This is a work of fiction. Nothing in the story took place (darn it) and "Nick" is a figment of my imagination. This is my first posting. It is a bit detailed, but I hope you like it.
*****
Last November I opened the paper and learned that, after an impressive season, our local high school football team was going to play for the state championship. In an expression of local pride, the paper had printed pictures of each member of the team. I vaguely remembered a conversation with the guy next door that his son, Nick, (who I remembered from when I moved in as a round-faced pimply kid) was on the team. I looked for his picture and found it. Then, I did a double-take. The 4 years or so since I moved in had been kind to Nick. The picture was of strikingly handsome, chiseled face—blue eyes, short, dark hair, clear, smooth complexion, and a “soul patch” of beard on his chin. I knew he had turned 18 a couple of weeks before from the signs in the yard announcing his party, but had paid no attention to how hot he had become over the years. Just then, I heard a car door slam. My neighbor was home. I went to the window and peeked out in time to see Nick—sweaty and dirty from practice—walking up the driveway to his house. I was hard instantly, looking at how the sweaty white t-shirt stuck to his body, outlining his pecs. I could just see his nipples through the wet fabric, and I imagined they were hard in the chilly air. As he walked up to his house I cursed the twilight that made it harder to see his body, especially when he slid his hand up his stomach and rubbed his chest under his shirt. I could barely make out a perfectly flat, toned stomach and a waist wrapped by a white underwear waistband and baggy basketball shorts. I knew I had to do 2 things: 1. Jack off. 2. Get to know this kid better.
Doing the first was much easier than the second. While Nick quickly took the starring role in each of my fantasies, football season ended and winter came along. I had no real reason to be outside to “bump into” Nick except shoveling the sidewalk after a big snow. As he was wearing a snow suit it wasn’t so exciting. Finally, spring came, and Nick began baseball practice. I learned that he was a pitcher, as well as a catcher. (I quickly fantasized that he played these positions off the field, too.) I went to a game, and watched him play, noting his tight, pert ass in his pants. It was phenomenal. A little shelf that came off his back then rounded down to his legs. He also had a hell of a package, but I was sure he was wearing a cup. The weather grew warmer and I would go talk to him after games, to congratulate him on good play. I loved his sexy voice, not too low, but not too high, either. I loved his sweaty hair, laying in clumps on his forehead, eye black under his eyes and dirt smeared across his face. I loved his easy, quick smile, his uniform—tight around his ass, his jersey showcasing his pecs, and that I could see his sexy, almost smooth, veiny arms. His fingers were long and a little bony. I imagined that girls liked to feel them slide in and out. More than once I imagined them wrapped around his cock—around my cock.
After one game, I saw Nick head back to the dugout before I could congratulate him. I popped in, and found him taking off his shirt. I about came right then. For the first time I could see the beauty that was his torso: smooth, naturally hairless chest, his dark red, quarter-sized nipples topping his well defined pecs like cherries, and a 6-pack running down across his stomach leading to a “V”, highlighted in the center by a trail of thin, blonde hair (no more than 4 hairs wide) that began at his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his white Mizuno sliding shorts. I thought I would not be able to speak, but I recovered quickly and complimented him on his game. He thanked me, I realized how awkward the situation was becoming so stole one last glance then went home and came about 20 seconds after stepping in the door.
Finally, one Saturday near the end of April, I found Nick outside washing his car. I loved his outfit as it was a pair of shorts, grey tennis shoes with ankle socks, and an old t-shirt with the arms cut out and the arm holes cut down almost to the waist. When he bent over, you could get a side view of his chest, nipples and stomach, and a look at the waistband of the Spongebob boxers he was wearing. I went out to watch him and to talk to him.
“Washing your car,” I said, admiring a drop of sweat on the end of his nose.
“Yeah. Prom is tonight. I can’t wait.” He blew the drop away.
“Got a hot date?”
“My girlfriend, Katie. We’ve been dating for a couple of months now.”
“That’s cool.” We continued our conversation for awhile…where prom was, what color was his tux, the great restaurant he’d chosen for their dinner. I enjoyed catching glimpses of his hot, sweaty body. Finally, I said, “Well, sounds like you have all the bases covered and you’ve gone to a lot of work. I hope she,” I paused for effect, then added with a knowing smile, “shows you some appreciation.”
He smiled, understanding that I meant that I hoped he would get some action, and replied, “I hope she does, too.”
Later that evening I heard some commotion next door and went outside to look. Nick and his date were posing for pictures. He looked hot in a white Tux, also. I envied the girl. Nick opened the door for her, shut it and looked over at me. I gave him a “thumbs-up” which he returned, a huge smile on his face.
I could hardly sleep that night, imaging her hands sliding all over his hot body. I was up early the next morning moving the sprinkler when Nick arrived home. He looked tired, and his hair was mussed. His tie was off and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. I called him over.
“How’d it go?” I asked. “Did she…appreciate your efforts?”
A huge grin broke out across his face. “Three times—once starting at that corner over there while we were just leaving here. Turns out these rental pants don’t have a pocket. She reached in and started the night off right. Good thing my coat was long and it was dark at Prom. Could have been real embarrassing.” He pulled the coat aside showing a huge stain on the front of his pants, a large splotch near the waistband. “Kleenex didn’t quite clean up my…err…mess. I told her that I was close….but she kept on going.” He smiled, remembering, “‘Course I wasn’t working real hard to stop her, either. At dinner, she came back from the bathroom and handed me her panties. So I was pretty much hard the rest of the night thinking about her without panties on. She kept feeling me up, too. Then, after the dance we went to the after prom party, then we went out for breakfast. On the way to breakfast, she reached over, unzipped my pants, took me out, and sucked while I drove. Then, after breakfast we parked, she pulled my pants down, her skirt up, and then climbed on. What a great night.”
Even at 25 I admired an 18 year-old’s ability to get going again and again. “First time that happened with her?” I asked.
