Category Archives: Gridiron Yards

Twink on Top: The Male Cheerleader

Here is the beginning of Twink on Top: The Male Cheerleader, a hot new tale in the Twink on Top series!

Charlie was insulted when he found out the girls just assumed he wanted to suck off every football player on the team. It was an accurate guess on their part, but they had no reason to think that except a general stereotype of slutty gay men. So Charlie really wanted to decline the plan they had come up with.
He didn’t decline it, but he wanted them to think he might.
The cheerleading squad consisted of fourteen girls and Charlie. They were best friends, and the girls were almost as slutty as Charlie. That was half the reason he had joined the cheerleading squad. He figured he’d be surrounded by sexy straight guys all the time.
That prediction was proven correct, but it was less satisfactory than it seemed. At first Charlie was overjoyed to watch the cheerleaders take turns sucking off Malik, the quarterback, but soon it became old hat. He watched them take turns “reverse-gangbanging” every guy on the team, or almost every guy. Not every cheerleader participated, but most of them did. They thought it was hilarious; they tried to make it like those interracial gangbang porn, with lots of trash-talking and awkward-looking positions, but with lots of girls and one man.
One of the few players they didn’t think was sexy was Gaspack. He was a linebacker, and like most linebackers, he was huge.
He wasn’t fat, but he hardly had a perfect body either. He was one of those men who was too muscular to have a six-pack. His belly jutted out with the sheer power of his oversized frame. He had an ass that just didn’t quit — too plump to be a “bubble-butt” but plenty round and thick and inviting. Charlie just wanted to spend hours covering it in whipped cream and licking it off.
They called him Gaspack because he supposedly used to light his farts on fire back in high school. Charlie thought that was gross and nonsensical and kinda cute. Gaspack was goofy, with a big round face, a perpetually uncombed shock of thick black hair, and an awkward sprinkling of tufts of hair over his strapping chest.
At a giggley late-night drinking session on Saturday, Charlie and the girls had rated the members of the football team. The discrepancy over Gaspack’s ranking was tremendous — Charlie rated him rather highly, while the girls uniformly put him on the bottom of the list.
That was what had sparked the girls to come up with this plan, which Charlie had agreed to because it was hot even if he also found it insulting.
“Hey, so we’re having a sauna, Gaspack, and you can come in if you want…” said Suzie, the head cheerleader.
Gaspack’s eyes opened wide. Everyone else in the locker room fell silent. They usually did when one of the girls came in. Gaspack had never been invited into the sauna with the cheerleaders before.
He grinned like a goofy bastard, and he even did a little dance there in front of Suzie. That made his jockstrap bounce, and his pecs shake. Suzie squealed a little, disgusted because of his big caveman-like face leering at her. She blushed.

First-Time Jocks in the Campground

Here’s the beginning of First-Time Jocks in the Campground, a new story by Happiest Ending!

Wayne stomped away from the campsite feeling like a spoiled child. He was twenty-one, but he was acting like a brat. He knew that. He just couldn’t stop himself.

Sheila had gone, and everyone else was fucking. Balls slapped against pussies and asses, and men grunted while women moaned. Almost the entire GHU football team was here, and they had all brought a girl. Now Wayne was the only single one in the whole site. He couldn’t bear to stick around, that was why he left.

It would be too humiliating to simply walk around the campground alone. He couldn’t do that. He had hated going anywhere alone ever since coming to college — back in high school, he was the most popular kid around, the star football jock and all-American handsome stud, and he always teased the kids who ate lunch alone.

But nearly everyone on his college football team had been the most popular kid in their high school. Wayne wasn’t special anymore. He wasn’t even the star quarterback, just a backup. Everyone thought the kicker Ronaldo Tironi was the sexiest player on the team, and he wasn’t even American — he looked more like an underwear model than an athlete anyway, Wayne thought.

Ah, yeah, suck it, bitch…

Sheila had gone because Wayne called her a bitch. He didn’t say it in an insulting way. A lot of other guys said that when they fucked. It was just dirty-talk, he thought. Wayne had, admittedly, said it a bit early — she was just starting to suck his dick when he said it — and he hadn’t said it in a sufficiently light-hearted manner like the others.

So now his entire team was off fucking their girls, probably trading females without him. His dick could do nothing more than painfully wither to full limpitude. It was so unfair.

He had grabbed his shower stuff simply because he wanted his teammates to think he was walking away for a purpose, not because he was a loser whose girl had dumped him. Maybe, he thought, they’d think she was going to fuck around with him in the shower. He headed towards the showerhouse simply because he had nowhere else to go.

Since no one was in there, and Wayne had everything he needed, he thought he might as well take a shower. He was going to do it eventually, and he’d rather do it now, when no one was around, instead of later, when all the drunk rednecks and fat-ass bikers who camped here would be showering. Wayne showered with his teammates a lot, but he didn’t cotton to the idea of showering with a bunch of fat old strangers.

The showerhouse was empty, which was nice. Wayne was glad to see that there was even hot water. The showering area was open to the stars, like an inner courtyard surrounded on all four sides by a square shelter with toilets, sinks and a baby-changing station.

The shower didn’t relax him. Even with no one around, the bikers whooping drunkenly and the prospect of strangers coming in any time were nerve-wracking for Wayne. He showered quickly.

Then someone did enter. Wayne’s heart skipped a beat, picturing some massive biker with a big swinging dick advancing towards him like the climax of a prison movie.

But it was a small man, skinny, weak, not a biker at all. He had an idle grin on his face as he entered. He glanced at Wayne but didn’t say anything to him.

Wayne didn’t want to look weird, so he turned around. It looked like the small man was going to brush his teeth, and Wayne intended to look the other way until he was gone.

“Hi,” said the man, startling Wayne. He turned around to face him. The other man looked up at him. “I’m Holly.”

“Oh. I’m Wayne,” Wayne said. He had never met someone new when they were both naked. It was awkward. He couldn’t look down without seeing Holly’s cock and balls. He couldn’t bring himself to look in any direction — what was the etiquette in a campground showerhouse anyway? — so his head rigidly stared forward, above Holly’s head, at the wall behind him.

“You look horny, Wayne,” Holly said with a giggle. Wayne realized only then that he was gay — he had a lilting flamboyance that strongly suggested it — and became nervous. He thought he should cover his crotch but that seemed silly, since Holly had been looking at it for some time now.

“Oh.” Wayne bit his lip.

“I can help,” Holly said softly. He really did sound like a woman, Wayne thought. He had a light voice with a singsong note to it, and he carried himself like a girl. Holly reached for Wayne’s dick. Wayne watched his hand move as though in slow motion. He told himself to leave, or just to tell Holly to fuck off.

Too Thick for Girls: The Linebacker Lean

Here’s the beginning of Too Thick for Girls: The Linebacker Lean, the debut story by Trent Chaplain!

Gravy Mitchell tried not to feel self-conscious. He hung around on the bus. No one seemed to notice that he was alone. His teammates filed off, meeting up with the girls out in the parking lot. Even the bus driver had disappeared somewhere.

The GHU Wildcats were on their way to Jacksonville for a big game. The cheerleading squad was on their way too, and their van had stopped in the same motel parking lot where Gravy and his fellow Wildcats were staying.

And then they paired up. That happened sometimes. The cheerleaders brought their female friends, and they all picked a football player as they got off the bus. The cheerleaders giggled and laughed as they found a man, and they went into the rooms the school had rented for the players.

Gravy sat there on the bus alone. He didn’t bother to go out there. He couldn’t be humiliated like that again.

At one point, he had gotten big deliberately. Girls liked muscles, right? They liked athletes. They were into that, he was sure that had been true at one point. But it seemed there was a point of no return, and that point was either six and a half feet tall or three hundred pounds, give or take a bit.

Gravy wasn’t fat by any means. He was in good shape. He didn’t have a six-pack, no matter what he tried, he couldn’t get those kind of perfectly etched curves like the quarterback Sammy. He had a big barrel shaped chest, and he was approaching seven feet tall and four hundred and fifty pounds. At least he was pretty sure he had stopped growing. He hoped so.

