he does this.
Such a beautiful young man…
Tearing my mouth from his cock, I rise and hold my hand out toward Paul.
“Let’s go to my bedroom.”
Moments later I lie atop Paul. My hips are pressed against his while my tongue explores the inside of his mouth. My heart’s pounding like it wants to burst from my chest. Our cocks are mashed together, a pair of leaking cucumbers. I raise Paul’s arms, placing his hands above his head on the pillow. I nuzzle his dark armpits, then lick them while Paul squirms on the sheet. I suck one nipple, then the other. They harden from my attention.
“It feels so good, Chip.”
From the nightstand I produce a condom and a bottle of lube. How long’s it been since I used such things? Since Stephen left me for the Jaguar Man, I think.
Eyeing the lube and condom, Paul whispers, “I need to tell you something.” He looks away and says, “I’ve never, you know…”
“What?”
“Been fucked.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Returning his gaze to me, he bobs his chin.
I raise his legs and he holds them aloft, locking his arms at the backs of his knees. I lower my face to his asscrack and sniff. It smells gamey too. I lick his pucker, then spear it with my tongue and a shudder runs through Paul.
Lubricating a finger, I slip it inside him. He squirms on the sheet while his pucker flexes. I look into his face. Sweat beads on his upper lip and his cheeks are flushed.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods, then I work my finger in and out while he plays with his cock, spreading a drop of precome around the violet surface of his glans. I add a second finger and Paul winces, but does not ask me to withdraw. I work the fingers, stretching him, the lube smacking in the otherwise silent room. A rivulet of sweat slides down Paul’s temple.
Gradually, Paul loosens up down below.
I say, “Ready for my cock?”
He nods, then watches me open the condom. I roll it down my cock. When I grease myself I use plenty of lube. My cock glistens like a shiny banana. I’m on my knees on the mattress and I scoot toward Paul. I drape his legs over my shoulders and the fuzz on his calves tickles my skin. Bringing the head of my cock to Paul’s pucker, I ease inside him, just an inch or so. His pucker’s tight; it flexes while Paul’s lips pull back. He sucks air through his teeth.
“Christ, you’re big.”
“Take deep breaths; it’ll help you relax.”
His chest rises and falls. He’s sweating all over now and glow from the nightstand lamp reflects off his skin. I drive my hips forward, groaning when I do so. His pucker feels delicious, so tight and velvety.
I rock my hips, plunging fully into Paul and poking his prostate. I bring my mouth to his and our tongues duel while I fuck him. Sweat drips off the tip of my nose, onto Paul’s stubbly cheek. The headboard drums the wall behind it while the bedsprings squeak. We’ve established a rhythm. Each time I thrust, Paul grunts. My balls swing and my hips slap Paul’s buttocks.
My chest is a furnace. My lungs pump and my pulse races. I swear I can hear my own heart beat. A warm glow steals through my limbs and my crotch tingles. Paul’s gut feels heavenly, so warm and lusty.
He shoots first.
It only takes a few pumps of his fist and his come flies, striking his chest, his neck and the pillow behind his head. Paul cries out as this happens, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
“Oh, Jesus, Chip. Oh-h-h, shit.”
Paul’s load glistens like a handful of scattered opals.
Deep inside Paul, my cock throbs. A crackling noise fills my head and my vision blurs. I shout like a crazy man while my seed floods the condom and I gasp for air. I can’t seem to get enough oxygen in my lungs. I bring my damp forehead to Paul’s sweaty shoulder and rest it there, listening to him breath.
I keep my cock inside Paul awhile. I don’t want to leave him’cause I feel so good. We don’t say anything for a bit. We keep still, our skins stuck together, pulses slowing. Then…
“Chip?”
“Yes?”
“That was wonderful.”
I kiss his bicep and tell him, “It sure was.”
His voice cracks when he says, “It won’t be the last time, will it?”
Turning my head, I look into Paul’s dark eyes. I sense his loneliness, his vulnerability. He’s so young.
I say, “Of course not.”
It’s springtime in Tallahassee now. The dogwoods and azaleas put on a show. Everywhere are explosions of pink, violet, white and red blossoms. The air is fragrant with their scents.
