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Date: Sun, 6 Apr 2025 10:18:07 -0700
From: J Wize <jaywizetoo@gmail.com>
Subject: My Brother's Ass (Chapter 20)

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This story is a work of fiction and contains descriptions of explicit
sexual acts between adult men.


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* * *


        The crowd roars and I find myself transported by their infectious
enthusiasm. I'm sitting in Wade Wallace Stadium amidst an ocean of blue
jerseys, waving pennants, men and women in a throng of joy as Duke's team
scores again.


        The football players are out in force today, the crisp fall air
invigorating them. I strain my eyes looking for number 63. Andrew tells me
that's Brad's number. He happens to be a linebacker for the team, though
not first string, it turns out. They're letting some of the younger players
on the field given that Duke is up by 21 points in the 4th quarter of the
game.


        Somehow the thought of having sex with a college football player
makes my memory of the event even hotter. I'm no stranger to being around
jocks, but something about Andrew's hulking roommate is more attractive
than it was before, even aside from the massive pecs and bulging biceps.


        I finish the last bite of my hot dog and take a sip from my plastic
cup. The contents look exactly like beer but, of course, they aren't.
Andrew wouldn't allow me to drink beer unless he recycled it himself. Then
again, he isn't 21 yet either, so I am making do with whatever it is he was
drinking earlier today. Some iced tea, as I recall, a Starbucks
frappuccino, and a monster energy drink.


        As always, I savor the slightly salty taste, and enjoy the thrill
of drinking it in plain view of forty thousand students, parents and
faculty. Andrew watches as I gulp what is left in the cup and stifle a
belch. He laughs at that and nods. "Good boy."


        This gets us a couple of curious glances, but they probably assume
we're just horsing around. Students these days.


        The game ends with the predicted jubilation, and thunderous shouts
that reverberate throughout the stadium. People who don't even know each
other are hugging and clapping each other's backs, and shaking hands.
Honestly, I've never understood that level of excitement over a game. But
then, I'm a little weird. Just ask my brother.


        A few hours later, and we're still sitting in the locker room. Brad
was able to get us the equivalent of a "backstage pass". Despite the
victory, no one really seemed interested in staying into the evening
celebrating. Exhaustion might have been part of it. But Andrew and I are
enjoying the stories and jokes from Brad and a couple of his buddies.


        Brad watches Andrew and I closely as we all talk. I sense a glint
of horniness in those green eyes. The black paint under his eyes seems to
enhance their color. He's still wearing his shorts, but has removed his
shoes and socks. I find myself staring at the wide, massive feet, and his
over-bulked pecs and arms. He's so different from any guy I've ever seen or
been with. He has a strange attraction for me. His size and movements are
unlike anything Andrew exhibits.


        It's almost like watching a lion prowl around a zoo habitat. The
power and strength are so obvious that they radiate outward, drawing
attention from others like a magnet. He notices me staring at one point and
smirks.


        "Ok, we've been here long enough. The bar is calling," One of
Brad's teammates remarks. "Kyle, you coming?"


        The other player nods. "Yeah, man. Time to go. You coming Brad?
Your friends are welcome too."


        "Yeah, I'll be there. Gotta shower, though. Been so busy with these
two, I didn't get ready."  Both of the other players are clean and freshly
showered. I hadn't realized we'd talked this long.


        "Oh man! I'm sorry we've been keeping you," Andrew says. "Do you
need to go?"


        "Nah, it's ok. They'll head over without me. Guys, I'll be there in
a little while.  Save me a seat and half a dozen beers." He winks.


        "We'll save you that bartender too. She's got a definite thing for
you, dude," Kyle quips. Brad laughs and nods. "Sure thing. I've got a lot
to give today."


        Indeed.


        Brad's friends leave, and the three of us are left alone in the
huge locker room.


        Once they're gone, Brad touches controls on the wall just inside
the door, and the lights in the room dim.