He was already too big for girls.

As the parking lot emptied and Gravy could go to his room without being seen, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror at the front of the bus and he blanched. He really did look like an ogre, he thought.

He worked out constantly. That was his plan, while his teammates were fucking beautiful cheerleaders, probably double-teaming them, filling their tight holes with creamy seed, Gravy would just go work out. He was hungry — he was always hungry, eating more than eight thousand calories a day, and burning them all off — and he needed to work out or he would get antsy.

Last month, the cheerleaders had come into the locker room for a “blowjob-party”, which they said was a tradition. They each picked a guy, or sometimes more than one, and sucked him off.

Ew, not Gravy! Sorry! I can’t even reach his dick on my knees!

He’s too hairy! He’s got backhair… Gross…

He smells like my dad’s armpits, ohmygod…

They had giggled and whispered to each other. No one actually told Gravy that he had been rejected, he had to overhear and surmise it from the fact that no one started sucking him off. He was the only one who didn’t get a blowjob, even the weirdo German-Turkish kicker Abu landed the tubby cheerleader.

The last time Gravy did get laid, it was some fat chick who had made him stop partway through. His dick was too big and he “ain’t usin’ it right”. She said she’d give him a handjob, but then she just mashed it for a bit and passed out.

That was it.

Everyone assumed football players got laid a lot. The nerd who tutored Gravy in math made comments suggesting it, and Gravy was too embarrassed to correct him. Gravy might have considered lying, pretending he had a girl when he didn’t; he could have tried to save face that way. But in the most humiliating aspect of this whole problem, he didn’t need to lie. His teammates were so used to being golden gods who got girls every night that they never even really asked. They occasionally noticed that he had no girl hanging off him, but they always assumed there were girls right around the corner. It never occurred to them that Gravy didn’t get laid. The one time they heard about a girl turning him down for being too massive and having a painfully huge cock, they thought it was awesome; they assumed Gravy got other girls on other occasions; they congratulated him as though being turned down for sex was a sign of getting a lot of sex.

He walked along the side of the building. He could see one of his teammates through a window, taking off his clothes before pouncing on the beautiful cheerleader sprawled naked over the bed. All of them kept their windows at least partially open, seemingly an accident though Gravy suspected they wanted to make the hotel staff knock on the door. They wanted to brag that they fucked so good the hotel made them take a break. They’d never stop bragging if Coach Bagworth had to come tell them to keep it down.

Lowering his head to make it in the doorway, Gravy walked into his own room. It was plain, but fine. He dropped his duffel bag and scarfed down the chocolate on the pillow.

He didn’t want to go eat, then workout, because that was what he always did. The hotel staff would know that he was the only one not getting laid. His dick stirred because he had been thinking about sex, and his jockstrap was uncomfortably tight.

But that is what he did. He didn’t have anything else to do, so he went to the breakfast buffet (which was open until noon). He piled his plate high with pancakes and bacon. Then he sat down. He tried to make a face like a man who had just gotten laid, hoping maybe folks would think he was just powering up for the next phase.

Crumbs and pancake syrup dripped into his lap. He didn’t really fit in the narrow chair, his plump asscheeks spilling over the side. This wasn’t even a nice hotel and Gravy still felt out of place, like a hobo who had stumbled into a mansion. His hand was sticky, and when he ran his fingers through his tangled black hair, his hair got even greasier and nastier. He didn’t mean to do that. He sighed. He didn’t understand how his teammates managed to look more or less respectable. Jack Miller (a tight end) didn’t style his hair at all and somehow he always looked like Prince Charming. Deondre Wilson had a shaved head and a squat face like a pig that ran into a wall, Gravy never understood why girls thought he was handsome; he spent no time on his appearance either. It was different, he thought, for black guys. And Deondre had a six-pack.

Gravy belched, then blanched. That sounded louder than he thought. He hadn’t intended to be some gross ogreish jock belching like a monster, scaring away the civilians who vacationed here like the villain’s lackey in a college comedy movie. But every sound that came out of his giant throat was loud and attention-grabbing. Gravy couldn’t whisper; his voice was bone-rattlingly deep.

“Hi, sweetheart,” came a feminine voice from behind him.

Gravy turned around. For a moment, he thought it was a cheerleader willing to give him sloppy seconds. He could have tolerated that.

But it was a man. He worked here at the hotel, and his nametag said Trent. He sounded feminine because he was flamboyantly gay. He was tiny, at barely more than five feet tall, though he looked athletic and sinuous. He giggled as he looked up at Gravy’s face — even though Gravy sat and Trent stood, Trent had to look upwards to see his face.

“Hi.” Gravy grunted.

“You look like you need something. Would you like some more bacon, sir?”

Gravy nodded. Trent went and got him a big plate full of bacon. Gravy stuffed it in his mouth, eyeing Trent suspiciously. This, he thought, was not the kind of hotel where staff would bring him food from a buffet. Avoiding that staff expense was rather the whole point of a buffet.

“You’re here with that football team, right?”

Gravy nodded.

He smiled. “Normally, when a team bus pulls up, they all come running to the buffet right away. Where’s the rest of your team?”

Gravy shrugged.

“Not a big talker, huh?”

“Not really,” Gravy said, keeping his voice as low as possible. Of course he wasn’t able to avoid attracting attention. Folks at other tables glanced up, as though Gravy’s baritone made their glasses vibrate. Gravy blanched. In addition to having a freakishly, painfully deep voice, Gravy thought he simply sounded stupid — he sounded like a dumbie; people always assumed he was stupid because of his size anyway, and the dull chasm of his voice seemed to confirm it. Even when he said true things in class, people laughed as though he had embarrassed himself.

“That’s okay, you don’t need to talk. A big sexy guy like you…”

Gravy grunted.

Trent smiled. “What?”

Gravy just shook his head. “I’m too big to be sexy. I’m too thick for girls.”

Trent sighed dramatically. “Girls are such idiots. There’s no such thing as too thick.” He threw his hands in the air. “C’mon, let me show you.”

First-Time Jocks Get a Happy Ending: The Heftiest Football Players

Here’s the beginning of First-Time Jocks Get a Happy Ending: The Heftiest Football Players, a new story of masseur action by Happiest Ending!

Charlie giggled when he saw that bulge twitch beneath the towel. He kept it quiet though, so Hoss didn’t hear. Charlie tried to remain professional at work.

It wasn’t always easy. That cock tantalizingly throbbed under the towel. Charlie knew there was nothing else under there, no underwear or anything. He had seen Hoss strip it off behind the privacy curtain that was set up in this room. He was pretty confident that Hoss had a huge cock — with a name like Hoss, how could he not? Charlie really wanted to see it. He could already imagine its salty muskiness in his mouth.

“Okay, I’ve got to do your thighs now,” Charlie said. He moved up from Hoss’ ankles to his thighs, pushing the towel up when he did. He felt a few kinky pubic hairs at the uppermost portion, but he didn’t get a touch of Hoss’ cock or balls.

Hoss murmured to himself and shifted his weight. That made the towel ride up, then fall off him entirely.

His eyes opened wide. Hoss hadn’t wanted the gay man to see his cock. He knew that was stupid. He never used to be worried about that. It never bothered him back in college. They used to change in front of the gymnastics team all the time (“they” always meant Hoss’ former college teammates in his mind).

It was like the keys-thing, Hoss thought. He never took his keys out of his pants pocket growing up, and in college. He thought it was idiotic to do so. His friends were always doing that and losing their keys or forgetting them. They claimed it was uncomfortable to have heavy keys in their pocket, but Hoss thought that was idiotic namby-pamby nonsense.

And then he turned twenty-five, and all of sudden those keys (which hadn’t gotten any bigger or heavier) were too heavy. They were uncomfortable. Hoss now took his keys out of his pocket as soon as he came home, and as often as possible elsewhere. He had only forgotten them once, so he thought he was still doing pretty good.