“Yeah. It was awesome.”
I couldn’t believe he was telling me all this—suddenly we’re best friends? Then I decided he was 18 and had to tell someone. Suddenly he looked at me and said, “You won’t tell my parents, will you?”
“Of course not. None of their business.”
After that, Nick and I became closer. We’d chat if he were out mowing the lawn, or after he came home from practice. For some reason he always told me about his sexual experiences—at the lake, in the lake, on the 50-yard line. He finally confided in me that he really wanted to do it in a shower but couldn’t find one to use.
“Well,” I said, “you could use mine if you wanted. I’ll be out of town on Saturday afternoon, but will be back that night around 6:00. If you went before that….but you couldn’t tell anyone, either. If you get caught, you snuck in.”
“Dude, that would be awesome. I wonder if Katie will go for it.”
I showed him where the extra key was in the garage. Then added, “This will cost you a lawn mowing or something.”
“Small price to pay. Deal.”
I returned home that Saturday evening to discover my shower was wet on the inside and had obviously been used. Immediately I popped wood thinking about what had been done and who had done it in my shower. Right then, I noticed in the trash can not one but two used condoms. You can imagine my reaction.
I could hardly sleep that night…all I could think about was that sexy, virile boy next door, naked, having sex in my shower. I got up Sunday morning and was reading the paper when I heard a lawn mower. Nick was outside my house, shirtless, mowing my yard. I couldn’t help myself. I stood in the window and watched the show. It was a hot morning, and soon Nick was sweating, his body slick and shiny in the morning sun. He was wearing a pair of yellow basketball shorts that stuck to his upper ass like skin and then drooped away from his legs. His old tennis shoes and ankle socks completed his outfit. I wasn’t sure, but I think he knew I was watching. Still, I couldn’t tear my eyes off this Adonis in my yard. Suddenly, he was done and was walking up to the house. I had a raging hard-on so quickly poured a glass of water for him and sat down at the table. I waved him into the kitchen.
Seeing him up close was experiencing perfect masculinity. As I looked him up and down, I suddenly realized that he wasn’t wearing underwear—I could make out the shape of his cockhead in his shorts. It looked thick and meaty. Next, I caught a whiff of his odor. It was a perfectly masculine scent…a little musky…but a total turn-on. His slick chest was as defined as ever, and his nipples, in the cool air conditioned room, quickly got hard. The shorts were hanging so low that the “V” was almost totally exposed, and I was sure that if they went down an eighth-inch further, I would be able to see his pubes. I wanted to touch him, to taste him, to lick him, to drink him in. I marveled at him as he crossed the room. A true athlete, he walked mostly on his toes, his legs coiled springs, dusted with fine blonde hair…not too much at all. I wanted to rub his legs, his arms, his armpits, his chest, back, ass, cock. I wanted to give him a bath with my tongue, but would have settled for a quick grope. I knew none of this was to be.
“Did you like watching me mow?” he asked with a sly smile.
I stopped staring at his waist and looked him in his beautiful blue eyes.
“I…errr…enjoyed seeing my grass cut itself. How was the shower?”
“Fucking awesome. Thanks. I fucked her once up against the back wall, and the second time I was laying down and she straddled me. Any chance I can use it again?”
“Anytime you want.”
“Thanks. Dude, you are awesome.” As he said this, he rotated his right arm in a full circle and grimaced a little in pain. The flash of downy armpit hair as he did this was enough to reinforce my hard cock.
“What’s the matter? Your arm hurt?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Baseball pitching does that after a couple of months.”
“I took a couple of athletic training classes in college. Want me to work on it?” I said this hoping, praying he would say yes and not run away.
He was silent for a moment, seemed to weigh me up, and then said, “Sure. What can it hurt?”
I had him pull his chair up in front of mine and face away from me, straddling the chair, leaning forward over the chair back. I could then stand up without him seeing my boner. Tentatively, I touched his shoulder. His skin was softer and smoother than the finest silk I’d ever touched. Under the surface I could feel solid muscles, and could sense the strength within him. I went to work on his shoulder and arm, massaging all around and working it. After about 15 minutes (during which time I resisted over and over the urge to put my hand in his lap) I asked if it was better. He said it was a lot better and he thanked me for my help. “Anytime you want it, just stop over,” I replied.
He turned in his chair as I was sitting down, but I saw his eyes on my crotch. I was worried he’d seen my hard cock until I looked at his crotch and could tell he was fully hard, also. His eyes followed mine and he looked at his crotch, and then laughed nervously.
“No big deal,” I said. “Our secret.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I gotta go.” And he left. I couldn’t help stare at the mammoth tent pole holding his shorts out in front of him. I wanted it, but watched it turn away from me, his perfect looking ass swaying a little as he walked to, and out, the door.
I thought he was gone for good. I cried myself to sleep that night. Needless to say I was surprised when he knocked on my door the next night after practice. He wanted another massage.
This time, he came in and peeled off his shirt. I marveled again at his perfect physique: the smooth skin, the trickle of hair from his belly button into his pants. He swung his chair around and plunked down in it. I went to work on his shoulder and arm again, letting my hand drift this time into his armpit…the hair there was not too thick, but was softer than any hair I’d felt before on anyone. I let my fingers linger there a little, playing and went back to work, revisiting that area time and again. As I worked, he told me of his date the previous night, of the way he’d eaten Katie’s pussy, tickling it with the little patch of beard on his chin. He spoke with great detail of the sex they’d had and, in telling this tale, had an excuse for the raging hard-ons that we both had.
Graduation came and went; Nick learned that he’d been selected for our state’s all-star football game. Summer baseball took off, and Nick was over almost daily for a massage for his arm. I progressed in my touching of him to include the rest of his back, and reaching through his pits and over his shoulders to rub his pecs. His nipples were always hard. During every massage he told me tales of sex that he’d had, every massage we were both rock-hard. Because his sex stories were always about Katie, I figured that he was 100% straight. I didn’t want to lose the opportunities I had to touch him, to feel him, to caress him, so I never went too far. But I was about to explode.