        "Shower time. Come with me."


        "Hey, I'm not the filthy one here, big guy," Andrew laughs.


        "Then you can watch." Brad grins, beckoning for us to follow.


        My mom took Andrew and I to a spa once, a long time ago. We were in
our early teens, as I recall, and I always assumed she took us because she
never had a daughter and wanted to bond with one or both of her offspring
before we got too old to do such things. I remember the spa being
expansive, expensive-looking and filled with affluent people. That place
had nothing on the shower facilities at Wade Wallace Stadium. Brad
mentioned earlier today that they had just finished renovating the
bathrooms, showers, steam room and sauna a month ago.


        Everything seems spotless, which is amazing, given the sheer volume
of grime-encrusted football players that shuffle around in here every day
after practice, and on weekends after games. The tile lining the floors,
and the walls themselves gleam, and bright track lighting illuminates
everything while still affording the occasional pool of shadow. In truth,
the place looks like the inside of a museum.


        Brad begins to strip off his shorts. They're as tight as one might
imagine, when one thinks about the size of his thighs and calves. He looks
at the two of us like we're crazy, raising his brows in mock
confusion. "What are you waiting for? Let's shower."


        Andrew and I look at each other.


        "Oh. Uhh, ok," I say, smirking at Andrew. "This place is amazing. A
shower sounds good, doesn't it?"


        Andrew shrugs and strips off his own clothing. In short order, we
are all three naked. We grab navy blue towels off a nearby rack and walk
into the shower area.


        The water pressure is astounding, the temperature hot enough to
flay the dirt off of any body with ease. It's like being massaged by jets
of steaming liquid. I feel instantly invigorated. The three of us let the
hot perfection stream down our bodies, laughing and playing grab-ass like
any athletes might in similar circumstances.


        In the distance, the sound of a door opening causes us to freeze
momentarily, though in truth it's difficult to stop laughing on
command. Brad points downward with his finger, his eyes telling us this is
serious. Technically, we're not supposed to be in this part of the athletic
facilities.


        Andrew and I drop to the floor, beneath the tile half-wall that
separates the showers from the make walkway. I'm looking up at Brad's big,
bubble butt as he stands there, leaning against the half-wall, his big cock
hanging down between muscled thighs.


        A man's voice, deeper than I've heard in recent memory, calls
out. "Van Horn!  What the fuck are you still doing here?"


        "Fuck," Brad hisses. "It's Coach."


        My blood freezes in my veins. Andrew and I lock eyes, crouched
behind the tile barrier.


        "Hey, Coach!" Brad calls out. "Sorry, sir. Lost track of time with
some buddies and by the time I was ready to get in here, everyone was gone
or leaving.


"Where did they go? Boxcar?"


"No, sir. I think Bralie's. Not sure if they all ended up at the same
place, though.


        The man's voice nears, and it's clear he's standing just a few feet
from the wall. Brad shuffles nervously from one foot to the other.


        "I might head over for a few minutes, but the guys deserve a little
R&R without me looming over them."


        "They'd be glad to see you there, Coach."


        "So what did you think of the game today? You were in for a
quarter. How do you think you did?"


        It's one of those pop quizzes sports faculty like to spring on
young athletes, to see what they're learning, how well they're maturing
into the sport, presumably.


        "It was great to be in there, sir. Couple of sacks, but they had a
pretty good defensive line. I need to be faster, I think. Muscle's good for
pushing and hitting, but makes it harder for me to get to the quarterback,
you know?"


        "Exactly, Van Horn. That's the kind of thinking I like to see. You
showed some spirit out there today. You're still, what, a sophomore?"


        I reach up, unable to resist, and wrap my fingers around Brad's
thick, hanging cock. He gives a short yelp at the unexpected contact, but
quickly coughs to cover it up.


        "Yes, sir. I'll be a Junior this Fall, if I can get my finals
nailed."


        "What's your major again, son?"