Just like the keys, everyone thought it was weird that the football players had stripped in front of the gymnasts — in reality it wasn’t their choice really, the gymnastics team practice ended at the same time as the football team — and tried to get them aroused as a big joke. Hoss thought it was stupid to be self-conscious about it, just like it was stupid to take your keys out of your pocket.

But somehow, that had all changed. Those keys weighed his pocket down considerably, and the idea of this flamboyantly gay masseur looking at his cock made him uncomfortable. He was twenty-five now. Was it normal for twenty-five year olds to do this? Was he a wuss now, was that why the keys bothered him?

Back in college, Hoss thought it was hilarious when the gay gymnastics guys had lusted for him. He’d shake his ass in front of their face, get them to beg to lick his asshole, then tell them no. Since Hoss never had that perfect quarterback body — he was a linebacker, full of heft and mass and power, not six-packed abs and muscles carved in marble — he liked it when the gay guys had a crush on him. Hoss could get plenty of girls since he was a football star, but he could tell they really wanted the quarterback Brian. It was nice when the gay gymnasts really wanted him instead.

But Hoss had always said no. Brian always made sure that Hoss had a girl who would suck him off — he believed very strongly that overfull balls led to poor performance on the field. So Hoss just liked to get his ego stroked by teasing the gays.

Is my dick hard?

Hoss hadn’t noticed himself get hard. He blushed intensely. He had never been hard in front of a gay man before. Charlie kept massaging his thigh as though he didn’t notice, but the towel had fallen off and Hoss’ cock stuck straight up from his crotch.

“You’re a big boy,” Charlie said with a wry grin.

Hoss blushed. He hated that, he had a big round face that blushed a lot. Girls thought it was cute, but cute like their little brother was cute (“little” but more than three hundred and fifty pounds of hulking linebacker meat). That wasn’t the kind of cute that Hoss wanted.

I shouldn’t have thought about girls. Hoss couldn’t stop picturing his most recent girlfriend. How long ago was that? A year? Has it really been a year?

It was a lot more difficult to get girls now. It was embarrassingly difficult. He knew that Brian used to tell cheerleaders to get with him. Brian always minimized it though, or maybe the cheerleaders were sluttier than Hoss had thought — Hoss thought that Brian had merely given him a chance, told the girls to come talk to him, to let Hoss try to hook up. Some of them did say no, it wasn’t like they were forced.

But somehow, as soon as Hoss left college with a useless degree in Communications, and Brian was no longer a part of his life, the girls dried up. College girls thought it was cute to hook up with a massive beast nearly seven feet tall. Post-college girls thought it was hot to hook up with bankers and businessmen and computer geeks.

Stop thinking about girls or that erection will never go away.

“Are you okay, Hoss?” Charlie asked. His voice was soft and lilting, almost feminine. His hand was very near Hoss’ cock.

“Yes.” Hoss’ voice was deep, bone-rattlingly baritone. He thought he sounded weak though, like it was obvious he was so horny he could burst.

“Are you single?”

Hoss’ voice broke. “Yeah.” He winced and blushed; he thought he sounded like a loser.

“No girlfriend, that’s too bad,” Charlie said. His hands moved up even higher, and his wrist touched Hoss’ thick cockshaft.

Hoss grunted. “Yeah.”

“You’re a real big boy, I bet you need a woman’s touch, don’t you?”

Hoss nodded. His eyes were closed. “Yeah.” His voice was breathless and hoarse.

Ebony Jocks at the City Barbershop

Here’s a sample from the beginning of Ebony Jocks at the City Barbershop, a brand-new story of hot gay ebony urban fiction! It’s also part of the Gridiron Yards series of hardcore gay erotica about football jocks!

Willie could tell that the beefy young man waiting for a haircut wanted something more than a haircut. He had a feeling he knew what it was. But there was something alluring about a straight guy who was nervous about sex, so Willie didn’t hurry.

When another one of the barbers — Jameson — finished and offered his chair to the beefy young man, he shook his head and pointed to Willie as though it was a secret that he was waiting for him. Willie stuck his ass in the air and waved it around as he finished with the hair of the elderly man in his chair now.

The beefy young man tapped his feet. He was trying to look nonchalant, bobbing his head to the beat of the song on the radio. He pretended to be participating in the conversation Jameson was having with the third barber, Hardy.

But it was obvious he was bursting at the seams with anticipation. When Willie finally finished taking the money from the old man, the young buck leapt to his feet. He cleared his throat in a way that he surely hoped was not attention-grabbing but ended up making everyone else in the room look at him.

“Hey, uh… hi.”

“Hi! What’ll it be?” Willie smiled and giggled. He was the only gay man in the barbershop, so he was used to being the center of attention — he was the feminine element. This young beefy guy was clearly here hoping to get Willie to suck him off. That was not rare. But Willie liked to make his straight bait work for it.

“Uh… A special. A special haircut.” He spoke softly, which again drew much more attention than he had intended.

“Yo, Willie, just do it, man, quit torturin’ him,” Jameson said with a snicker.

“Do what, Jameson?” Willie asked with mock insouciance. He paused to take a long sip from the bottle of water on his counter.

Jameson rolled his eyes. He turned to the young man. “What’s yo’ name, nigga?”

“Lake.”

“Okay, Lake, this is Willie. Willie, this is Lake. Willie, it is obvious to everyone that Lake wants you to suck his dick but is too shy to ask. Lake, it is obvious to everyone but you that Willie wants to suck your dick and likes to tease you-“

“Shut up, Jameson, come on, I don’t go out to the nightclubs and tell fat chicks you don’t eat pussy worth a damn,” Willie said. He pushed Jameson away. Everyone else in the barbershop erupted in howls of laughter. Jameson just rolled his eyes, while the beefy college-age kid, Lake, looked so nervous he was going to faint.

“I never had no complaints!” Jameson said as he walked away. He continued to discuss eating pussy loudly with the other straight men, all of whom boasted so loud that Willie and Lake had to raise their voices to be heard.

“So… Lake… that’s a cute name,” Willie said.

“Oh. Thanks. My mom came up with it.”

“Were you conceived at a lake?”

Lake’s eyes opened wide. “I-I-I don’t… I don’t know.”

Willie giggled. “Haven’t you ever asked why she named you that?”

He shook his head. “I think she just likes it.”

“So do you really want a blowjob?”

“Uh…” He had a very serious look on his face. He raised his voice to be heard but tried to whisper at the same time. “I don’t know if that’s… I was told I should ‘fuck you’.” He made little scare quotes. “But uh… Khalad ain’t elaborate, that’s all he said. I dunno if a blowjob is all that, y’know… They need.”

“Who? What?”

“Uh…” He sighed and glanced over at Jameson and them, who were laughing uproariously.

“Let’s go in the back,” Willie said. He took hold of Lake’s belt and held onto that. Lake leaned back as he walked, like he didn’t want to get any closer to Willie than he had to. Willie guided him by the belt to the backroom.

The others started making rude porno noises. Someone moaned oh, give it to me, Willie, stick it in me! Thanks for making me bottom! Lake bristled a bit as though he wanted to assert his dominance, but he was too nervous in this situation.

Once they were safely in the backroom, Lake breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry, man, I don’t know how to do this. I know how to hit on girls, you know, not-”

“You can treat me like that.”

He stepped forward and for a moment it looked like he was going to sweep Willie into his arms and kiss him. Then he shook his head. “I don’t think I can do that. Man… What if I can’t?”

“What is going on?”

“I’m on the football team at GHU, and the seniors said everyone on the team has to fuck a gay guy. It proves your masculinity or something. You were on the list.”

“I’m flattered,” Willie said. He made it seem like he didn’t know about the list, but in fact, he had asked to be on it.

“But all Khalad said was ‘fuck a gay guy’, or something, I don’t know, they ain’t say if it’s gotta be anal or not-“

“Relax, Lake, it’s okay, quit whining. You know you don’t have to do it, right?”