One day, he came over, upset. He and Katie had broken up. Never had it been so difficult to act sad in my life. Inside I was crying out with joy. I’d really grown to like Nick a lot, and, hearing the sometimes reckless things that Katie did, I knew that she wasn’t the best thing for him. I wanted him to be more of a home body…and spend more time with me. This might happen now. Plus, a lack of sex can make an 18 year-old boy crazy.
Soon it was time for the big all-star football game. About a week before he left for the 2-week long team practice sessions, he asked if I could do him a favor. His parents were leaving from the game (which was played 2 hours away in the state capitol) and flying to some city for vacation. Nick didn’t want to go with them. He asked if I could bring him home, watch over him for a few days so his parents would relax and not make him go and he could stay home and play baseball. I readily agreed.
The day for the game came, and I saw Nick’s parents in the bleachers. They thanked me for helping out with their son. Nick played most of the game at cornerback, delivering some terrific hits. After the game, he came out, dressed in a tight polo shirt from Hollister, a pair of baggy cargo shorts, and his grey tennis shoes with ankle socks. His hair, still wet from the shower, was brushed into little clumps on his forehead. He’d never looked so incredibly sexy to me. And to think, we were going to be in a car together for 2 hours. Nick hugged his parents, and then came with me to my car. We set off. I asked if he was hungry, and he said he was. We stopped at a restaurant. Sitting in the booth, talking about the 2 weeks he’d had, I suddenly felt Nick’s lightly fuzzy leg on mine. We were both in shorts, and his leg felt hard and soft at the same time. I wasn’t about to move my leg, and realized that he wasn’t either. We ate dinner, our legs always touching. Sometimes he moved his a little, rubbing mine, but the contact was only broken when he went to the bathroom. When he returned, he put his leg on mine again. Needless to say I was full-hard the entire meal. After I paid, Nick looked me in the eye and asked, earnestly, “Are you hard right now?” This was our first talk of anything sexual since we’d gotten in the car, and it kind of took me by surprise. I looked at him, debated lying to him—decided against it.
“Yes,” I responded.
I felt his leg pull away from mine. “Me too,” he admitted quietly.
The car was filled with uncomfortable silence for most of the rest of the trip. As we were arriving in our town, Nick said that his entire body was starting to stiffen up from the game, from all the hits. I offered to give him a full-body rub down. He just looked at me. I added, “Nick, don’t worry about being hard. I won’t tell. It is a natural reaction when someone is touching you.” He still hesitated, and then said, “Ok.”
When we got home, we came into my house. Nick had really stiffened up by this time. I had Nick come into my bedroom, to use the bed. I told him to undress down to his boxers. He flinched as he began to take off his shirt, so I decided I’d help him. I slid my hands up his firm, smooth torso, and just had him raise his arms over his head. I could smell his Right Guard as I sniffed in his scent, nearly licking his hairless chest, running my fingers through his pits. Next, I knelt down in front of him, untied each shoe and slipped it off. I held his legs as I did this, my first time really touching them with my hands. The light blonde hair on his tan legs, thin and wispy, was so soft. No one had hair this soft. I loved the way his ankle socks form-fitted to his feet. I decided to leave them on for now. I was now in front of Nick’s crotch, still kneeling. I looked up at him, and he was trembling, an excited yet nervous smile on his face. I reached forward with my own trembling fingers and unbuckled his belt, then undid the button on his shorts. They were so baggy and loose that they dropped almost off his ass. I tugged gently on them, and he was in only his grey boxers and socks in front of me—his cock already half hard, and I could see it growing, moving, engorging inside the loose cotton fabric. I rubbed his legs, openly watching his cock’s show until he was fully hard, his boxers now in the shape of a tent. We both knew where we were going and neither wanted to stop.
I had him lie on his stomach on the bed. Using lotion for lubrication, I went to work first on known territory—his shoulders, arms and back, then went down his body to his legs. I loved that soft, soft hair there. I worked down the back of his legs, and the outside of his legs all the way to his feet. Then I came back up, concentrating on the inside of his legs. I pushed his legs a little further apart to give myself better access, looking at the mound that was his ass. I wanted to use it for a pillow. As I came back up his legs, I let my fingers slip into his boxers. I pushed them aside and saw his balls…large, lightly coated in his thin, blonde hair. I let my fingers explore a little more, and then brush his nuts. He gasped, but did not move. I kept massaging that area, brushing his sack again and again. He moaned, “yesss.”
“Nick, I think it is time to take off your boxers,” I said, my fingers lightly brushing his nuts.
He tensed up a little, “Why?”
“Because they are covering the largest muscle in your body, and you can’t really relax until I massage it.”
This was it. Either he agreed—and I would take things past the point of no return—or it was over.
The silence was deafening. Finally he said, “Ok.”
I began to pull his boxers down. “Wait,” he cried. “They’re….err….stuck.” He reached underneath himself and tugged on the waistband, pulling back from the boxers a little in the process—obviously unhooking his hard cock from the waistband. Then he relaxed. I pulled them the rest of the way off. I held them to my face, drank in his musky man-boy scent, felt his warmth, ran my fingers where his cock had just been, and found a quarter-sized wet spot. I touched that with my tongue, getting a first taste of his saltiness. I looked back at the mounds that were his ass.
If ever there was an ass that was perfect, it was in front of me now. It was the picture of a bubble butt, high, tight, firm, perky, pert. Smooth and hairless, it was round and beautiful. I reached out, put some lotion on it, and began to rub. I worked that ass, pushing the cheeks apart, discovering a thin layer of his wispy hair in his crack. His hole, pink and perfect, seemed to wink at me. I went to work on one cheek, then the other, letting my fingers spend time deep in his crack, brushing, rubbing, tickling. I finally held both cheeks apart, and let my finger rub his hole. He groaned.