        "Ag Econ, sir. Gonna manage my family's farms when I graduate, but
my dad wants me to get my masters."


        I feel him start to harden. He's young enough that there's
literally no way for him to prevent it. The flesh begins to thicken. It's
already big enough that my fingers can't quite meet on the opposite side of
the shaft. I pull down firmly, stretching the monster out, my palm sliding
down him until the swollen head catches against the edge of my hand. I'm
holding him like a fireman with his hose, making light milking motions as I
squeeze him.


        "Sounds like you've got it all planned, Van Horn."


        "I hope I do. My parents are happy anyway, but who knows? I might
take it in a different direction. Business is business. I like training
too. Might want to look into sp... sports medicine." Brad answers as my
firm tugs keep him growing and hardening.


        The two continue talking, and I scoot closer to Brad. Andrew shakes
his head at me, sensing my intent. I can tell he is genuinely nervous. But
my lust is out of my control at the moment. I get the same thrill I got
knowing I was playing with my brother on the other side of a door from my
father. The thrill of potential disaster makes this more potent.


        I run my tongue up the back of the linebacker's thigh. I can still
taste his sweat. We'd only spent a minute or so beneath the showerheads, so
I am able to enjoy the flavor of him without the added fragrance of body
wash or shampoo. His leg muscles quiver at the touch of my lips and tongue.


        In response, he leans forward, shifting more of his bulky torso
over the barrier as he talks with the coach. His tree-trunk thighs spread
apart. It's an invitation, despite his evident terror.


        I lick higher, letting him know that I accept, but also take a few
seconds longer to tease him. Andrew stares, his blue eyes darting back and
forth between Brad and I, and in the direction of the football coach
standing feet away behind the tile wall. He may be just as nervous as Brad,
but I note that his own hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly.


        Now, my face is buried between Brad's ass cheeks. I lick in wide,
wet swipes. It's strange; he doesn't smell unwashed. He showered before the
game, presumably, but the game was grueling, even though he was only in for
the last quarter.  But the sweat... I find I can't get enough of it. Deep
and salty and musky. I lick all over his big butt as my brother watches.


        I can tell Brad is struggling to maintain his composure as he
answers Coach's questions and makes further small talk. Andrew cannot
remain passive. Who could in this situation? He slides between Brad and the
wall, reaching up to guide the big cock to his lips.


        I pull back to assess the situation. I see up the vast expanse of
Brad's wide, muscular back, the swell of his triceps as he rests his upper
body on the top of the wall, and in the foreground of my vision, the twin
peeks of his muscular glutes.


        I pull the cheeks apart, exposing the pink, sweat-slicked hole. And
I get to work.


        I've eaten a few asses, now. Andrew's, of course. Pastor Jeff's,
dad's, and Noah's. And I'm always amazed at the differences. Each is subtly
different. Brad's ass has a very light dusting of blond fuzz that tickles
my cheeks as I move against his flesh. I start by tickling the ring lightly
with the tip of my tongue. The anus tightens and puckers as I tease him. My
guess is that Brad has never had anyone back there, so the level of
sensitivity must be off the charts.


        I can feel him shiver all over as my wet continue plays over the
crinkled butthole. Part of me wonders if the coach can sense the miniscule
inflections and wavers in the lineman's voice as he speaks.


        I kiss the hole again and again, and between the soft smooches, I
lick him like an ice cream cone, savoring the salty tang of the sweaty ass.


        "Well, I'd best get my own shower over with. Going out with the
wife tonight and she won't want to smell the locker room on me," the coach
announces, walking off. As he does, he begins to disrobe, lowering a
jock-strapped butt to one of the staging benches nearby.


        Brad watches the man strip. He's older, but a former quarterback
himself, so he's kept himself in good shape. His belly is flat, but not
overly tight, and his pecs and biceps sag ever so slightly, though they've
kept their bulk over the years. He looks damned good in the blue jockstrap,
with what appears to be a formidable bulge in its pouch. Brad harders in
Andrew's mouth, and his anus contracts and expands against my mouth. He
makes no attempt to move or shift position.