“They said the freshmen have to do it, no matter what.”

“How are they going to check? I’m not going to give them a list of the guys I sucked off, Lake. I promise I’ll tell them you did it, okay?” Willie paused. “But yeah, if it said you have to fuck, that implies anal.”

“Man…”

“Do you want to do it?”

“Kinda…” He bit his lip and looked down. “I’m not into guys.”

“You’re just horny?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s harder to get laid at college than I thought.”

He leaned back in Pete’s office chair. Pete would have hated that, which made Willie giggle — the owner, Pete, hated it when people sat in his chair. Willie got on his knees and fished Lake’s cock out of his pants.

Lake stiffened up and grunted. He closed his eyes when Willie’s tongue hit his cocktip, which stiffened up in Willie’s mouth. Lake was a healthy young athlete so his cock perked right up into a full erection almost right away. Willie liked that — sometimes the straight guys he serviced treated his blowjobs like a chore they had to struggle to complete, even when they initiated it.

Willie let his fingers roam up Lake’s body. Lake hadn’t taken off his jersey, so Willie had to sneak underneath it to touch his muscles, which were firm and stiff. Lake was tense. Willie could feel his anxiety roiling beneath his flesh, his worry that he was going to become gay or look gay or be perceived as gay or even just feel gay later. It made Willie giggle again.

“Have you ever fucked a girl in the ass?” Willie asked as he thwacked Lake’s cock all over his face.

“I’m not a virgin,” Lake said. “But no, I never got a girl to give up the booty — man, don’t tell no one. If they ask you about it, tell them I was an expert, that I fucked a lot of girls in the ass, okay? I don’t know how to do it.” He sniffled a little. Was he about to cry from tension? It almost looked like it.

“Lake, Lake, relax, nigga, chill out. I don’t like to tell people about everything I do, okay? I’m not gonna spread stuff about you. I promise they’re not even gonna ask, okay? They don’t care. They’re just teasing you.”

“What?”

“They always tell freshmen weird shit like that because they wanna see what you’ll do,” Willie said. He turned and backed his ass up towards Lake’s cock. Lake kept his eyes closed, even as he listened attentively to Willie’s words. “Last year the seniors told the basketball freshmen they all had to cum on my face at the same time or they’d never make a three-pointer all season. That wasn’t a real superstition, they just wanted to make them do it and make fun of them for it when they finally did it after a bunch of tries-“

“You let them do it?”

“Is that a joke? Of course I let the basketball team bukkake me. I made it as tough as possible so they’d have to keep trying to cum simultaneously, over and over again” Willie said. He grimaced as he backed his ass onto Lake’s cock. There was a twinge of pain, but Willie was well-lubed and ready to go. He held his breath as that massive cock slid into his ass.

“I can guess why you never talked a girl into givin’ up the ass. You got some hefty meat, nigga,” Willie said with a laugh. The laughter made his back shake, which in turn caused a bolt of pain.

“Oh, sorry, does that hurt?”

“Yes, and don’t apologize,” Willie said. He leaned back and stroked Lake’s muscles beneath his football jersey. Struggling with the intense feelings in his ass, Willie lifted the football jersey off Lake’s body. That gave him easy access to nuzzle Lake’s barrel chest.

“Is that… I mean… do straight guys normally let you suck their chest? That’s weird,” Lake said.

“You can tell me to stop,” Willie said softly. “But most guys don’t mind. You have a great chest. Girls must love you.”

He shrugged. “I got a girl,” he said. He groaned and exhaled sharply. His cock twitched in Willie’s ass.

“You have a girl?”

He nodded. He opened his mouth to say something — probably her name — but then he just moaned and grunted. Willie kissed him on the neck, stretching to reach it because Willie was so much shorter than Lake.

“She doesn’t do anal?”

Lake chuckled. “Nah. She say she don’t do that. She say only sluts do that.”

“You poor baby… Does she suck your dick at least?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“I know what that means,” Willie said. “Well anytime she leaves you hanging, you can come see me, big guy. I’ll take care of you.” Willie bit his lip. “Are you going to tell her about this?”

“Hell no,” he said. It sounded like he was having trouble talking now, unable to concentrate as he approached his orgasm. He even very briefly kissed Willie’s earlobe before shuddered at the realization was sort-of making out with a gay man. A tortured cry escaped from his throat.

And then cum flew into Willie’s ass, coating his prostate in creamy warmth. Willie moaned as well, and the pressure inside his ass was enough to send him over the edge too. He shot a big wad that sprayed over his chest and belly, filling the air in Pete’s office with the cottony scent of cum.

“Ah, damn…” Lake said. He shuddered. When Willie started to pull off his dick, Lake grunted and spasmed, his whole body shaking.

Then his dick at last plopped out. Lake looked down at it, his muscles utterly relaxed — he had gone from tense and firm as a statue to a limp pile of brown muscles in just a few minutes. Willie licked some of the sweat off Lake’s chest and biceps.

“What the fuck?! Willie! Willie, you piece of shit!” Pete’s voice rang out. He barged into his own office. “You! Whoever you are, nigga, get your bare ass outta my chair! I oughtta kick your ass!”

Lake was scared of getting in trouble, even though Pete had no authority over him. All Pete could do was kick Lake out of the barbershop. He could, in theory, have fired Willie.

But Willie knew that wouldn’t happen. Every City Barbershop had a gay guy; it was virtually in the corporate handbook. Willie’s blowjobs kept the sexy straight studs coming in, and they made the place popular enough and hip enough to bring in everyone else. Pete wouldn’t fire Willie to replace him with a different gay guy (who would almost certainly continue sucking guys off in Pete’s chair anyway).

So Willie teased him, rubbing and caressing Lake’s muscles as Lake hurried to put his clothes back on and Pete screamed at him to hurry up. Willie dove his face between Lake’s big quarterback asscheeks while Lake tried to pull his pants up. Willie giggled as Pete roared in frustration and dragged Lake out the best he could — it was tough because Lake’s pants were around his ankles and because Lake was a huge athlete twice Pete’s middle-aged size.

Eventually, however, that left Willie there alone to giggle and wait for Pete to return to his office.

“I ain’t talkin’ to you, nigga.”

“You don’t gotta talk,” Willie said. “You want a blowjob?”

“Just go cut someone’s hair!”

The Quarterback Sees a Masseur

Here’s a sample from the beginning of The Quarterback Sees a Masseur, about a college jock getting a “happy ending” from a masseuse who turns out to be a taciturn indigenous masseur instead! It’s part of The Native American Masseur series!

 

Nathan excitedly walked into the spa, laughing with his buddies to hide how nervous he was. He felt out-of-place because of his clothes — he had only packed workout clothes, his jersey and the suit Coach made them wear on the bus from Nome. So he wore the suit, minus the jacket and tie, just a button-down shirt and slacks. It wasn’t what anyone else wore to the only spa in Anchorage.

The game was tomorrow. The state football championship match promised to be a close one, and it was all anyone on the local radio talked about. Nathan was nervous about it. As the quarterback on his college team, Nathan was held responsible for the entire team’s performance. It wasn’t fair — he wasn’t even the team’s official captain, that was Roger.

Nathan and the other players all stopped short when they walked into the spa. Nathan was nervous. Why be nervous? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he felt tremendously out-of-place. This was a sumptuously decorated spa for new age types; there were crystal skulls, something labeled an “aromatherapy alcove” and pretty women in kimonos walking around.

This was not like any part of Anchorage Nathan had ever seen. He grew up in Texas, and had gotten a scholarship to the University of Northern Alaska. Everyone in his hometown thought it was a joke; it was precisely the kind of joke Nathan might have made. But it wasn’t a joke. Nathan was good, just not good enough to get a scholarship to a major school.

But he still loved the sport of football, and he was proud of himself for taking the team to the state championships. Now they had spent a whole day on a rickety bus coming to Anchorage, and everyone was sore, exhausted and too drained to even think about getting pumped up for tomorrow.

