Ten ways to get big and strong

by BRK

 Cam and his band-geek buddies have a good laugh at a silly new poster in the gym listing ten ways to get big and strong, but when they sneak in after school and start writing in their own suggestions, things start to get a little weird.

Added: Jun 2016 Updated: 2 Sep 2016 13,105 words 23,284 views 4.8 stars (20 votes)


I think I made a mistake in getting all the guys at school really hooked on Shawn Kirby’s hot, delicious cum. Or, maybe not. I don’t know. To be honest, I’ve … kind of lost perspective on it.

It all started when my guys and I came back for the start of our senior year. There was a new, big-ass institutional poster hanging up near the entrance to the guys’ locker room with the headline HEY GUYS! TEN WAYS TO GET BIG AND STRONG in huge, bouncy letters, followed, sure enough, by a list of ten stunningly banal suggestions about health and fitness in excited, simplistic sentences under a breathless introductory line, “Here are the things all boys need to do!”. My friends and I—also known as the band geeks, not without a fair degree of accuracy—saw it our first day back in P.E. class, and nearly bust a gut. It was, to us, completely ridiculous in every way, starting with the fact that it seemed like it was aimed at kids half our age. Not to mention the idea that anyone other than the jocks could or would actually get “big and strong”.

It was like that old milk commercial from the ‘80s or whatever that’s still floating around YouTube, the one where a kid drinks milk and then he grows into a teenage jock. The poster made it sound easy, too. Just eat your protein and cruciferous vegetables, boys, and drink lots of water and stick to any kind of exercise schedule, and you’ll shoot up a foot too, and your tee shirt and jeans will fill out with yummy muscle, just like Billy here!

Of course, I kept knowledge of my own appreciation of said grown-up hunk yumminess, and the huge boners I’d get at the fantasy of my own baggy jeans and loose tees swelling with muscle, strictly on a need-to-know basis. And, well, nobody needed to know. Especially my buddies from the brass section, the guys I hung out with all the time. Because yeah, they might be okay with it. I mean, I knew they would, probably. But seriously, why fuck with the one corner of the universe I could count on for acceptance in the harsh, unforgiving reality of high school?

Meanwhile, that poster afforded us a lot of entertainment. It became like our own personal real-life meme. It was an in-joke just for the five of us—my guys: sweet, touch-hungry Keith; savvy, blue-eyed blond Liam; shy beanpole Ed; excitable Rico; and mostly ordinary me (my name’s Cam, by the way). We’d fixated on the poster, partly because we were bored and partly because it was so hilarious in and of itself; and on top of everything intrinsically funny about it, it was—for some reason—locked up, with all the other gym schedules and announcements and the “smoking will kill you” posters and all that, in that big four-sectioned, glass-fronted case that ran all along the back wall of the gym between the entrances to the two locker rooms. This was the case where they’d used to put all the school trophies and stuff, before they moved them out to the big shiny case in the front hall where everyone could coo and ogle them. So now the case in the gym just had stuff like this, secured under lock and key as if mischief-makers from our school’s rival team were going to sneak in and steal the group photo of the 1985 field hockey team (state champs three times running!), or the yellowing notice of the 2003 swim team tryouts schedule, or the weird, schizo poster hanging on the girls’ side with the dumb retro malt-shop artwork that was all “don’t have sex, but if you do use a condom, but seriously just don’t do it, okay?”

We had endless fun with all of it, but especially the “big and strong” poster. We snickered and snarked to each other as we passed it every P.E. class. We hailed each other with a hearty “HEY GUYS!” whenever we met in the hall or joined up for lunch, even if it was just one of us greeting another. We joked that Ed, who had a couple inches of height on the rest of us, must have been eating his protein and cruciferous vegetables and sleeping his eight hours because he was obviously one of the poster’s success stories, though the truth was that in his gym clothes he weighed all of 130 pounds, and generally he resembled not so much a classically proportioned Adonis as a 6’3” dick with ears. Meeting up outside the school before homeroom in the mornings, we’d ask each other if we’d remembered to get big and strong the night before, or one of us would announce proudly that he’d had steak and spinach at dinner, and then pretend to lift up a car from the front bumper while we gathered around cheering him on—because these were the things we all “needed” to do. It was a pretty useful distraction, all things considered, especially for a bunch of guys living in a nowhere town where nothing happened, and I mean no. thing.

“Are you getting big and strong?” we’d say to each other, and the response was always, “We want to get big and strong!”

One day in early October, after getting out of band practice early thanks to Mr. Overman abruptly running out looking a little green (they’d served lasagna in the caff that day), the five of us were all milling around in the parking lot and, to kill time before the late bus, we started challenging each other to come up with the dumbest possible alternate suggestions for the list beyond the snoozily pedestrian “ten ways” spelled out on the poster, and we kept trying to top each other with the lame and the ludicrous. We were stumbling around to the side of the school, laughing ridiculously at Rico’s latest suggestion (I think it was something dumb to the point of surreal, like “Snort warm milk through both nostrils”, but it really doesn’t matter because we were too far gone laughing our asses off to be getting any oxygen to our brains by that point anyway), when I stopped dead, nearly pitching Keith, who as usual had a skinny, hairy arm around my shoulders because he’s just that tactile and handsy all the time, to the asphalt. I’d been thinking about how cool it would be to actually alter the poster itself with some of these hilarious/lame/hilariously lame replacement exhortations, and what a gyp it was that it was stupidly locked up in that case, when I had a sudden brainwave.