        My brother's head bobs on the thick rod, and I slide my tongue into
the linebacker's musky, slippery warmth.  His muscles tense as two brothers
worship him from underneath.


        The coach rises from the bench suddenly and I hear him talking to
Brad again. He must be naked by now, or at least down to his jock.


        "Everything ok, Coach?" Brad asks.


        There is a pause. "Just had one more question for you."


        "Sure, Coach. What's up?"  Brad grits his teeth as I tongue fuck
him deeply, and Andrew's sucking intensifies.


        In and out, in and out, I sink my squirming tongue into the
athlete's steaming asshole. Andrew is sinking 6 to 7 inches at a time down
his throat, still growing used to the raw size of Brad's meat.


        "When do you think I graduated, Van Horn?"


        "Sir?"


        "Graduation, kid. When do you think I graduated?"


        "I...I dunno, Coach." Brad is still struggling to control his
reactions, to appear normal, calm. He is failing.


        "I got my bachelor's in Physical Education in 1985. Guess what was
interesting about 1985, Van Horn."


        "Uh...I'm not sure, Coach."


        I wonder how the coach can't hear the sucking sounds and the sounds
of smacking lips from this distance. Then again, he is a little older.
Turns out he isn't missing anything at all.


        "Here's what's interesting about 1985. They didn't give idiots
degrees back then."


        Brad stares. "Coach?"


        "You think you're the first player at this college to try and
smuggle some ass into the shower room?" The coach doesn't smile. "What's
her name, Van Horn?"


        Brad's jaw drops. I stop eating him out, and the player's cock pops
out of Andrew's mouth.


        Brad's face must be the deepest crimson by now. I have a vision of
my parents receiving a police report, my brother being expelled, and Brad
heading back to Texas in shame.


        Coach clears his throat. "The name, Van Horn."


        Brad swallows hard. "Umm," he flushes again furiously. "Their names
are Cale and Andy, sir."


        The coach snorts "Two of them, eh?" He sounds vaguely impressed,
though the sternness hasn't left his voice. "Think I'm going to need to see
that."


        "Umm. No, couch, it's ok. I mean, they're sorta shy. I promise,
we'll leave right away. You don't..."


        I can hear the snap of the coach's jock as he pulls it off and over
one raised foot then the other. "Relax, Van Horn. No one's turning you in."
He chuckles. "God knows I'm not getting any tonight. Wife's been on a
rampage lately and she practically has deadbolts on the bedroom door. Give
an old man a break, kid."


        Well, it's over. Andrew and I look at each other in helpless
terror. He's coming in.


        Brad turns to face the coach as he makes his way into the big
shower. I see his legs before I see any other part of him. He stops the
moment he sees `Cale and Andy', who it's clear enough he expected to be
female.


        Instead of an all-American red-blooded college football threesome,
the coach sees one linebacker and two (much) smaller, albeit athletic,
youths with raging hardons; hardons that are rapidly deflating as the
weight of this moment truly starts to sink in.


        "What the fuck..." Coach says. His eyebrows raise and his own jaw
drops. He looks at Andrew and I with eyes that reflect many things. The
grey depths contain surprise, anger, a tiny bit of revulsion, lust, and a
predatory apprehension of opportunity. He has to realize that he's in just
as awkward a situation as the three of us. God, if I only had my phone, I'd
snap a pic just to ensure this won't get out of control. But right now,
we're at the older man's mercy.


        "Well, what do we have here, Van Horn?" Coach looks to Brad now,
expectation radiating from him. How do coaches do that? The authority is
unmistakable, and Brad responds to it as any college ball player would.


        "Coach, this isn't what it seems. I mean, it is what it seems,
but... I swear, we weren't going to do much. They're friends of mine. I'm
not really... I mean, I don't..."