“Are you glad you let me massage your ass?” I asked.
“Fuck yes,” he exhaled.
I began to work a finger into his ass.
“Oh fuck!” he cried out as I began to finger-bang him. “That feels awesome.”
I worked the finger around in his ass for a couple of minutes, then, gently smacking his ass, told him to turn over. He seemed nervous to do it.
“I know you’re rock hard, Nick. So am I. You seem to be enjoying the massage. Just turn over.”
He did. Let me just say here that his cock was, in a word, magnificent. It stood straight up toward his stomach a full 8 inches, capped by a mushroom crown. His legs, spread apart, allowed his balls to hang down, low and heavy. His cock was surrounded by a bush of his beautiful thin, hair. In this quantity, though, it looked light brown. I loved letting my eyes go up the trail to his belly button and back down again, all the mysteries of my fantasies now answered, and better than I ever imagined. “Wow,” I said admiring his perfect, masculine form.
Nick, seemingly embarrassed that I saw him fully hard and exposed like this, curled up into a ball and rolled away from me, (showing his ass to me again—not such a bad thing). “Nick,” I said, “you have nothing to be ashamed of. In fact,” I added, “you should be proud. Get back on your back, arms over your head.”
He looked over his shoulder at me, then rolled back onto his back and spread his body out again. “Relax,” I told him, “or the massage won’t work.” He relaxed, but his breathing showed he was still nervous.
I helped him lift his arms over his head and began massaging his forearms, then his biceps and triceps. I ran my fingers through his pits before I began to work his chest, rubbing it, and sliding my fingers down his body. I slid my fingers across his stomach and sides lightly, watched him twitch at my touch. My fingers, working his stomach, grazed his cock. He moaned and a glistening drop of pre-cum appeared on the tip of his cock. I worked my way down his legs, on the outside to his feet, pulled off his socks, and massaged his feet. I paused and looked at his beautiful, perfect nude body. His muscles, defined across his chest, down his arms and legs with their thin, wispy soft hair, his 6 pack with the “V,” his cock, at full attention, drooling precum on his sexy happy trail.
“My god, you’re beautiful.” I said, loud enough for him to hear.
He looked at me, swallowed and smiled. “Thanks—you’re not ugly yourself.”
I went back to work up the insides of his legs, finally arriving at his crotch, massaging under his balls and around the base of his cock where I found that his pubic hair, unlike most which is heavy and wiry, was softer than even the finest cashmere. I finished my massage with my thumbs hooked under his balls and my fingers around the base of his cock.
“That’s it,” I said, “unless you want something else...massaged.”
“You’re done?” he asked a hint of panic in his voice.
“Unless you want something else done.” I knew he would, the pool of precum under his dark red, mushroom shaped cockhead told me so. I just wanted him to ask.
“Could you massage my….my….err…my cock?”
“Of course.” I reached out and took hold of it with my hands, impressed at its 8 inch length, its girth such that I could hardly wrap my fingers around it, as well as its hardness. It was like holding a shaft of veiny, throbbing stone. I had only pumped it 6 or 8 times when he cried, “Oh god, I’m getting close!” He was that turned on. I stopped immediately. I wanted this to last for him, for me. I started again, slowly, cupping his balls, kissing the tip, tasting the salty goodness of his man-boy precum. Soon, I had his entire cock in my mouth, then came off it, and said some nonsense about using my tongue for the massage here. He laughed then said, “keep going.” I happily obliged. He kept telling me he was about to cum. Each time I stopped, teasing him, not allowing him to cum, not ready for the event. After the 4th time, he was begging me to let him finish. “I will…eventually. I promise,” I replied.
After the 7th, 8th and 9th times he was so desperate that I actually had to smack his hand away from his cock to foil his attempts to finish himself. “Please,” he cried, “I haven’t cum in 2 weeks! I’ve been living in a dorm with other guys and haven’t been able to. Please let me cum!”
I was not swayed by his begging—I was having way too much fun. I told him that for each time he reached down, it would be one more time before I would let him cum. Finally after about 12 times (or was it 13?) I kept going and he went over the edge. “Oh god yes! Oh fuck, fuck yes!” he cried, releasing spurt after spurt of teen-boy-jock-stud jizz. I let the first shot fly up across his chest, a few drops getting caught in his fuzzy beard. I then clamped my mouth over his cock, using my tongue and sucking every drop of boy milk out of him I could. I loved his taste, his scent his voice as it cried out, the way every muscle in his body was tense.
When the last drop came out of him, I licked around his cockhead, then let his cock drop out of my mouth. I watched his torso, heaving with his deep breaths, his arms and legs shaking with after-shocks. I licked up his trail of cum, found my way to his mouth. We kissed, his tongue probing my mouth, tasting himself.
After he calmed down he said, “That was the best ever. God I haven’t cum since before I went to camp two weeks ago. Although after that, I don’t think I’ve ever really cum before. That was awesome. Thanks for making me wait. That was the most mind-blowing orgasm I’ve ever had. Oh fuck, thank you.” He sighed. Then he got a twinkle in his eye, one that showed a naughty thought. “That massage was awesome. You really covered all the bases. I feel like I need to show you some….appreciation. Let’s get you out of your clothes. I feel silly being the only naked one.”
“If you do this to me, you’ll ruin your relaxed muscles. I’ll probably have to start all over again,” I said.
“That’s life,” he replied. “You gotta do what you gotta do. Then I’ll probably feel guilty and want to appreciate your efforts again. This could go on all night. This could go on until my parents get home.”
I looked at him, his beautiful, smiling face, so earnest, so eager so hopeful. I gazed lovingly into his eyes, took in every detail of his face: his long eyelashes, his fuzzy stubble along his jaw line, the 2 drops of cum caught in his beard. I smiled back at him. “Well, if it is going to take that long, we’d better get started.” I kicked off my shoes.