So that was why Coach Alupi sent them to the spa to get a massage, to get them in tiptop shape for the game. He even paid for it out of his own pocket.

“Hello, boys, you must be the UNA Bears?” asked one of the Japanese women.

“Yes, ma’am,” Nathan said. He blushed a little at his Texan accent, which had never really seemed all that thick until he moved to Fairbanks, Alaska, where he sounded like a movie caricature of a hillbilly, at least in his own mind.

All of the women who worked here were young, pretty Japanese women. Nathan wondered if Roger had been right — Roger was a linebacker, team captain and the one who had been joking for the entire ride to the spa about how he was going to fuck his masseuse. “Coach wouldn’t have sent us here for a massage. Coach Walton gives massages. I bet this place gives happy endings. If the masseuses are Asian, that’s it, that’s proof. They’ll give you a handjob for free after the massage. They don’t even think of it as sex in Asia, it’s just massaging your dick. Coach Alupi probly-“

“Shut up, Roger, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Coach Walton couldn’t give us each a massage. It would take like all night and all day tomorrow,” Nathan had said. Coach Walton was one of the assistant coaches, and it was he who usually massaged any player who needed it before a game.

But Roger insisted, and the rest of the team had remained noncommittal. At the time, Nathan thought Roger was just talking trash; he always claimed to have girls begging for his cock, but Nathan knew it was all nonsense.

Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. These Japanese women were beautiful. There weren’t even hardly any Asians in Alaska, he thought, these must be a large portion of the city’s Asian population. He nervously smiled at them.

“Your coach called us boys, he said you each need a full massage from a licensed masseuse,” she said. Her accent was mild, but noticeable. She pursed her lips and smiled. “That means you’ll have to take turns, we only have a dozen licensed masseuses. Could I interest any of you in a chemical peel while you wait? It helps your skin-“

You could interest me in somethin’, but not that…

How will this massage be ending, miss? Happily?

The team laughed. No one really listened to the woman, who blushed and scurried away after finishing her upselling spiel. Nathan felt bad about his teammates’ rudeness, but there was little he could do — since he was new, and he wasn’t Alaskan, the team by and large didn’t care what he thought about anything.

I’m so horny I might blow my load even if she don’t give a happy ending.

Then the masseuses started. They came one by one from a doorway leading to the spa area in the back, and they each took a player by the hand. First it was Roger, the team captain, a burly roughneck’s son with colorful tattoos covering his broad shoulders. He smiled a dimpled grin at the Japanese woman who led him away, then made a masturbation gesture with one hand, making the rest of the team laugh along with him. The Japanese woman blushed as though not sure if the team laughed at her or not, and disappeared with him in the next room.

The next masseuse was another beautiful Japanese woman, this one a little older, but with delicate features and a soft touch. She caressed Tulimaq’s arm, smiling at his nervous shudder, as she led him away. Then came a trio of masseuses, who each led a player away.

That meant Nathan would be next, since they were simply grabbing the player nearest the door, and Nathan was now closest. He now had a sinking suspicion that Roger had been right — this looked rather brothel-y, now that he thought about it, and these women had a flirtatious look as they came into the room to gather up their player.

Then the door opened. The person who came out was a man, a tall, broad-shouldered man with long, straight black hair. He had the gruff, angular face of an Indian, and he was short but squat, strong, looking like an oil rig worker who had gotten lost.

A few people tittered, and Nathan felt the entire team watch him. Someone mumbled something low about Nathan turning gay, and Nathan blushed.

For a moment, Nathan’s heart sank. Did he have such terrible luck that he got the one masseuse here who was not a sexy young Japanese woman? No, he decided, this man must be a customer on his way out.

But then the Indian man stopped in front of Nathan and raised his eyebrows. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Patuk, I’m going to be your masseur today.”

Nathan’s heart thumped. The team oohed as though he was getting in trouble. Nathan stood and blushed. Would it be weird to decline? Would it come across as racist? Would it look like he was a pervert who had just come here to ogle the pert young Japanese flesh? Was this a prank the rest of the team had put together?

But Patuk had such an authoritarian vibe that when he turned to leave, Nathan instinctually followed. Patuk’s broad shoulder muscles rippled beneath his plain white t-shirt.

Beyond the door — the hoots and laughter of his team fading into the background — Nathan followed Patuk down a long hallway. He saw his teammates getting massages in small rooms as they passed. This place no longer looked brothely, he thought. There were posters outlining the major muscle groups. Another poster advertised free mammograms. There was a portly white man giving a massage in one room.

Nathan was both gladdened and disappointed to learn there would be no “happy ending”. He would have been nervous if he thought it was genuinely going to happen, but he was still disappointed that it wasn’t; of course, he was overjoyed this rough Indian masseur wouldn’t be doing it.

They stopped at a massage room, and Nathan walked in. It was warm and smelled of incense. This was definitely Patuk’s assigned room, Nathan decided, as it was clearly Indian — there was Inuit symbolism all over the place, a distinctive quilt folded up on a chair on one corner, a crudely carved statue of a polar bear, and a beautiful painting of a stone inuksuk towering over a coastal scene.

“Take off your clothes and lay on your belly on the table,” Patuk said. His voice lacked all the grace and delicacy of the Japanese woman out front. He wasn’t even looking at Nathan; he just shut the door (which Nathan wished he hadn’t done, none of the other rooms were shut) and lit a pile of braided branches. Then he put out the flame so the embers continued to fume, filling the room with the scent of sweetgrass.

Now Nathan was getting very nervous. Coach wanted them to do this to be relaxed before the game, but it was having the opposite effect. The stiffness in his neck now seemed like a very minor problem.

“Take off your clothes,” barked Patuk, who glared at Nathan. Then he added, “Sir.”

Nathan had always been an obedient boy. That was just how he was raised back in Texas, and as an athlete, he was used to being naked in front of strangers in the locker room. So he quickly took off the button-down shirt and pants, then got on the table. He still wore his underwear, hoping that Patuk didn’t expect him to be fully naked.

Respecting Coach Browne

Here’s a sample from Respecting Coach Browne, a new tale from the All-Strong League! This is hot black dilf-coach on college-jock action!

 

“You better be sorry, boy,” Coach Browne said. “One!”

Jamal hesitated, then did a pushup. Once he got started, he kept on doing them, grunting with each ascension.

“Two. Three. Four.” Coach Browne counted and placed one hand on Jamal’s ass to guide his lower back and keep him from arching his spine. “Five. You know what grade you getting in Fundamentals of Team Sports?”

“You give grades for that?”

“Hell yeah. And if you come to class and you remember to bring your jockstrap most of the time, you get an A,” Coach Browne said. “Six. Seven.”

“That’s like twenty. You ain’t even countin’!”

“You shut that fool mouth, boy,” he said. The more he interacted with Jamal today, the less he wanted to give him a break. One of the linebackers — Harvey — was a good thrower and had been a quarterback in high school; if push came to shove, he’d be a fine quarterback.

But Coach Browne didn’t want Harvey to be the quarterback. He would never have admitted why: because Harvey was white, and not just white, but a blond Nordic-type. He looked like a quarterback. Coach Browne didn’t want to make the only blond man on the team the quarterback. He had written a letter to ESPN last year, and got it read on-air, complaining about teams that seemed to have a rule of only putting white people in the quarterback position. It would look terrible for him to now take one of the few white men on the team and make him a quarterback.

“Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen,” he said. He was deliberately only counting every other push-up or so. He didn’t want to let Jamal finish this without a struggle.

Jamal scowled at him. He must be having trouble now, Coach Browne thought, because his arms shook and sweat beaded on his shoulders.

It looked like Jamal was about to snap when suddenly his cell phone rang in the pants he had crumpled up on the floor nearby. Jamal got up, went over to the pants and took the phone out. He smiled when he saw who was calling — it must be that redhead, Coach Browne decided.

“If you answer that, you get an F for my class.”