        "You don't mess with guys, you're telling me? Again, you seem to
think Duke hands out degrees to idiots." Coach laughs. "You think you're
the only guy on this team who swings both ways? There are at minimum 15 of
them."


        The thought of that actually makes me harden a bit more. Despite
the tension and horror of the moment, I get the sense there's more to Coach
than just a horny old man looking for co-ed pussy.


	Coach stands there, his arms akimbo and hands resting on his bare
hips. "Well..." he looks between the three of us. "Continue with what you
were doing."


	It isn't a request. But I'm the first to obey him. Brad is still
too shocked to react, and Andrew is just barely maintaining control over
his panic. There is a moment where I think he may bolt and run naked from
the locker room.


	Brad yelps and then grunts as I bury my face in his ass again. This
time, I don't tease or play around. My tongue sinks into his sweaty
asshole. He bends over instinctively, both a protective and inviting
gesture.  The coach growls approvingly.


	Good boy. That's what I hoped you were doing. Get that tongue in
there, kid. When you're my age, you'll hate yourself if you never got to
taste a linebacker's ass."  He glances at Andrew, then. "And you. Get
busy. I want to see you reward this player for a hard-fought game."


	Brad finally gets it. This scene is not only not unacceptable to
Coach, but something he's into. The reaction to the man's authority means
the nerves are still there, raw and unrelenting. But the squirming tongue
in his butt and Andrew's quick movement to suck his thick cock into the
freshman's mouth have him growing back into the sexual monster he is. No
need for girls tonight. He has something better. Worshippers. That's what
every bodybuilder truly craves, after all; the looks of adoration, of
admiration, the knowledge that every eye is caressing his pumped body and
wishing they possessed the same physique.


	The coach watches his second-string lineman with keen eyes. His own
cock grows thicker and longer as the big player is blown and rimmed. I
think for the merest moment of how mind-fucked Coach would be if he knew
that `Cale and Andy' were biological brothers.  The thought makes me even
harder, and I dig deeper into the musky hole, sucking and smacking and
licking and moaning so loudly that the older man can't help but hear it.


	"You," Coach orders. We all three look up, wondering which of us he
is addressing. "You. Rimming boy. Get your tongue out of my linebacker's
ass. Suck his cock. And you," Coach directs this to Andrew. "As soon as
kiddo's got Van Horn's cock down his throat, I want you eating his ass."


	Well, then. This man definitely knows what he likes, and has no
problems barking orders to strangers. Of course, I have no problem with
sucking cock. I had Brad down my throat just last night, after all. But I
look at Andrew with a bit of concern. In all the times he and I have fooled
around, through all of the weird, twisted scenarios we've concocted for
ourselves and others, Andrew has never eaten my ass. Never once. He always
craved my mouth on his hole, but he never gave me any indication that he
wanted to do the same. For a moment, I am afraid Andrew might be forced to
do something he hates.


	I settle in front of Brad as the coach watches, leering at the
three of us like some impassive statue placed to oversee what is happening
here. I slide Brad's spit-slick cock into my mouth, and he snaps his hips
forward, sending the long shaft rocketing around the bend of my throat and
deep into my gullet. He isn't even trying to be gentle. He knows I'm
capable of this, so he doesn't ask.


	"Oh, fuck yeah," he grunts as he feels his cock fully embedded in
my esophagus. "God damn, coach. You gotta try this too."


	"I have other plans, Van Horn. Keep the kid busy. I know he needs
to breathe, but not every damned second." He winks. "Fuck his throat like a
man. Linebackers don't go easy. Rape that mouth, Van Horn."


	Coach looks at Andrew. "Get busy. Get your tongue in the kid's
asshole. What's the matter, never rimmed a guy before?"


	Andrew shakes his head.


	"And do I look like I give a shit? Eat his asshole, young man."