Paul and I run on a trail through a forest of slash pines and live oaks. We crush fallen needles and leaves beneath the soles of our shoes. I follow Paul down the narrow path. His T-shirt sticks to the small of his back. His hair bounces as he cruises along, dappled sunlight reflecting in his shaggy locks. I watch his buttocks move inside his shorts and I think of an hour ago when Paul straddled me in bed. He lowered himself onto my cock, a grin on his face. Then, while I pumped my hips he jerked himself off.
When I came inside him, his load spewed onto my chest and neck, a series of spurts, warm and oozy.
He’s beautiful, was all I could think.
My runner is beautiful.
BOWLING FOR BONERS
Rob Rosen
The usual, Matt,” he said, plopping down a fiver, a megawatt smile radiating off his face, his blue eyes twinkling beneath the fluorescent lighting.
I crouched down and found his favorite pair, size thirteen. Guy had big-ass feet. “Here you go, Pete. Lane twelve. All yours.” Lane twelve was reserved for the pros. The bowling association paid the dues. “Big tournament coming up, huh?”
He grabbed for the shoes and nodded. “One week away. High stakes. Top three compete in Maui.”
I grinned. “Good luck. And aloha.”
He turned, hollering over his shoulder, “Mahalo, dude.”
I watched him saunter away, staring at his perfect pert ass, encased in tight rayon shorts, bulging calves flexing with each stride. I pushed down on my burgeoning stiffie and willed myself back to work. Thankfully, I only had two more hours left to go.
Tick, tock; the place slowly emptied out; shoes were returned, sanitized, reshelved. I cleaned up in between, so all I’d have to do at the end of the night was close out the register. When ten o’clock rolled around, the place was empty. Almost. “Closing up, Pete,” I yelled to him.
He turned my way and grimaced. “Fifteen more minutes, Matt?” he hollered back.
I shrugged. “Suit yourself. I have to balance out the receipts anyway. One thing, though. The air conditioner is on a timer. Goes off promptly at ten. Place is gonna get a bit hot.”
He nodded and went back to his game. “No prob. Fifteen more minutes is all I need.”
Again I shrugged, heading to the back office to finish up my work. When I returned, he was still at it, only shirtless now. I gulped and headed over to his lane. He had a determined look on his face, a purple bowling ball held up high, forearm and bicep muscles taut, sweat trickling through the dense matting of fur that covered his defined chest and etched belly. His body moved like a graceful dancer’s, twisting and turning in perfect precision, the ball released and moving like greased lightning, slamming down the lane and crashing into the pins. Eight down. I frowned. “Not your night, Pete?”
He wiped the sweat off his brow. “Not even close. And this place is fucking hot as hell.”
“Told you so,” I said, forcing my eyes forward, despite their wanton desire to run up and down his exposed torso.
He chuckled, turning my way as the ball rumbled back, popping into view again a split second later. “You play, Matt?”
The question took me off guard. Then I realized what he meant. “Yup. League champion a couple of years back. Not up to your level, though.”
He smiled, perfect white teeth gleaming. This guy had an ego and liked it stroked. “Feel like a game?” he asked.
Truth be told, I could think of worse things than hanging out with a shirtless pro bowler, alone. Besides, I’d never played anyone as good as him before, an added bonus. “Sure, why not? If we don’t incinerate before the last frame.”
He chuckled, the sound like pebbles tossed at the shoreline, sending a shot of white-hot adrenaline up my spine. “It’s cooler with your shirt off.”
Fuck, alone and shirtless? Was he kidding me? Still, when in Rome. I unbuttoned my vintage fifties wear and tossed it on a nearby chair. He gave me the onceover and nodded. I forced a crooked grin, a nervous tic lifting my eyebrow up. “Yep, much better,” I managed, trying to keep my voice even. Still, it was hot as an oven under the alley’s bright lights; sweat was already streaming down my back.
And so we bowled; my eyes were glued to him when he was up, his back tight with muscle, calves like boulders, a tuft of fuzz above the waistband of his shorts, a thick patch of underarm hair visible every time he let the ball loose from his grip. It was enough to make Adonis jealous. Meaning, my game was not what it usually added up to, seeing as how I had my mind on other things, namely the bulge in the front of his ultratight shorts.
“Your stance is off, Matt,” he informed me, three frames in and me down a good dozen pins already.
He moved in and stood behind me, his bowling shoes kicking mine, trying to place my feet in a slightly different direction. “That looking any better?” I asked, ball at the ready.