Jamal stopped, phone in hand. He looked at Coach Browne as though there was a chance he was kidding. Coach crossed his arms over his chest.

“You serious?”

“You are gonna show some respect, Jamal,” Coach Browne said. “That means you gotta occasionally tell a girl no. Or in this case, not tell her nothin’. Just don’t answer it. You got somethin’ more important to do, Jamal. Or maybe you don’t. I guess that’s your choice. You can walk out that door anytime, or you can get on the floor and do thirty-six more push-ups.”

Jamal took a deep breath. He looked like he wanted to punch Coach Browne, but he didn’t. He glanced at the phone screen then put it back in his pocket. He got on the ground again and did a push-up; he moved angrily now, like he could punish Coach Browne by doing push-ups quickly.

“Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen,” Coach Browne said. “Keep yo’ back straight, Jamal, I ain’t countin’ these.” He put his hand back on Jamal’s lower back until he straightened his spine. “Good. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.”

He didn’t even think about what happened next. Coach Browne acted on instinct, as he saw Jamal arching his back again. He must be frustrated and having trouble focusing, no doubt thinking of that redhead pussy, so Coach Browne thought back to how his own coach got his attention when necessary.

He slipped one hand under Jamal’s boxers, slipped a finger between his sweaty asscheeks and plunged it right into his asshole. It was hot and moist and hairy, and it was both gross to Coach Browne as well as strangely arousing. Jamal’s asshole squeezed around Coach’s finger.

“Aw, fuck!” Jamal gasped. He stopped mid-push, and his shoulders trembled nervously. He bit his lip.

“Don’t stop, boy.”

He did another push-up, slowly and tremulously, as though if he moved too fast his asshole might shatter completely. When he lifted himself back up, it forced Coach Browne’s finger in even deeper, which made Jamal shudder with pain.

“Twenty-one,” he said.

“Coach…” He winced.

“You takin’ a long time to do fifty push-ups, boy,” Coach Browne said. He wiggled his finger in Jamal’s ass, making the young man yelp and drop to his elbows and knees. “Get back up, Jamal. Do I got yo’ attention now?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“You wanna walk out that door?”

Jamal bit his lip. “Kinda.”

“Well, go right ahead,” Coach Browne said. “But if you wanna be on this team, and if you wanna get a passing grade in Fundamentals of Team Sports, you stay right there and show me a little respect.”

Jamal struggled through another push-up.

A Texas College Football Jock Will Do Anything for Luck Before a Game

Here’s a sample from the beginning of A Texas College Football Jock Will Do Anything for Luck Before a Game, a hot transgender str8core alpha male servicing story from the All-Strong League!

 

“Do you wanna go upstairs with me?” asked the football player. He was young, a freshman, probably, with a baby’s face and a very adult man’s body. He was blond and broad-shouldered like some Norse god. He looked optimistic that she would say yes.

“Before I answer your question, sweetheart,” Tamsin said, leaning in to very nearly kiss him. She could smell his nervous sweat beneath the mountain of cheap cologne he wore. She whispered so only he could hear. “I’m not biologically female. I have a penis, and these tits are plastic.”

He frowned, first in confusion, then dismay — he looked briefly hopeful when his buddies, the rest of his college football team, burst into laughter — he thought maybe they laughed because she was joking. He laughed with them as though he was in on the joke.

But when he raised his eyebrows at her, Tamsin took his hand and guided it to his crotch. As soon as his fingers touched her dick, tucked between her legs, he blanched and pulled away.

“Oh, hey, y’all, she got a dick, man!” he shouted. He repeated himself, more emphatically as though this was entirely unprecedented, and he jogged back over to his teammates. He sounded like a native Texan, she thought. Tamsin wished she didn’t love Texan men so much; she felt like she’d be much happier in general — though less sexually fulfilled — if she moved somewhere people like her were more tolerated. But she couldn’t bring herself to move away from Texan redneck alpha males like those football players, who were now chugging beer and organizing an arm-wrestling competition.

Tamsin sighed and sat back down with her plastic cup of beer. She was at a house party near the college campus, which was where spent a lot of her Saturday nights these days. She loved sexy young macho jocks and frat boys, and usually she could find a couple who didn’t mind that she wasn’t biologically female.

As usual, the football players had dared someone to hit on her. They thought it was hilarious, clapping that freshman on the back as he blushed. He still seemed to think it was a mistake, that the seniors hadn’t known Tamsin had a penis.

His name was Danny, she gathered from their boisterous chatter, and he was a second-string quarterback. He was burly and broad-shouldered, blond, with a deep southern accent that showed off his Texan roots. She loved that accent so much she could masturbate just listening to him talk.

Do it, Danny, do it! Do it, Danny, do it!

They were all chanting now, stomping their feet in rhythm with the words. The entire house party was chanting even though only a dozen or so football players clustered in one corner were involved. The rest were quite a bit drunker and were just joining in for the fun.

Blushing so hard his round face looked like a cranberry, and rearranging the tattered green tractor cap he wore, he reapproached Tamsin. He stammered, “Uh, miss… Or sir, or whatever… I mean…”

“Go on, Danny. It’s okay. You should call me Miss Tamsin,” she said. She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. He wore his football jersey, so she could feel his broad muscles through the gauzy fabric. He was number 72, and his last name Carroll, according to the jersey. He shuddered nervously.

“It’s, uh… I was hopin’, uh…” He continued like that for some time. As he talked, Tamsin let her hands roam around his upper body, which was taut with anxiety and tension. She didn’t need to hear his words because she already knew what he was saying. A lot of athletes had told her this story — not that she needed them to, since she had been there for it.

Two years ago, Tamsin had nabbed the star quarterback, then a senior named Thad. He fucked her good at a house party just like this one. He had been horny because his girlfriend dumped him just a few hours ago, and he was just desperate enough to get his nut off that Tamsin had managed slide in there.

But Thad had gone on to play a near-perfect game the next day, and he decided that “fucking a boy-girl” was good luck. Tamsin had no desire to disabuse Thad of that notion. Much to her delight, the rumor stuck, and it hadn’t even remained specific to football. It was now a well-know fact on  the GHU campus that having sex with a chick with a dick was good luck for male athletes.

“So, I ain’t know that,” Danny said. “They jest tol’ me that somebody should be… you know, wit’ you before every game. I said… y’know, I could do it, but I ain’t know-“ He yelped as Tamsin’s finger pushed under his pants and caressed his ass. She made it feel like she was going to stick her finger in his asshole, but then didn’t, she just touched all over the surface. Her dick was rock-hard, painfully squeezing between her legs.

“Do you want to take me into one of the bedrooms?” Tamsin asked. She kissed his bicep, which twitched as he grew more anxious. His friends hooted like the studio audience in some cheesy talk show. “I’ll let you show me what you can do.”

He hesitated.

“Do you have a girlfriend, darling?”

He shrugged. “Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“You wanna impress her, right? With your sexual prowess,” she leaned in closer and inhaled of his scent again, this time so close she could taste the fuzz on his neck.

“Well, yeah… We ain’t do it yet. I mean… we been doin’ some stuff, but not-“ He blushed even harder and looked away from Tamsin.

“It’s okay, sweetie. How many women have you been with?” She looked at his team, who were clustered together and watching as though this was the most exciting thing they had ever seen. “You can whisper it in my ear if you don’t want anyone to hear.”

He hesitated, then whispered, “Just one. We only did it once.”

Linebackers Downlow

Here’s a new sample chapter, from a hot story called Linebackers Downlow, the tale of a college football team whose linebackers don’t quite have the physique to get laid like most of the other players. Be forewarned: this book is about curvy, powerful, macho guys who aren’t sculpted Hollywood hunks; they have hairy chests, arms and backs. Caveat emptor, motherfuckers. This story is part of the Str8 Studs Downlow series.

Once again, the party dwindled and Jason was left behind. He was a senior, a starting football player and a popular jock… with the guys. His fellow teammates all thought he was hilarious. The cheerleaders thought he was funny and liked getting piggy-back rides from him because he was so big.