“Lay back,” he ordered, a dirty smile on his face, his cock already getting hard again.
*****
Last November I opened the paper and learned that, after an impressive season, our local high school football team was going to play for the state championship. In an expression of local pride, the paper had printed pictures of each member of the team. I vaguely remembered a conversation with the guy next door that his son, Nick, (who I remembered from when I moved in as a round-faced pimply kid) was on the team. I looked for his picture and found it. Then, I did a double-take. The 4 years or so since I moved in had been kind to Nick. The picture was of strikingly handsome, chiseled face—blue eyes, short, dark hair, clear, smooth complexion, and a “soul patch” of beard on his chin. I knew he had turned 18 a couple of weeks before from the signs in the yard announcing his party, but had paid no attention to how hot he had become over the years. Just then, I heard a car door slam. My neighbor was home. I went to the window and peeked out in time to see Nick—sweaty and dirty from practice—walking up the driveway to his house. I was hard instantly, looking at how the sweaty white t-shirt stuck to his body, outlining his pecs. I could just see his nipples through the wet fabric, and I imagined they were hard in the chilly air. As he walked up to his house I cursed the twilight that made it harder to see his body, especially when he slid his hand up his stomach and rubbed his chest under his shirt. I could barely make out a perfectly flat, toned stomach and a waist wrapped by a white underwear waistband and baggy basketball shorts. I knew I had to do 2 things: 1. Jack off. 2. Get to know this kid better.
Doing the first was much easier than the second. While Nick quickly took the starring role in each of my fantasies, football season ended and winter came along. I had no real reason to be outside to “bump into” Nick except shoveling the sidewalk after a big snow. As he was wearing a snow suit it wasn’t so exciting. Finally, spring came, and Nick began baseball practice. I learned that he was a pitcher, as well as a catcher. (I quickly fantasized that he played these positions off the field, too.) I went to a game, and watched him play, noting his tight, pert ass in his pants. It was phenomenal. A little shelf that came off his back then rounded down to his legs. He also had a hell of a package, but I was sure he was wearing a cup. The weather grew warmer and I would go talk to him after games, to congratulate him on good play. I loved his sexy voice, not too low, but not too high, either. I loved his sweaty hair, laying in clumps on his forehead, eye black under his eyes and dirt smeared across his face. I loved his easy, quick smile, his uniform—tight around his ass, his jersey showcasing his pecs, and that I could see his sexy, almost smooth, veiny arms. His fingers were long and a little bony. I imagined that girls liked to feel them slide in and out. More than once I imagined them wrapped around his cock—around my cock.
After one game, I saw Nick head back to the dugout before I could congratulate him. I popped in, and found him taking off his shirt. I about came right then. For the first time I could see the beauty that was his torso: smooth, naturally hairless chest, his dark red, quarter-sized nipples topping his well defined pecs like cherries, and a 6-pack running down across his stomach leading to a “V”, highlighted in the center by a trail of thin, blonde hair (no more than 4 hairs wide) that began at his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his white Mizuno sliding shorts. I thought I would not be able to speak, but I recovered quickly and complimented him on his game. He thanked me, I realized how awkward the situation was becoming so stole one last glance then went home and came about 20 seconds after stepping in the door.
Finally, one Saturday near the end of April, I found Nick outside washing his car. I loved his outfit as it was a pair of shorts, grey tennis shoes with ankle socks, and an old t-shirt with the arms cut out and the arm holes cut down almost to the waist. When he bent over, you could get a side view of his chest, nipples and stomach, and a look at the waistband of the Spongebob boxers he was wearing. I went out to watch him and to talk to him.
“Washing your car,” I said, admiring a drop of sweat on the end of his nose.
“Yeah. Prom is tonight. I can’t wait.” He blew the drop away.
“Got a hot date?”
“My girlfriend, Katie. We’ve been dating for a couple of months now.”
“That’s cool.” We continued our conversation for awhile…where prom was, what color was his tux, the great restaurant he’d chosen for their dinner. I enjoyed catching glimpses of his hot, sweaty body. Finally, I said, “Well, sounds like you have all the bases covered and you’ve gone to a lot of work. I hope she,” I paused for effect, then added with a knowing smile, “shows you some appreciation.”
He smiled, understanding that I meant that I hoped he would get some action, and replied, “I hope she does, too.”
Later that evening I heard some commotion next door and went outside to look. Nick and his date were posing for pictures. He looked hot in a white Tux, also. I envied the girl. Nick opened the door for her, shut it and looked over at me. I gave him a “thumbs-up” which he returned, a huge smile on his face.
I could hardly sleep that night, imaging her hands sliding all over his hot body. I was up early the next morning moving the sprinkler when Nick arrived home. He looked tired, and his hair was mussed. His tie was off and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. I called him over.
“How’d it go?” I asked. “Did she…appreciate your efforts?”
A huge grin broke out across his face. “Three times—once starting at that corner over there while we were just leaving here. Turns out these rental pants don’t have a pocket. She reached in and started the night off right. Good thing my coat was long and it was dark at Prom. Could have been real embarrassing.” He pulled the coat aside showing a huge stain on the front of his pants, a large splotch near the waistband. “Kleenex didn’t quite clean up my…err…mess. I told her that I was close….but she kept on going.” He smiled, remembering, “‘Course I wasn’t working real hard to stop her, either. At dinner, she came back from the bathroom and handed me her panties. So I was pretty much hard the rest of the night thinking about her without panties on. She kept feeling me up, too. Then, after the dance we went to the after prom party, then we went out for breakfast. On the way to breakfast, she reached over, unzipped my pants, took me out, and sucked while I drove. Then, after breakfast we parked, she pulled my pants down, her skirt up, and then climbed on. What a great night.”
Even at 25 I admired an 18 year-old’s ability to get going again and again. “First time that happened with her?” I asked.
“Yeah. It was awesome.”
