I watched as he made a grab for the soap. Maybe fearful? Yeah, nervous, standing there buck naked in the men’s showers next to me, Ricky Standon, the 180lb undefeated captain of the wrestling team. Blondie managed a thin smile through the spray, which had already doused his regulation crew cut and boy-next-door face. Gave his 5’ 7” frame a powerful, let’s see, Marine look. Could have packed on a few more pounds of muscle maybe, but what he had was in proportion. Up close the kid’s build didn’t look half bad.
He caught my glare as he stationed himself two nozzles down from mine. I was all soaped up when I saw the outline of a guy advancing through the mist. Yeah, it felt great with the hot spray playing on my naked body, easing the pain in my tired muscles.Ĭlouds of steam rose up giving the place an eerie, “unreal” feeling. Towel in hand I padded down the narrow corridor to the showers. Pretending to fumble in my locker some more, I took another glimpse at my own reflection…at my own butt…firm, hard, awesome! Blondie would have had a great eyeful of my hairy ass crack. Until then I hadn’t noticed just how much muscle I’d packed onto those glutes. Jesus Christ! Months of heavy-duty squats had sure paid off. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. I bent over to retrieve a towel from my locker. Reckon I heard him grunt when my discarded jock hit the tiles, leaving my thick cock and tangle of blond pubes fully exposed. Slowly, and like he wasn’t even there, I continued to shuck my gear. We were talking about Blondie, in his butt-huggin’ Calvins. Christ, was he ever pissed! But hey, think I cared? No way buddy! Squirts like Marty Schoenberg gotta know who’s boss.Īnyway, you’ve gone and gotten me distracted. ‘Course, that was the end of the match for Marty-boy. The kid’s shuddering kept up as his hard cock spat a volley of jizz into his pouch, staining the front of his wrestling singlet. He yelled an almighty “Gnnn”, shuddered, then let fly with a “Fuck you” under his breath. As soon as the coach was standin’ so’s he couldn’t see, I closed my fist around Marty’s balls and yanked ‘em down. Marty was goin’ ape and gruntin’ and groanin’ like crazy as he tried to break away. “Fuckin’ faggot”, I remember muttering, at the same time squeezing down hard on his crotch. And finding out about his boner just got me madder ‘n hell. Marty struggled like mad to keep me from pinnin’ him, but it was no use. Reaching through his legs for a pin my hand rubbed against his stiff pecker. There we were, halfway through the second fall, and already Marty Schoenberg’s dick was up hard. Hell no! Only last week I was wrestling one of the guys on the team.
#THREE MUSCULAR GAY MEN WRESTLING IN SINGLETS CRACKED#
Not the first time some cocksucker had cracked a boner on account of my muscle-ripped body. I could tell ‘cause his cock was swelling something mean under his briefs. Reaching down, I scratched at my balls like I had some kind of itch. I could feel Blondie’s eyes locked onto the lump of flesh cradled in the coarse webbing of my jock pouch. In a well-practiced maneuver I peeled my singled down over my crotch. Rising slowly from the trestle I half turned to face the kid. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet Blondie”, I smirked under my breath. The stocky blond in butt-huggin’ Calvins kept glancin’ over, sneakin’ looks at my gladiator-like physique. A couple of junior grade guys were loitering nearby. Right handy when you’re matched up against some real bad ass dude.īare back pressed against the tiles I shucked off my boots and clammy socks. As usual, I gave that “Don’t fuck with me” expression….my favorite. Caught my own reflection in the big mirror on the wall…jet-black hair kinda sweat-slicked into place, ‘cept for a few strands out front. Pretty soon I was hunkered down on a trestle, singlet straps danglin’ around my waist, soakin’ up that familiar locker room stench. Tell you buddy, I was just itchin’ to hit the showers. “Good going Ricky.” It was Mitch again, offerin’ more encouragement. ‘Til my sweaty singlet was damn near glued to my fuckin’ wrestler body. Worked ‘em ‘til a wall of sweat washed down over my abs. By the end of the session I’d worked my pecs to within an inch of their goddamn lives. “Lookin’ good buddy”, he enthused, as the over-stacked bar rattled noisily back into place.
Mitch, he’s my teammate, kept yelling out encouragement. After practice I put in two extra hours on the weights. This fuckin’ A-grade wrestler works out every day, and then some. And hey, ain’t no one here at Stockton Academy who comes even close to toppin’ my record…where it counts…on the mats.Ĭoach Anderson reckons I’m what he calls “Olympic material”. But hell, team captain two seasons in a row. Hard to hide when you're wrestling, as you all know. I didn't continue in high school b/c I started to find it impossible to control my erections.