	Andrew nods and lowers his head to my butt. I'm on my hands and
knees as I take Brad's cock deep in my throat, his thrusts long and rough
and unrelenting.


	For the first time in my life, I feel my brother's lips on my
anus. I am shocked and surprised by the sensation. I've been rimmed before,
but only very rarely. This is completely different. It's like a bolt of
electricity has touched me. I grunt, and push forward to bury the rest of
Brad's massive cock in my throat, my lips stretched obscenely around the
base of his meat.


	Andrew seems to like what he's found. He's watching me take the
huge cock down my throat, feeling the tension in my body, the pink, supple
elasticity of my anal ring. With a snarl, he crushes his mouth to my hole,
kissing it with the desperation of a virgin with his first real lay. Maybe
this is something he's needed for a long time, but never allowed himself to
experience. Maybe out of some antiquated notion of masculinity, or his need
to be the dominant one of the two of us, despite his love for everything
that makes his own ass feel the way it does.


	I'm making desperate, animal noises that are muffled by Brad's big
cock, but it's clear that my brother's mouth against my hole and his tongue
digging deep inside me are a new dynamic to our relationship.


	Coach steps forward, hocking a huge loogie into his hand and
smearing the thick saliva all over his own cock. He kneels on the wet tiles
and moves close to Andrew, placing his bloated head at the entrance to my
brother's asshole. Andrew is too deep into his lewd greek kiss to realize
what's about to happen. He tenses up a little as he feels the head against
his own anus, but then relaxes. This is something he's more familiar with.


	Slowly, majestically, and without a single hesitation, the coach
slides his big cock into Andrew's ass. Andrew moans so loudly that he
actually exhales into my ass, filling me with his freshman breath. Coach
bottoms out within a matter of seconds. I imagine I can see, from where my
mouth and throat are impaled by the big linebacker, the older man's wide
cock stretching my brother's hole to the breaking point.


	Coach begins pumping. His movements are unusually liquid, lithe. He
doesn't just move his hips back and forth, driving himself in and out of
the hole in front of him. His pelvis rotates as if he's doing one of those
yoga exercises, or as if he's a soccer player performing those almost
sexual stretching exercises on the field. He clearly relishes the sensation
of being inside Andrew's tight ass.


	"Oh, fucking yeah, boy. That's a nice ass. Jesus Christ, that's
nice." He grinds his groin into Andrew's upturned cheeks, getting every
last centimeter possible inside the hot, slick, milking hole. "God damn,
yes. Take it. TAKE IT."


	His movements grow deeper, faster, more frenzied. I've noticed that
gay men often take longer to cum. Perhaps because they're so used to
fucking and being fucked this way. But straight men are used to pussy. Anal
sex is often very rare and exotic. The tightness of an ass can be far more
stimulating to a straight cock than what they've come to be used to. I can
hear the coach's breath, rapid and filled with sexual tension, and his
animalistic grunts and moans as he plows my big brother with his sexual
organ.


	Brad, watching his coach fucking his roommate, redoubles his
efforts as he fucks my throat, timing his thrusts to coincide with his
coach's. Andrew and I are deeply and thoroughly spit-roasted between the
two older and bigger men. The sounds of big cocks sluicing in and out of
wet orifices fill the shower and echo over the sounds of spraying water.


	"Fucking yes, boy. Gonna get Coach's nut. Are you ready for me,
kid?"


	Andrew can't answer. I can't answer for him. Brad has my head held
tightly in his massive paws, using the leverage to hammer himself into my
throat, his own breathing speeding up as he nears his climax.


	Both Brad and the coach know they're alone in this building with
the two of us, the brothers Hunter, sucking cock and eating ass like the
hopeless whores we are. The thought is filthy and wonderful. I love being
used like this, and I love my brother's tongue in my ass. I promise myself
that we're going to enjoy each other that way much more often in the months
to come. Now that I know what a family member's mouth feels like on my
asshole, I'll never forget it.