But when push came to shove, those cheerleaders went off to screw the brains off the quarterback and running backs with six-pack abs. Jason and his fellow linebackers were left behind, the least popular players on the Jacksonville University squad.

“Am I fat?” Jason asked himself for what felt like the millionth time this week. He knew that objectively the answer was no — he didn’t have a ton of fat. But he was more than six and a half feet tall, and he was covered in just enough paunch that it was obvious which position on the team he played.

So now this party had dwindled to just him and the other four linebackers on the team. It was a perfect summary of the way Jason’s football career went — he worked hard with the team; he struggled with them; he played along with them; he coped with their cockiness; he sat behind and watched while they fucked all the hot chicks.

“Guess we’re alone again,” said Rick, another one of the linebackers. “I really thought that blonde was gonna suck my dick.”

Nobody responded. Jason wanted to tell Rick that there was never any chance she was going to suck his dick — that had been obvious to Jason, who saw her flirting politely with Rick before moving on to one of the handsome basketball players. Rick grabbed at his crotch with one big, meaty hand.

Rick was probably the fattest of the linebackers, but even he wasn’t fat. He was powerful; he was also probably the strongest of the linebackers. He just had a generous layer of padding on top.

Aside from Rick and Jason, there was the burly dreadlocked black man, Dante; the fresh-faced redneck Garraty and the hairy-as-hell Vinnie, all of whom looked nervously between each other. It was Garraty who sighed and ran into the other room, returning moments later with a stack of magazines.

“Well, hosses,” he said. “Guess we gotta do what we gotta do.” The magazines had naked women all over them, petite blondes and brunettes cavorting with each other and with a bevy of smooth, six-packed studs. Jason was annoyed.

Garraty took off his shirt and then put his cowboy hat back on his head — he never went without it, except during a game. He smiled his youthful freshman grin, as though he still had hope he’d get girls when he was a senior. Jason was annoyed by his optimism.

“Let’s do this, boys,” he said with an enthusiastic shout. He clapped his hands together, then grabbed at Dante’s dick.

Dante jumped and backed away, “Yo, man, hey, no homo!”

Garraty laughed. “What? You wanna circlejerk or not?”

“Not.”

Jason felt himself blush at the thought of a circlejerk. He had assumed they were just going to jack off to the magazines, probably go separate corners of the locker room. Did people really circlejerk? He thought that was just a punchline and a way to scare freshmen.

Vinnie and Rick both seemed to think it was normal. They teased Dante, calling him a prude. “Probably can’t get it up,” Rick said with a knowing smile.

Dante sighed and looked away, and he caught Jason’s eye. Everyone then turned to Jason, who blushed even harder. He always felt exposed in the locker room — he wasn’t as comfortable with nudity as most of his teammates. But then, most of his teammates had six-pack abs. Jason wasn’t ashamed of his dick size, which was ample, though he and the other linebackers had talked about it once and come to the conclusion that their height made their dicks seem shorter, since all five got teased for it from time to time despite having larger than average cocks. The shorter you are, the longer your dick appears to be in relation to your thigh.

But Jason didn’t want to be the one to start a real conflict over it — Rick was overbearing and would want them all to circlejerk, and it would turn into an argument. “Ain’t really my cup of tea,” Jason said, “But if’n y’all want it, let’s do this shit.”

He was annoyed to realize he should have moved — Vinnie was to his right, so that’s whose cock Jason touched. He stroked it and let out a groan of disgust. “Man, yer cock feels like a fucking uncooked greasy Italian sausage.”

Vinnie burst into laughter and pumped his hips so his cock flopped around. It was already half-hard, the foreskin now fully retracted and the head getting thicker by the moment.

The main thing he didn’t like about jacking Vinnie off — aside from the general idea of touching another man’s penis — was that Vinnie was the hairiest one here. They were all pretty hairy, chests, back, thighs and arms covered in fur; Rick was blond; Dante had naturally kinky black hair, while Garraty and Jason were thick and brown.

Vinnie was like a sasquatch, which is exactly what some on the team called him. He was covered head-to-toe in dense tangles of Mediterranean hair, which he seemed alternately proud of despite the teasing and ashamed of from time to time, mainly when it kept him from getting laid.

It felt like he was pushing his hand into jungle undergrowth, he thought, and the hairs, slick with moisture from (Jason hoped) a shower, stuck to Jason’s body where they collided.

The five linebackers had pulled into a tight circle so they could look at the magazines, which Garraty had opened to a few random pages laid out on the floor and bench in the center of the locker aisle. Garraty was to Jason’s left, so that’s who began stroking Jason off as the circlejerk got into full swing.

“Yo, if any of y’all get yo’ nut on me, I will beat yo’ ass,” Dante said. He was gingerly stroking off Garraty, who looked at him with an exaggerated frown, then kissed him on the grizzled cheek.

Dante glared at him sternly. He probably wanted to fight about it, as Dante was always quick to throw a punch over anything that insulted his manhood. But coach had made it clear anyone who fought — anywhere, but especially in the locker room — would be kicked off the team, and that appeared to be enough motivation for Dante to let it slide.

Oh shit, the linebackers is circlejerkin’!

They all groaned — no one wanted to be caught at this, even if they knew the rest of the team would keep it quiet. That was just the way they operated. Jason focused on himself despite the tension, as he realized he wasn’t fully hard. He didn’t want to be the only one who couldn’t do it.

He stared at the sexiest photo he could see, a pair of stunning redhead girls sixty-nining. They had perfect pussies, he thought and finally felt his dick stiffen to its fullest extent. He felt a few drops of precum lubricate Garraty’s fingers.

Damn Rick, you got big fuckin’ fingers, ya damn hillbilly! Why couldn’t you have dainty fingers like that chick in the photo?

It was Dante who came first, grunting and shooting a load so unexpectedly it made the others laugh. He had been so reluctant, Jason thought, it was strange he came first. His dark body jiggled and he closed his eyes as he sprayed his nut all over the magazines. He had a gut that shook, his thuggish tattoos barely visible through the sweat and dark skin.

As the circle closed and Vinnie grabbed Garraty’s cock, Jason felt Vinnie get close — his balls crawled up in his sac, and his dick throbbed. Cum flowed into his cockshaft, palpably pulsating beneath Jason’s fingers. Jason was shocked at the realization he was going to get cum on his fingers, and he almost stopped then made himself keep going. If Vinnie came, at least he wouldn’t have to touch the man’s hairy body anymore.

Vinnie grunted and said something in Italian, spraying one fat wad of jizz in a giant blob on the bench in the center of the circle. “Direct hit!” Vinnie shouted — he had covered the sexy photo of lesbian redheads.

“Thank god, you hairy wop,” Jason said with a laugh. He grabbed at Garraty’s dick then, glad to touch someone only moderately hairy. “Ya ain’t have to nut on the redheads, jackass.”

“Oh yeah, redneck, there’s no rule about interference in circlejerk, ya knows,” he said.

“Wha-?”

Jason felt like gagging as Vinnie came up behind him and hugged him close. Vinnie’s powerful arm encircled Jason’s chest, and he mockingly played with both of Jason’s tits. Jason blushed — he wasn’t fat, as he had told himself over and over, but he hardly had bodybuilder’s pecs either. That just wasn’t how linebackers were built. The other players had made fun of his “tits” more than a few times.

Dense pubic and chest hair scratched at Jason’s bak and ass, and he even felt a slimy, cum-slickened cock against his ass. Jason protested, but everyone else laughed as though it was the biggest joke in the world, even Dante, and Jason didn’t want to be the only one who “didn’t get it”. If he just gave in, he thought, and hoped, Vinnie might give up soon.

Rick shot his load while Jason was adjusting to the brillo-like feel of Vinnie’s body behind him, and the smell of cum was now so strong in the air that Jason wanted to just give up. But they’d tease him forever, so he was determined to finish, and ideally, not last.