I couldn’t believe he was telling me all this—suddenly we’re best friends? Then I decided he was 18 and had to tell someone. Suddenly he looked at me and said, “You won’t tell my parents, will you?”
“Of course not. None of their business.”
After that, Nick and I became closer. We’d chat if he were out mowing the lawn, or after he came home from practice. For some reason he always told me about his sexual experiences—at the lake, in the lake, on the 50-yard line. He finally confided in me that he really wanted to do it in a shower but couldn’t find one to use.
“Well,” I said, “you could use mine if you wanted. I’ll be out of town on Saturday afternoon, but will be back that night around 6:00. If you went before that….but you couldn’t tell anyone, either. If you get caught, you snuck in.”
“Dude, that would be awesome. I wonder if Katie will go for it.”
I showed him where the extra key was in the garage. Then added, “This will cost you a lawn mowing or something.”
“Small price to pay. Deal.”
I returned home that Saturday evening to discover my shower was wet on the inside and had obviously been used. Immediately I popped wood thinking about what had been done and who had done it in my shower. Right then, I noticed in the trash can not one but two used condoms. You can imagine my reaction.
I could hardly sleep that night…all I could think about was that sexy, virile boy next door, naked, having sex in my shower. I got up Sunday morning and was reading the paper when I heard a lawn mower. Nick was outside my house, shirtless, mowing my yard. I couldn’t help myself. I stood in the window and watched the show. It was a hot morning, and soon Nick was sweating, his body slick and shiny in the morning sun. He was wearing a pair of yellow basketball shorts that stuck to his upper ass like skin and then drooped away from his legs. His old tennis shoes and ankle socks completed his outfit. I wasn’t sure, but I think he knew I was watching. Still, I couldn’t tear my eyes off this Adonis in my yard. Suddenly, he was done and was walking up to the house. I had a raging hard-on so quickly poured a glass of water for him and sat down at the table. I waved him into the kitchen.
Seeing him up close was experiencing perfect masculinity. As I looked him up and down, I suddenly realized that he wasn’t wearing underwear—I could make out the shape of his cockhead in his shorts. It looked thick and meaty. Next, I caught a whiff of his odor. It was a perfectly masculine scent…a little musky…but a total turn-on. His slick chest was as defined as ever, and his nipples, in the cool air conditioned room, quickly got hard. The shorts were hanging so low that the “V” was almost totally exposed, and I was sure that if they went down an eighth-inch further, I would be able to see his pubes. I wanted to touch him, to taste him, to lick him, to drink him in. I marveled at him as he crossed the room. A true athlete, he walked mostly on his toes, his legs coiled springs, dusted with fine blonde hair…not too much at all. I wanted to rub his legs, his arms, his armpits, his chest, back, ass, cock. I wanted to give him a bath with my tongue, but would have settled for a quick grope. I knew none of this was to be.
“Did you like watching me mow?” he asked with a sly smile.
I stopped staring at his waist and looked him in his beautiful blue eyes.
“I…errr…enjoyed seeing my grass cut itself. How was the shower?”
“Fucking awesome. Thanks. I fucked her once up against the back wall, and the second time I was laying down and she straddled me. Any chance I can use it again?”
“Anytime you want.”
“Thanks. Dude, you are awesome.” As he said this, he rotated his right arm in a full circle and grimaced a little in pain. The flash of downy armpit hair as he did this was enough to reinforce my hard cock.
“What’s the matter? Your arm hurt?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Baseball pitching does that after a couple of months.”
“I took a couple of athletic training classes in college. Want me to work on it?” I said this hoping, praying he would say yes and not run away.
He was silent for a moment, seemed to weigh me up, and then said, “Sure. What can it hurt?”
I had him pull his chair up in front of mine and face away from me, straddling the chair, leaning forward over the chair back. I could then stand up without him seeing my boner. Tentatively, I touched his shoulder. His skin was softer and smoother than the finest silk I’d ever touched. Under the surface I could feel solid muscles, and could sense the strength within him. I went to work on his shoulder and arm, massaging all around and working it. After about 15 minutes (during which time I resisted over and over the urge to put my hand in his lap) I asked if it was better. He said it was a lot better and he thanked me for my help. “Anytime you want it, just stop over,” I replied.
He turned in his chair as I was sitting down, but I saw his eyes on my crotch. I was worried he’d seen my hard cock until I looked at his crotch and could tell he was fully hard, also. His eyes followed mine and he looked at his crotch, and then laughed nervously.
“No big deal,” I said. “Our secret.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I gotta go.” And he left. I couldn’t help stare at the mammoth tent pole holding his shorts out in front of him. I wanted it, but watched it turn away from me, his perfect looking ass swaying a little as he walked to, and out, the door.
I thought he was gone for good. I cried myself to sleep that night. Needless to say I was surprised when he knocked on my door the next night after practice. He wanted another massage.
This time, he came in and peeled off his shirt. I marveled again at his perfect physique: the smooth skin, the trickle of hair from his belly button into his pants. He swung his chair around and plunked down in it. I went to work on his shoulder and arm again, letting my hand drift this time into his armpit…the hair there was not too thick, but was softer than any hair I’d felt before on anyone. I let my fingers linger there a little, playing and went back to work, revisiting that area time and again. As I worked, he told me of his date the previous night, of the way he’d eaten Katie’s pussy, tickling it with the little patch of beard on his chin. He spoke with great detail of the sex they’d had and, in telling this tale, had an excuse for the raging hard-ons that we both had.
Graduation came and went; Nick learned that he’d been selected for our state’s all-star football game. Summer baseball took off, and Nick was over almost daily for a massage for his arm. I progressed in my touching of him to include the rest of his back, and reaching through his pits and over his shoulders to rub his pecs. His nipples were always hard. During every massage he told me tales of sex that he’d had, every massage we were both rock-hard. Because his sex stories were always about Katie, I figured that he was 100% straight. I didn’t want to lose the opportunities I had to touch him, to feel him, to caress him, so I never went too far. But I was about to explode.