	With a monstrous bellow, Coach starts to unload inside Andrew's
tight, milking hole, burying himself to the hilt with almost vicious slams
that send ripples along Andrew's muscular ass checks, and drive his mouth
harder into my anus. Brad cums at almost the same instant, his hips
snapping forward with each gushing spurt of his thick cum down my throat,
as if the motion of slamming into me will send the globs of pearlescent
white semen even deeper into me, so deep my brother might be able to taste
it on his squirming, eager pink tongue.


	The monster in my throat, driven by the monster of manhood standing
in front of me, his abs flexing, his pecs rippling, his biceps bulging with
veins, stretched lewdly beneath his tight wight skin, is my entire world
for the moment. Behind me, the coach's entire torso is taut with pleasure
and tension, his eyes closed tightly and his teeth clenched as he breeds
the ass in front of him. He just keeps cumming. His spasmodic thrusts
continue, tremors traveling along the length of his body as he pumps
literally everything he can into my brother's guts.


	"Fuck...fuck...fuck...fuck..." the coach repeats, as if it's a
mantra, a prayer. The only word that actually registers in his mind as the
orgasm rips through him, down every extremity, and out of his wide, gaping,
belching piss slit into the boy on his hands and knees before him. "God
fucking damn it... Take my cum, boy. Keep taking it."


	And I hear the coach cum again. I don't mean that he continues to
orgasm. I mean a new orgasm blasts through the older man. The moment is too
much for him, and a new flood of nut breaches my brother's young hole.
Fuck... I've never seen any man, old or young, cum twice in a row. I'm
briefly jealous of my brother, being filled with not one but two massive
loads from the masculine coach, who has likely never had this happen in his
long life. I wonder if he is naturally multi-orgasmic, or whether the
illicit taboo of this moment has gotten to him in a way no woman (or man)
ever has.  For all I know, this is his first time fucking a man's ass.  One
thing is certain: He likes it.


	I swallow and swallow as Brad's big cumload splashes the sides of
my throat. I'm basically bonging this linebacker's cum, straight from his
thick hose into my stomach, where I'll digest him and make his DNA a part
of my own. That's the beauty of man-to-man sex. The sharing is on a level
that isn't possible with other... partners.


	We all collapse on the floor of the shower, panting. Brad's cock
finally escapes my throat and I gasp to get the air I've been sacrificing
back. The coach is still buried in Andrew's ass, laying on top of him like
a dutiful wife, submitting to her husband's impaling manhood. Coach's back
rises and falls with his gradually slowing breaths. We're all a combination
of sweaty and wet, the steam from the hot showers filling the room with the
atmosphere and smell of sweet and sex. I'm intoxicated by it.


	I wonder how every game night doesn't end with a massive orgy
involving the entire team. What could be better than this?  The thought of
the entire team partaking in this ritual, while fantastical, turns me
on. More fodder for my fantasies, and another reason for me to seek
enrollment to this beautiful college.


	As I dry myself off ten minutes later, I watch the muscular
linebacker sliding himself into clothes that are just a little too tight on
him. But fuck it. He has a body that's worthy of braggadocio. No one will
fault him for flaunting what he's got. At least, I won't.


	Coach dresses as well, and I watch as his own impressive body is
covered up, article by article. He does wink and leer at me as he gropes
his bulge through the deep blue jockstrap. It seems like we are all dressed
at nearly the same time, and the silence is a little awkward. Brad and
Coach have probably bonded in a way. They know something about each
other. And they both see us as sexual tools. Toys.


	Andrew and I know the part we have played tonight. And the
smoldering looks he keeps sending my way give a good indication of what is
to come. I don't imagine we'll get a lot of sleep this evening. I have a
vision of him and I, under blankets, sweating again as he drills himself
into my hole and we kiss the night away, emptying passion into each other
even as we absorb the mutual love we share.


	I don't want to go home tomorrow. Or ever.


* * *