Читать книгу The Great Cock Hunt - Alex - Страница 17

John Doyle was the poster boy for homoerotic, straight to the next dick, nothing a six pack wouldn’t cure, and all the other sayings. That’s how straight he was: kind of not totally. But I didn’t know that at the time. It was the end of my freshman year and we were on the tennis team together. He was tall and slim with dirty blond tight curls, green eyes, and skin that always looked just slightly tanned. He was toned and trim with a very nice body and a fat cock, fatter than you’d expect on such a narrow frame. I’d had ample time to see it as he leisurely showered after practices and matches. And he had no problem strutting around the locker room naked while he shaved, etcetera. I always made sure to get a locker in the row that ended at the sinks. I can’t tell you the number of times I sat on a bench untying and retying my shoes while I stared longingly at his ass as he shaved. It was lightly creamy like coffee with way too much milk and there were a few wisps of hair, a peach fuzz almost, at his crack. The best part was when he’d lean over the sink to rinse the shaving cream off of his face and his ass cheeks would spread a little. He had a low-hanging nutsack and I’d watch it slightly sway, slightly hairy, and I’d have an insta-rod.

Sometimes if I stayed late enough after practice I could watch him during his shower and then throughout his shave. I’d be so hard by then and dying to cum—preferably in his mouth—that I’d go into the last row of lockers and walk almost all the way to the end. I’d put my bag on the bench and open a locker so that the door blocked anyone’s view of me from the beginning of the row. Then I’d whip out my cock and spit in my hand and close my eyes and replay the pictures of his hot body. I’d picture him in the shower tugging on his cock and letting his nuts swing in the water, rinsing the soap off of himself. I’d imagine poking my tongue into that soft crevice between his asscheeks and licking up and down his crack and then tonguing his wrinkly tight hole.

My fantasy would be enhanced by the sounds of the locker room. I’d hear him turn off the sink and I’d hear someone else walking by. I’d hear someone say hey to him and his answer back and then I’d hear a locker open in another row that I thought was his. I’d imagine him slipping his tight underwear up his legs and then tucking his cock into the pouch. I’d imagine myself walking into his aisle just as he did that. He’d look at me and I’d smile and push him back on the bench. I’d go after his crotch with my mouth and I’d chew on his cock through his underwear. I’d get his white undies all sopping wet and I’d taste the outline of his hard, fat boner through the fabric. He’d be writhing in ecstasy, never having felt so good in his life (hey, it was a fantasy, okay?) and then I’d slowly pull his underwear down and let his hard, damp cock pop out and slap me in the face.

Then I’d hear a locker close and a bag zip up and someone walk out the door. And I’d imagine it was the other guy, the one who’d said hello to him, and that now we were alone, just the two of us. And all of a sudden I’d hear the shower and realize that he’d gone back in and I’d go over and see him stroking his cock under the spray of water. His eyes would be closed and he’d be pinching one of his nipples while he slowly massaged his cock. His fingers would graze the head but mostly they’d stay with his fist on his shaft. I’d throw caution to the wind and I’d get naked and walk into the shower. There was no holding back my feelings—or, well, my dick really. My cock would be poking straight out and he’d look at it and then look at me and smile. I’d walk right up to him and he’d grab my cock and stroke it in the slick, warm shower water. With his other hand he’d reach out and tickle my nuts and I’d reach for his cock. We’d both start jerking each other and I’d lean forward and bite, and then suck on, his nipple and I’d drag my tongue all over his trim, muscular chest.

We’d both start to moan and he’d lean in to me, resting his forehead on my shoulder as I still stroked his cock and he started to spasm. He’d cum all over my stomach and my own cock and then he’d start stroking me faster. He’d drop to his knees and I’d look down as he’d poke out his tongue and swallow my about-to-blow cock. I wouldn’t believe it and I’d be beside myself with lust and excitement and I’d be so close and about to empty my nuts down his throat, about to coat his tonsils with my load.

And I’d cum hard into the empty locker. My cum made a thumping echo as it hit the floor of the hollow metal locker. I didn’t care who heard; I was lost in John Doyle cock heaven. I kept stroking with my eyes squeezed shut and all the images of sexy John Dole would fly through my head like a slide show set to super-fast speed. Then I’d get my breath back and compose myself. I’d tuck in my cock and lick the cum off my fingers. Then I’d leave the gym, leaving my load of cum there to either dry up or be found by some other random, and hopefully hot, guy.

That was a whole other fantasy I used to masturbate to before bedtime: the hot thought of some hot stud, either straight or bi-curious or whatever, opening the locker to change and finding the pile of cum on the floor. The guy would be turned on and would look around, unsure if anyone would see him, and a little scared knowing what he was about to do was wrong. Then he’d scoop up some of the cum, taste it, and then rub it over his own hard cock and jerk off with it as his lube.