One day, he came over, upset. He and Katie had broken up. Never had it been so difficult to act sad in my life. Inside I was crying out with joy. I’d really grown to like Nick a lot, and, hearing the sometimes reckless things that Katie did, I knew that she wasn’t the best thing for him. I wanted him to be more of a home body…and spend more time with me. This might happen now. Plus, a lack of sex can make an 18 year-old boy crazy.
Soon it was time for the big all-star football game. About a week before he left for the 2-week long team practice sessions, he asked if I could do him a favor. His parents were leaving from the game (which was played 2 hours away in the state capitol) and flying to some city for vacation. Nick didn’t want to go with them. He asked if I could bring him home, watch over him for a few days so his parents would relax and not make him go and he could stay home and play baseball. I readily agreed.
The day for the game came, and I saw Nick’s parents in the bleachers. They thanked me for helping out with their son. Nick played most of the game at cornerback, delivering some terrific hits. After the game, he came out, dressed in a tight polo shirt from Hollister, a pair of baggy cargo shorts, and his grey tennis shoes with ankle socks. His hair, still wet from the shower, was brushed into little clumps on his forehead. He’d never looked so incredibly sexy to me. And to think, we were going to be in a car together for 2 hours. Nick hugged his parents, and then came with me to my car. We set off. I asked if he was hungry, and he said he was. We stopped at a restaurant. Sitting in the booth, talking about the 2 weeks he’d had, I suddenly felt Nick’s lightly fuzzy leg on mine. We were both in shorts, and his leg felt hard and soft at the same time. I wasn’t about to move my leg, and realized that he wasn’t either. We ate dinner, our legs always touching. Sometimes he moved his a little, rubbing mine, but the contact was only broken when he went to the bathroom. When he returned, he put his leg on mine again. Needless to say I was full-hard the entire meal. After I paid, Nick looked me in the eye and asked, earnestly, “Are you hard right now?” This was our first talk of anything sexual since we’d gotten in the car, and it kind of took me by surprise. I looked at him, debated lying to him—decided against it.
“Yes,” I responded.
I felt his leg pull away from mine. “Me too,” he admitted quietly.
The car was filled with uncomfortable silence for most of the rest of the trip. As we were arriving in our town, Nick said that his entire body was starting to stiffen up from the game, from all the hits. I offered to give him a full-body rub down. He just looked at me. I added, “Nick, don’t worry about being hard. I won’t tell. It is a natural reaction when someone is touching you.” He still hesitated, and then said, “Ok.”
When we got home, we came into my house. Nick had really stiffened up by this time. I had Nick come into my bedroom, to use the bed. I told him to undress down to his boxers. He flinched as he began to take off his shirt, so I decided I’d help him. I slid my hands up his firm, smooth torso, and just had him raise his arms over his head. I could smell his Right Guard as I sniffed in his scent, nearly licking his hairless chest, running my fingers through his pits. Next, I knelt down in front of him, untied each shoe and slipped it off. I held his legs as I did this, my first time really touching them with my hands. The light blonde hair on his tan legs, thin and wispy, was so soft. No one had hair this soft. I loved the way his ankle socks form-fitted to his feet. I decided to leave them on for now. I was now in front of Nick’s crotch, still kneeling. I looked up at him, and he was trembling, an excited yet nervous smile on his face. I reached forward with my own trembling fingers and unbuckled his belt, then undid the button on his shorts. They were so baggy and loose that they dropped almost off his ass. I tugged gently on them, and he was in only his grey boxers and socks in front of me—his cock already half hard, and I could see it growing, moving, engorging inside the loose cotton fabric. I rubbed his legs, openly watching his cock’s show until he was fully hard, his boxers now in the shape of a tent. We both knew where we were going and neither wanted to stop.
I had him lie on his stomach on the bed. Using lotion for lubrication, I went to work first on known territory—his shoulders, arms and back, then went down his body to his legs. I loved that soft, soft hair there. I worked down the back of his legs, and the outside of his legs all the way to his feet. Then I came back up, concentrating on the inside of his legs. I pushed his legs a little further apart to give myself better access, looking at the mound that was his ass. I wanted to use it for a pillow. As I came back up his legs, I let my fingers slip into his boxers. I pushed them aside and saw his balls…large, lightly coated in his thin, blonde hair. I let my fingers explore a little more, and then brush his nuts. He gasped, but did not move. I kept massaging that area, brushing his sack again and again. He moaned, “yesss.”
“Nick, I think it is time to take off your boxers,” I said, my fingers lightly brushing his nuts.
He tensed up a little, “Why?”
“Because they are covering the largest muscle in your body, and you can’t really relax until I massage it.”
This was it. Either he agreed—and I would take things past the point of no return—or it was over.
The silence was deafening. Finally he said, “Ok.”
I began to pull his boxers down. “Wait,” he cried. “They’re….err….stuck.” He reached underneath himself and tugged on the waistband, pulling back from the boxers a little in the process—obviously unhooking his hard cock from the waistband. Then he relaxed. I pulled them the rest of the way off. I held them to my face, drank in his musky man-boy scent, felt his warmth, ran my fingers where his cock had just been, and found a quarter-sized wet spot. I touched that with my tongue, getting a first taste of his saltiness. I looked back at the mounds that were his ass.
If ever there was an ass that was perfect, it was in front of me now. It was the picture of a bubble butt, high, tight, firm, perky, pert. Smooth and hairless, it was round and beautiful. I reached out, put some lotion on it, and began to rub. I worked that ass, pushing the cheeks apart, discovering a thin layer of his wispy hair in his crack. His hole, pink and perfect, seemed to wink at me. I went to work on one cheek, then the other, letting my fingers spend time deep in his crack, brushing, rubbing, tickling. I finally held both cheeks apart, and let my finger rub his hole. He groaned.
