Tag Archives: locker sex

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.

The Black Basketball Team Goes Gay

Here’s another new story, The Black Basketball Team Goes Gay, which is a hot piece by Calvin Freeman.

Walter ended the game excited and overjoyed — his team had not only won, but Walter himself had scored the game-winning basket. He was only supposed to be the third-string forward on the minor league Newark Netters team. But one injury and a meth trafficking charge resulted in Walter playing an entire game.

And then he won the game for the team. He heard people congratulating him as he and his fellow teammates went into the locker room. More than a few people clasped him on the back or patted his ass.

Victory is always sweet, Walter thought, especially when no one thought you would ever taste it.

Coach Tanner was not as satisfied with the game — he didn’t think they should have even been down so much as to need that one three-point shot at the buzzer in order to win. He thought they were better than that.

But nobody could fault Walter for it. He wasn’t supposed to plays this game at all, and he had done well even before making the game-winning shot. So he tried to make a serious face as Coach Tanner addressed the rest of the team in the locker room.

As his adrenaline faded away, Walter felt more and more self-conscious, sitting there, cramped on the bench in the center of the locker room. Walter hadn’t dropped his shorts yet, but he was shirtless, and he could feel the sweaty elastic of Deon’s jockstrap — Deon stood next to Walter near the bench, so Deon’s ropy-muscled thighs and the sweat clinging to them pressed against Walter’s side.

“We do need-uh thank someone,” Coach Tanner said, winding down his y’all need to do better speech. He looked right at Walter, who was so focused on Deon’s jockstrap touching his arm that he didn’t notice Coach Tanner talking about him right away. “Somebody here done real good, someone we ain’t really even expect to play like that, on account of his young age and he weren’t even s’posed to play today.”

There was a little applause and some whooping from the rest of the team. Everyone slapped Walter on the back, and he sighed as though he didn’t like the attention, though he did. Most of the team was riled up, and as they chatted over Coach Tanner’s voice, someone pulled out a bottle of champagne.

Fizzy wine spilled out as the bottle was uncorked, and Walter stood up to get the first glass. He didn’t especially like champagne, but he appreciated the gesture. He always thought it tasted like sweetened, carbonated urine. But then he didn’t really like wine either.

Eventually Coach Tanner left, as did a couple of players, mainly the white guys, who never really wanted to stay and hang out. That was probably because a few of the black players often brought a girl into the locker room to celebrate with. The white men never wanted to gangbang because they were always too worried about their balls touching.

In truth, Walter typically left too. He was the only black man on the team who didn’t participate in the locker room gangbanging. He was Christian, and he didn’t think that kind of thing was morally acceptable. He was saving himself for marriage.

After finally taking off his shorts, bare cock dangling between his legs — it might just have been his pride after the big win, but he was pretty sure his cock was bigger now than it normally was — Walter headed towards the shower. He heard gruff voices laughing and figured the gangbang must have already begun, though he didn’t see any girls around.