Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.
Showers were my favorite part of practice. I couldn’t admit it to myself, but I liked being naked with my friends. Dicks and butts all around, and I just told myself it was peak male bonding. It was twenty minutes where nobody had to be self conscious about anything. It was a boys’ club. The hot water ran until the last athletic dick was clean, and I always stayed through the credits.
Ryder was never the first guy to leave. He was never in a hurry. He was so comfortable in his body that he made everyone else more at ease as well. He'd stand under the water with his eyes closed and just let it hit him, and I'd be a few shower heads down pretending I was doing the same thing, even if I couldn’t admit to myself that I really wasn't.
His shoulders were wide and his chest was flat. His stomach had density to it from doing the same brutal drills four days a week since we were freshmen, plus extra workouts on the side, and probably just a genetic predisposition to looking like an Adonis. On top of that, the dude was hung, noticeably so, even soft in the showers.
Sometimes I looked at him a beat too long, and he would turn his head and catch me. I always looked away fast. When I looked back he would be facing forward again, but smiling, just a small one at the corner of his mouth, and it would be gone by the time he reached for his towel. The way he smiled stuck with me. He knew something.
—[]—
One afternoon, practice had run late and the rest of the guys had cleared out fast, but I was still under the water, in no hurry, letting the heat work on my shoulders. It was just me and Ryder, who was across the shower room from me, facing the wall. I turned off my shower, and then I heard it, a quiet, rhythmic splashing sound from the far end of the row, and I looked over without thinking.
Ryder was facing partially away from me, at an angle toward the corner, two showers running over him from adjacent shower heads. His forehead was resting against the tile and one arm was braced against the wall and the other was moving in front of his waist, and it took me about one tenth of a second to understand what I was looking at. He was fully hard and jerking it, right in front of me. I could see the full length and girth of this thing. It looked like he was choking a pink salami while his muscular ass tensed tightly.
I stared with my mouth open, frozen. My stomach reacted first, and I almost felt like I was going to throw up. I must have blacked out for a second, because I don’t remember making a sound, but he suddenly spun around fast, facing me. His eyes went wide. He got both hands in front of himself and did a genuinely poor job of covering up the heavy boner jutting out of his body.
"Fuck," he said.
I turned my body slightly to the side, aware of my own downstairs blow flow developing in real time.
"I won't tell anyone," I said quickly.
He stared at me for a second. Then something in his face relaxed, and one corner of his mouth went up. "Stinky pinkie swear?"
The stinky pinkie swear was a team thing. None of us knew where it started. It predated all of us, some tradition passed down through rosters going back to the before times. When you needed to lock something in, really lock it in, you did it the right way. You cupped each other's balls, released, and hooked pinkies. It was stupid, but it was sacred.
He walked toward me. He reached out and cupped my balls, completely ignoring my own boner, looking at me with a hint of desperation in his eyes. He knew I would never break a stinky pinkie swear, no one on the team would.
I felt the warmth of his hand, and the odd electric jolt of it rising through my body. It wasn’t my first time being groped, since I had endured years of this ritual, but this was the first time I was unable to keep my face neutral. I felt myself tense up. He was close enough that his dick was almost touching my stomach, and water dripped off him onto my skin. I reached out and cupped him back, feeling the full weight of it in my palm, and neither of us said anything, and then we released each other and stuck out our pinkies and gripped properly.
He nodded once, almost solemnly. The ritual was complete.
We stood there for a second in the steam.
"Better hide that thing," he said, glancing down at me, finally acknowledging my own situation.
"Look who's talking," I said. "Mr. Python over here."
He laughed, and turned back to his showerhead. I faced forward and let the water do its job, relieved that I had survived that without anything weird happening.
—[]—
Ryder and I didn't really hang out off the field. We were friendly as teammates, but we didn't have the kind of history that made hanging out automatic. So when he fell into step beside me on the walk home that day, and said "You wanna come hang for a bit?" it was unusual enough that I noticed it. But I just said yeah. I didn't ask why.
His house was only like two blocks from school. He unlocked it and pushed the door open and I followed him in. It was warm inside, warmer than outside, and we were the only ones there.