“Are you glad you let me massage your ass?” I asked.
“Fuck yes,” he exhaled.
I began to work a finger into his ass.
“Oh fuck!” he cried out as I began to finger-bang him. “That feels awesome.”
I worked the finger around in his ass for a couple of minutes, then, gently smacking his ass, told him to turn over. He seemed nervous to do it.
“I know you’re rock hard, Nick. So am I. You seem to be enjoying the massage. Just turn over.”
He did. Let me just say here that his cock was, in a word, magnificent. It stood straight up toward his stomach a full 8 inches, capped by a mushroom crown. His legs, spread apart, allowed his balls to hang down, low and heavy. His cock was surrounded by a bush of his beautiful thin, hair. In this quantity, though, it looked light brown. I loved letting my eyes go up the trail to his belly button and back down again, all the mysteries of my fantasies now answered, and better than I ever imagined. “Wow,” I said admiring his perfect, masculine form.
Nick, seemingly embarrassed that I saw him fully hard and exposed like this, curled up into a ball and rolled away from me, (showing his ass to me again—not such a bad thing). “Nick,” I said, “you have nothing to be ashamed of. In fact,” I added, “you should be proud. Get back on your back, arms over your head.”
He looked over his shoulder at me, then rolled back onto his back and spread his body out again. “Relax,” I told him, “or the massage won’t work.” He relaxed, but his breathing showed he was still nervous.
I helped him lift his arms over his head and began massaging his forearms, then his biceps and triceps. I ran my fingers through his pits before I began to work his chest, rubbing it, and sliding my fingers down his body. I slid my fingers across his stomach and sides lightly, watched him twitch at my touch. My fingers, working his stomach, grazed his cock. He moaned and a glistening drop of pre-cum appeared on the tip of his cock. I worked my way down his legs, on the outside to his feet, pulled off his socks, and massaged his feet. I paused and looked at his beautiful, perfect nude body. His muscles, defined across his chest, down his arms and legs with their thin, wispy soft hair, his 6 pack with the “V,” his cock, at full attention, drooling precum on his sexy happy trail.
“My god, you’re beautiful.” I said, loud enough for him to hear.
He looked at me, swallowed and smiled. “Thanks—you’re not ugly yourself.”
I went back to work up the insides of his legs, finally arriving at his crotch, massaging under his balls and around the base of his cock where I found that his pubic hair, unlike most which is heavy and wiry, was softer than even the finest cashmere. I finished my massage with my thumbs hooked under his balls and my fingers around the base of his cock.
“That’s it,” I said, “unless you want something else...massaged.”
“You’re done?” he asked a hint of panic in his voice.
“Unless you want something else done.” I knew he would, the pool of precum under his dark red, mushroom shaped cockhead told me so. I just wanted him to ask.
“Could you massage my….my….err…my cock?”
“Of course.” I reached out and took hold of it with my hands, impressed at its 8 inch length, its girth such that I could hardly wrap my fingers around it, as well as its hardness. It was like holding a shaft of veiny, throbbing stone. I had only pumped it 6 or 8 times when he cried, “Oh god, I’m getting close!” He was that turned on. I stopped immediately. I wanted this to last for him, for me. I started again, slowly, cupping his balls, kissing the tip, tasting the salty goodness of his man-boy precum. Soon, I had his entire cock in my mouth, then came off it, and said some nonsense about using my tongue for the massage here. He laughed then said, “keep going.” I happily obliged. He kept telling me he was about to cum. Each time I stopped, teasing him, not allowing him to cum, not ready for the event. After the 4th time, he was begging me to let him finish. “I will…eventually. I promise,” I replied.
After the 7th, 8th and 9th times he was so desperate that I actually had to smack his hand away from his cock to foil his attempts to finish himself. “Please,” he cried, “I haven’t cum in 2 weeks! I’ve been living in a dorm with other guys and haven’t been able to. Please let me cum!”
I was not swayed by his begging—I was having way too much fun. I told him that for each time he reached down, it would be one more time before I would let him cum. Finally after about 12 times (or was it 13?) I kept going and he went over the edge. “Oh god yes! Oh fuck, fuck yes!” he cried, releasing spurt after spurt of teen-boy-jock-stud jizz. I let the first shot fly up across his chest, a few drops getting caught in his fuzzy beard. I then clamped my mouth over his cock, using my tongue and sucking every drop of boy milk out of him I could. I loved his taste, his scent his voice as it cried out, the way every muscle in his body was tense.
When the last drop came out of him, I licked around his cockhead, then let his cock drop out of my mouth. I watched his torso, heaving with his deep breaths, his arms and legs shaking with after-shocks. I licked up his trail of cum, found my way to his mouth. We kissed, his tongue probing my mouth, tasting himself.
After he calmed down he said, “That was the best ever. God I haven’t cum since before I went to camp two weeks ago. Although after that, I don’t think I’ve ever really cum before. That was awesome. Thanks for making me wait. That was the most mind-blowing orgasm I’ve ever had. Oh fuck, thank you.” He sighed. Then he got a twinkle in his eye, one that showed a naughty thought. “That massage was awesome. You really covered all the bases. I feel like I need to show you some….appreciation. Let’s get you out of your clothes. I feel silly being the only naked one.”
“If you do this to me, you’ll ruin your relaxed muscles. I’ll probably have to start all over again,” I said.
“That’s life,” he replied. “You gotta do what you gotta do. Then I’ll probably feel guilty and want to appreciate your efforts again. This could go on all night. This could go on until my parents get home.”
I looked at him, his beautiful, smiling face, so earnest, so eager so hopeful. I gazed lovingly into his eyes, took in every detail of his face: his long eyelashes, his fuzzy stubble along his jaw line, the 2 drops of cum caught in his beard. I smiled back at him. “Well, if it is going to take that long, we’d better get started.” I kicked off my shoes.
“Lay back,” he ordered, a dirty smile on his face, his cock already getting hard again.