It was down to him and Garraty, the relatively small cowboy and freshman linebacker. He had barely played in any games yet. He used Jason’s dick to pull him closer, until their dicks were both touching.

“This is what we call a Double Hog-Ride back in Montana,” he said. He spat into his hands as he used them both to stroke both cocks at once. Jason was horrified to see his dickshaft mash into Garraty’s, but he had to admit it did feel better than an ordinary handjob. Plus he wasn’t touching anything, his hands were free since Garraty used both his.

They both nutted at once too. It felt so good that it came on suddenly, and both dicks were coated in semen. Jason’s muscles roiled beneath the layer of padding that caused him so much embarassment, and their semen mixed as it spread over both shafts. It dripped down their thighs and ballsacks, and onto the few dry spots of the magazines below.

“Well, fuck, we ruined my magazines,” Garraty said, “And you can bet I ain’t pickin’ em up. They’s gross.”

“Just leave ‘em there. The janitor’ll get them,” Vinnie said. He was already getting dressed. Jason felt bad about agreeing, but he certainly wasn’t going to pick up the cum-soaked rags. He was embarrassed enough about what happened he didn’t care about the details, he just wanted to get dressed and get out of there. Hopefully before anyone else from the team saw what they were doing.

The Perfect Specimen of Jock Came Through the Honky Hotel

This is a sample chapter from The Perfect Specimen of Jock Came Through the Honky Hotel, a new All-Strong League story by Randall Eisenhorn.

Late night shifts at the Whiteland Hotel were slow and boring. Adrian didn’t mind it, because he could watch TV and goof off on the Internet, which is realistically what he would have been doing at home. But still, the interminable quiet was dreadful, alleviated only by the occasional pandemonium of a drunken group of hotel guests coming back to their room. It was not usually an exciting job, but it had some perks.

“Hey hombre, you speak English?” asked a man’s deep voice. Adrian was startled to see an almost-naked man there. He was a barrel-chested semi-pro football player who had checked in a couple hours before, in advance of a game tomorrow. He stood there in plain white boxers from which a few tantalizing pubic hairs poked through, and he swayed on drunken legs.

Adrian was only half-Latino, but he looked Hispanic enough that he was used to being asked if he spoke English — a lot of the Whiteland Hotel’s staff were Spanish-only, after all. “Yes, sir. I checked you in when you got here, Mr. Walters.”

He leaned in close and peered at Adrian as though checking to see if he was lying. The man, Lloyd Walters was his name, scratched his balls through his boxers. For a moment his thick cock was outlined by the dingy fabric of his shorts, and Adrian’s heart raced as he pictured this brutish jock naked. Lloyd’s rancid breath was beer-soaked and hot. He produced a twenty dollar bill and gave it to Adrian.

“Go get me a hamburger. Can you do that? Or is there one that delivers?”

“I can arrange for a delivery,” Adrian said, glad that his connection at the scuzzy twenty-four hour hamburger joint across town finally came in handy.

“Good. Get me the biggest hamburger they got and everything they put on it,” Lloyd said carefully, as though describing brain surgery, “But not any kind of mushrooms. And make it rare.”

“Okay.”

“No, wait… Is this a nice place?”

“Well… It’s the only place that’s open this late, sir.”

“Then medium-rare. I can’t be shitting all over the place at the game tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.”

Lloyd sauntered back into his room then, and after a few minutes, two cheap floozies crept out the door. Their just-fucked hair made it obvious what had happened; they giggled quietly, whispering, no doubt bragging about how they had just fucked a football pro (or semipro, close enough, Adrian thought).

Adrian’s friend arrived soon after that, with a bag containing the greasy hamburger. Adrian gave him a tip and then brought the food to Lloyd’s room. He knocked, but there was no response. He knocked again, louder.

“Come in!”

Adrian walked in to see a stark naked Lloyd, sitting on the bed. He was sweaty and relaxed, sprawled out on the bare mattress. His limp cock was still moist, plastered to his thigh and gleaming in the dim light. The sheets and blankets were in a ball on the floor.

The smell of the hamburger aroused Lloyd from his soporific, drunken daze, and he took the bag from Adrian. He nodded to the sheets and blankets. “Can I get some clean sheets brought in?”

Adrian nodded. “Sure.”

“You might wanna… get rid of those,” Lloyd said. “Both those girls was anal virgins, if you get my drift.”

Adrian saw the moist sheets dotted with blood, and he nodded. “Certainly, Mr. Walters. I’ll send the cleaning staff right in.”

“They’s prolly women, right? I should put some drawers on.”

Adrian hesitated. “They would probably prefer it, sir.”

“Ain’t you polite?” Lloyd grinned. “Cleaning staff hot?”

“Eh… They are all older Mexican women, sir. The youngest is still a grandmother. They have a… steely handsomeness, but I’m not sure they would appeal to you,” Adrian said. “Didn’t you just…?” he nodded towards the door.

“We finished like an hour ago, so I’m ‘bout ready for another go-‘round” Lloyd said. “And they barely sucked my dick at all. Silly little college brats can’t suck cock worth a damn.”

“I see. Well, I do not think the cleaning staff will be interested,” Adrian said.

“You look like you got nice cock-sucking lips there,” Lloyd said.

Adrian was so shocked he didn’t have a response. He had been propositioned by straight bucks here at the Whiteland Hotel before, that part wasn’t new, but a semipro football jock like Lloyd? That was a first, especially since he had just fucked — normally straight guys were only interested when they were so horny they didn’t care where they stuck their cock. But no matter how virile he was, Lloyd couldn’t be that horny again just an hour after sex. “Yep,” Adrian said, finally forming a word then blushing at how stupid he sounded.

“You got something to do with those lips?”

Adrian dropped to his knees and kneeled in front of the bed. Lloyd leaned back on some pillows he had propped up, and then grabbed for the hamburger bag. He took it out and the cloyingly greasy smell filled the room.

Lloyd opened his bathrobe, his heavy cock dangling between his legs. It smelled delicious — especially with the odor of beef on top, Adrian thought, giving it a tantalizing meatiness. He opened his mouth and sucked it down to the root, determined to give Lloyd a blowjob he’d remember for a long time. The flavor of his stale sweat and the remnants of his heterosexual fucking overwhelmed Adrian’s senses as he slathered his tongue up and down the shaft.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Lloyd said. He groaned deeply then turned the TV on to Cinemax, where softcore lesbian porn was playing. He belched loudly. “Damn, I should take you with me to away games. Call you my personal ball boy.”

Adrian’s tongue slathered up and down his shaft as he wished Lloyd was serious, but knew he wasn’t. Straight guys said that kind of thing a lot when their cock was in Adrian’s mouth, but they always changed their mind once their balls were drained. Lloyd took a big bite from his hamburger, as Adrian moved down to his balls.

He knew girls always hated sucking balls, but he loved them, especially when they were swollen like Lloyd’s, and dripping with the remains of his wild rutting earlier. Adrian could taste layers of sweat and feminine lotion still trapped in the hairs of his scrotum.

Moving back to the shaft, Adrian deep-throated his cock. Lloyd gripped Adrian’s ears tight, putting his hamburger down so he could use both grease-slickened hands. He pushed his dick all the way down Adrian’s throat and held it there as he groaned.

Cum came pouring out of his cock with such an uninterrupted stream it was as though he was pissing down Adrian’s gullet. Lloyd’s whole body bucked as his chest and neck turned reddish. Adrian managed to swallow almost every drop of the pearly sweet cum. Lloyd grunted, sounding like a bodybuilder working hard on his biceps, and his balls slapped against Adrian’s chin.

“Oh fuck yeah, you got a comment card or some shit?” Lloyd said. “I’m gonna tell the manager you’re good at your job.”

“You’ll be given an evaluation form when you check out sir,” Adrian said breathlessly as he wiped cum from his lips. He didn’t want to waste any. “I’m glad I could make your stay at the Whiteland Hotel more pleasing. Do let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”