He cleared his throat, and then suddenly he took off his shirt and undid his pants and stepped out of them right there near the entryway. He had gray boxer briefs underneath, and he left the clothes on the floor, grabbing a coke from the fridge and plopping down onto the couch, lying down on his side, pulling out his laptop. I grabbed a coke as well, assuming it was fine, and sat on the couch opposite him, pulling out my own laptop. We both had schoolwork to do, even if I was way ahead of schedule already. Maybe this is just how he wanted to “hang out”.
He didn't say much at first. At one point he grabbed the remote and put something on and lay there, like he was just tired after a four-hour practice, which made sense.
I tried to watch the TV a bit, and work on my school stuff, but I was very aware of him the whole time. It was hard to track what was actually happening on either screen.
We started talking, eventually. We talked about practice, about the upcoming weekend, about nothing really. Ryder had a way of getting people to chat and open up.
“What was with Anderson today?” he said.
“Yeah, dude is way off his game,” I replied. “He’s not gonna start next week.”
“I know,” he said, “Maybe you’ll be put on the starting lineup.”
“Nah,” I said, “Maybe next year, but there’s too much actual muscle on our squad. I’m B-team.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he said, “I bet there’s more to you than people realize.”
He smirked a little, and shifted his position, making his bulge jiggle just a little. I looked instinctively, and he could see me look, and just kept smirking. He knew something.
“We do have a lot of muscle among the starters though,” he said. “It’s a lot of man meat.”
“Seriously,” I said, “And you’re like half of it.”
“You talking about this?” he said, suddenly grabbing his bulge through his underwear and wiggling it at me.
“Yeah,” I said, laughing, “Of course. That’s what I meant.”
He kept wiggling it, silently. I looked at him, and his muscles, at his bulge.
"What," he said. Not a question, exactly.
I said something about wanting to see what the conditioning actually looked like up close. I blacked out for a second, and don't remember exactly how I said it, but I remember his face changing, less joking.
He was quiet for a second. Then he shrugged.
"Go ahead," he said. "Feel it if you want."
He went back to watching TV. Like that settled it.
I moved to the couch and sat down slowly.
“You want a massage?” I said with a gulp, unable to hide the nerves from my voice, trying to make it sound like I had a perfectly good reason to put my hands on him.
“Hell yeah,” he said, rolling onto his stomach.
I got up behind him, and he didn’t react as I slowly put my legs on either side of his thighs. My crotch had a few inches distance from his body as I started on his shoulders. His back was warm and the muscles under my hands had a dense, worked quality to them. I pressed in and he exhaled while scrolling through reels.
His body went a little looser under my hands, and I felt a rush as he groaned. He was still looking at his phone. I worked down from his shoulders to the middle of his back, working my thumbs in circles, and his breathing steadied out, and I felt him settle fully into the couch cushions.
I moved lower. Past where a massage usually stops. I paused as my hands went to his hips, and when he didn’t react, I dipped my thumbs into his waistband.
I held my thumbs there, just inside the elastic, feeling the warmth of his skin. He still didn't move. He didn't say anything. I pressed further, and my fingers reached in, spreading across the curve of his butt, squeezing the muscles, ostensibly massaging them, but really just feeling them, letting the rush rise up through my chest.
And he just kept scrolling his phone.
I pulled down the waistband of his boxer briefs, slowly peeling them off his body and revealing his form. It was an excitement I wasn’t even sure I was ready for, and he just lifted his hips and let me work them off of his ass, bringing them down to his knees.
I looked at him for a long moment, and he finally moved. He dropped his face down into his arms, letting his phone fall to the side. He was going to relax into what I chose to do here. The muscles of his back ran in distinct bands, all the way down. I felt a weird urge, and went for it. I dropped my face to his skin and licked his left butt cheek. When he still didn’t stop me, I ran my tongue up his back, a slow stripe tracing his spine.
Then I went lower. His skin was warm and tasted like the tail end of practice, even after showering. And I worked my way down to the base of him and kept going. When I pulled his ass open, I felt the heat coming off of his masculine, pink hole, and my tongue found what it was looking for, pressing small circles around the opening. He made a grumbling sound that started low and got lower, and his face shifted in his folded arms. I kept going, pushing my tongue deeper, and I took my time as I pressed in different angles. He groaned once, clear and unashamed, and shifted his body to press slightly back against me. I groaned back, and then it was like he caught himself, and went still again, like he was going to pretend that he hadn't reacted like that. I learned the game we were playing. He had to not react for some reason, just pretend it wasn’t happening.