He scratched his chin. “Close, but not quite.” He inched in farther, and though tempted to turn to look at his body, I kept my face forward, staring down the length of the lane. Suddenly, his sweat-soaked front was up against my equally sweaty back, his hand on my arm, maneuvering his body to better turn my own. “Here, like this.” He lingered, the soft down of him tickling me, his breath suddenly heavy in my ear, his crotch buried in my ass.
I gulped. “Got it.” He moved away. I let the ball rip, the sound of it like thunder in the empty building. “Strike!” I hollered soon enough, shocked that his ministrations had worked.
He patted my sweaty shoulder. “Much better. You’ll be a pro in no time.”
I laughed. “If I don’t die from heat exhaustion first.”
He wiped a river of perspiration from his chest and off his belly, fanning his face just after. “Tell me about it.” He pointed to his crotch. “And rayon doesn’t breathe a lick. I got me a pool of sweat in these shorts, and the dam is about to burst.” He stared at me, pausing, the obvious solution hanging heavily in the heat-thick air.
Again that tic of mine played havoc on my brow. “Well, it is just you and me in here,” I told him, my heart suddenly beating hummingbird-fast in my chest, a fresh burst of sweat streaming down between my pecs.
He smiled, hand gripping the top button. “You sure?”
I nodded. The button popped open, the zipper zipped down, and a white jockstrap was suddenly revealed, a smattering of black bush curling above the sweat-infused shorts. He slid them down and kicked them off, the outline of his cock visible through the soaked jock, wide head bulging at the bottom, balls pushing the whole shebang outward.
“Better?” I asked, my voice suddenly gravelly.
“Much.” He looked away, walking to his purple ball. I sat back down and watched, eyes glued to his exposed ass framed in a thin band of white material, cheeks indented on the sides, hairy crack down the center. He stood still, aimed and released in one fluid motion, the ball zipping down the lane, smashing into all ten pins, sending them flying. He turned, fist pumped at his side, upper teeth biting down on his lower lip. “Yes!” he yelled, the sound echoing out in all directions.
“I think we’ve invented a whole new sport,” I said, standing up to retrieve my ball, my arm brushing his as I went past, every nerve ending in my body shooting off fireworks.
“Naked bowling?” he quipped, with a lilting chuckle.
“Well, nearly naked at any rate.”
I got into position, eyes staring down the lane. Then he upped the ante. “Except, only one of us is nearly.”
I gulped and turned around. “Um, okay,” I squeaked out. Then I set my ball down and reached for the top button of my slacks, watching him watching me. My pants, of course, were drenched, but slid off easily enough. I kicked them away, left standing in my briefs, black socks, and bowling shoes. It must’ve been an odd sight. Still, he gave me the thumbs-up. I smiled, retrieved my ball, lined up again and let it fly. “Strike!” I shouted, seconds later, mimicking his fist pump.
He hopped up and high-fived me. “Quite freeing without the clothes, huh?” he asked, face so close I could smell his breath. His stunning blue eyes were locked with mine, reaching down into my very soul as a million butterflies started swarming around my belly.
“Hard to televise, though,” I said. “Except maybe on the Playboy channel.”
“Can’t see it happening,” he said, still up close. “Most bowlers don’t look that appealing sans clothes.”
“Present company excepted,” I spat out, unthinking. Then I froze, a flush of warmth spreading across my cheeks, burning white hot.
His face closed the gap, now right in front of my own. “Think so, Matt?” he asked, voice just barely above a whisper.
I gulped, yet again, my prick starting to course with blood. “Well, um, yeah.”
“Yeah?” he rasped. “Ditto for you.” Then he sidled past me and moved to his ball. He looked over, scanned our scores, and quickly added, “You’re catching up. One more layer of clothes and you just might beat me.” All I heard, of course, was the beat me, despite the din of my heart pounding in my ears.
“You first,” I croaked out, taking my seat.
He paused, briefly, his thumbs within the elastic waistband. He pushed down on the material, revealing wiry bush, then the base of his shaft. He smiled, winked, and the jock slid down and off, his cock swaying, not quite flaccid, not erect yet either. Now naked, except for his shoes and socks, he lifted his purple ball, took a few breaths, aimed and let it fly, his tight ass jiggling as he did so, dense muscles contracting with each step.