I ate his ass for another several minutes, getting a second wind every time I thought my tongue was getting tired, before he suddenly shifted, turning his body over, and his big, hard meat hit me in the face with an audible smack, making me sit up for a second.
I don't know exactly when he made the decision, but one moment he was on his stomach with his ass in my face, and the next he was facing me in all his tumescent glory, and it only took me a second to register the fact before some invisible force pulled me down. The decision was easy and firm and certain, and I went with it easily.
A salty juice hit my tongue immediately, and he exhaled softly as I soaked in the taste of a dick in my mouth for the first time. It was better than I expected, a rush in my head. I think it was even better since I had never let myself fully fantasize about it, so the whole thing was a surreal thrill.
I registered the stretching of my lips and the weight of him on my tongue, the specific unfamiliar pressure of accommodating something I had only ever thought about in a way I never let myself finish thinking about. I breathed through my nose and adjusted and found the angle, trying to lick him like a popsicle while stroking the part that didn’t fit in my mouth. I started to move more aggressively, and above me he exhaled like he had been holding that breath for a very long time.
He put his arms across his stomach and held himself while I pleasured him. He made little vocalizations, like he might want to say something, but he wouldn’t let himself talk. He rubbed gently up and down his sides, even caressing his nipples a bit.
I reached my hands up to add to it, holding his thick meat in my mouth while I rubbed his abs, feeling them tense under my palms. He moved his hands to his sides, keeping his eyes closed, the strangest smile on his face as he gave me full reign. I reached for his nipples and twisted them a little bit, continuing to hold his pole in my mouth and vigorously licking high-suction circles around the head of his dick.
Suddenly it pulsed. I hadn’t even thought about the cum this whole time, but I followed my instincts and kept doing what I was doing as I felt a thick release hit the roof of my mouth. It mostly dripped down his shaft as I continued to gently pinch his nipples, his hands suddenly gripping the cushions on either side of him.
His hips pushed up once, and he froze, and I felt everything going on in his body, the pulse of his meat, the heat coming off of him, and I swallowed what I could. He just breathed as I nursed his dick until it was done spewing his seed.
When he finally let go I straightened up and wiped my face with the back of my hand. I was still fully dressed. I looked at him. He looked back at me, and there was something in his face, satisfaction mixed with uncertainty.
He pulled his boxer briefs back up.
"Just don't tell anyone about this," he said, and turned back toward the TV, his bubble butt basically back in my face.
A few seconds passed. Then he said, "Fuck I'm behind on homework."
I chuckled. “You want some help?”
“You helped me enough today,” he said with a small laugh, smirking back at me.
—[]—
He texted me the next day in the afternoon. It was a short message: Come over?
I went. I was nervous the whole walk over. I felt it in my chest, so much unresolved, so much uncertainty. I was wanting it and also dreading the possibility that I had just imagined what happened the day before, like the version of yesterday in my head was something completely different to him. When I got there, he text me to let myself in, and I didn’t know what to expect. I walked down his hall as casually as I could, and found him at his desk with his laptop open and a textbook open beside it and a yellow highlighter going. He barely looked up.
He said hey. He asked about practice, which he had missed. He complained about the paper that was due Friday.
I sat down. I pulled out my own laptop, to ostensibly do schoolwork, wondering why he had even asked me over, but I was too nervous to ask. I just waited. He kept grumbling about the paper he had to do.
It hit me like a lightning bolt. Oh, I thought, he needs help with the paper.
I reached into my bag and set my notebook on the table between us, open to all my notes from the assignment. I even had the outline of the general ideas. He could easily copy my thoughts and make his own paper without copying anything word for word. Hell, he could feed it into an AI and get a C paper at least. I looked at him. I didn’t even have to say anything.
He just nodded, like it was what he was expecting the whole time. He scooted back slightly in his chair. It took me two seconds to realize what the next step was. I got down on my knees and crawled under his desk. He pulled his chair back forward, grabbed my notebook and set it closer to his laptop, and got to work.
I wriggled down his pants, releasing his monster meat, and did the same.