“Hey, guys, I have an idea,” I said, grabbing Keith’s belt to steady him, and the rest of the group, still laughing and catching their breaths, turned red-faced and grinning to look at me expectantly. But instead of making proposed addition to the list—and honestly, given the sexy places my mind had been going lately almost 24/7, I couldn’t have spoken my last two or three possibilities aloud—I said, “C’mon, let’s go get a picture of it and—”

“—And then we can fix it up in Photoshop and post it! Brilliant!” finished Liam. He was always one step ahead of me. He wasn’t the one in our group with the perfect GPA all the time—that, sadly, would be me—but he was, according to himself, the shrewdest fucker this side of Gordon Freeman. I spun on my heels, helping Keith make the 180 with a guiding hand on his narrow hip, and led the team back into the deserted school building.

As we strode into the gym together I was all ready to pull out my phone and snap a few pics of the poster when we noticed that the universe had provided us with something even better. The case was unlocked. The glass front to the rightmost quadrant of the case—the one with The Poster—was just hanging there open, slightly ajar, like it was inviting us. Daring us.

“Guys,” Liam whispered reverently, his soft voice still echoing a little in the vast, empty space of the gym. “This … is our moment.”

I immediately dropped my bookbag and started digging through it for a pen, wondering if I had anything dark enough to show on the smooth, glossy surface of the poster. The background was this orangey ochre color and I was dubious about how effective a ballpoint would be on it, especially since I still wanted to snap a pic of the finished product in case the doctored poster got torn down tomorrow by enraged suit-and-tie, powers-that-be types. Then Rico grabbed my wrist and said in his smooth, warm tenor, “Cam, check it out.” And he pointed at where a fat, brand-new looking Sharpie was just lying there on the hardwood floor in front of us, right underneath the case.

I grinned at Rico, meeting his dancing dark-chocolate eyes. This was clearly meant to happen. I bent and snatched up the marker, popping the cap and examining its completely pristine, ink-soaked tip. The pen felt kind of warm and thick in my fingers, which at the time seemed a little comforting, like it belonged between your fingers, and I started boning up, thinking about other warm, thick things that felt good in your hands. I blinked, trying to ignore the erection swelling rapidly in my jeans, and got to business. I pocketed the cap and reached for the metal-edged glass front to the case, opening it the rest of the way slowly, as if jumping in too rashly might spring a trap. No coaches jumped out of the shadows, no klaxons blared, and I giggled with an access of relief.

I glanced over the poster and decided that the title, promising those TEN WAYS, was an important part of the package, so any rules we added under that subtitle “Here are the things all boys need to do!”, the new ones needed to replace one that was already there. I raised the marker and drew a long, straight, unbroken line all the way through number 10 (“Working out is easier with a buddy. Get strong—together!”), enjoying the satisfying squeak the pen’s nub made against the coated surface of the poster. I leaned back a little and admired my handiwork so far. The line it left behind was thick and steady and impressively dark and strong, nearly obliterating the original text underneath. Keith, who as usual was back to standing hip to hip with me on my left, his elbow curled around my neck, playfully ruffled the front of my thick navy polo shirt with his wide, long-fingered hand, and I realized to my surprise that I was already fully, completely, achingly hard. “Nice,” Keith said, close to my ear, meaning the line I hoped, and I heard the easy smile in his surprisingly deep voice. My face felt warm and I wondered if he felt it, since his own cheek was scant inches away from mine. Criminy, what was wrong with me today? Sure, I was fucking always horny these days, frankly even more so than your typical teenage hormone factory with an insatiable dick and days spent surrounded by randy, horny jocks who wore whatever showed off their bulging, eager bodies. But lately, and especially on that particular afternoon, it was like up to eleven for some reason.

Then my dick flexed in my jeans and I was like, fuck it. This was the way to be. Hard and hot—that was the real me. My hand gripped the marker tight, itching to write.

“What do we put?” Rico said eagerly. I could feel him practically bouncing behind me.

I remembered one of Liam’s more outré suggestions—we’d diverted into sexy ones for a few rounds before devolving into downright silly, like the milk-snorting one (though as I said I kept the worst of my own to myself)—and felt a warm glow spread inside me. Keith snorted a laugh, seeing the wicked look on my face before anyone else. “Uh oh,” he muttered. With single-minded purpose, I bent forward and carefully inked a new number ten in the space under the old one: “10. GET HARD AND GET OFF”. Then I looked at what I was replacing and added with a grin, “—TOGETHER!”

“Whoa,” Ed said, sounding a little awed by how outrageous we were being.

“Awesome,” cheered Rico, and much to my surprise he patted my ass—and left his hand there. He kept it moving, because Rico didn’t stay still, but he maintained steady, firm contact with my ass through the thin denim of my jeans as he moved his hand slowly left, right, up, down, feeling me up gently and thoroughly and as casually as if he did this every day. I was used to Keith touching us—me, mostly, for some reason, actually—but something weird had happened. Something had shifted, and I was intensely conscious of how I had two cute guys I liked a lot touching me without them even being aware of just how turned on I was. God, I hoped they didn’t know how turned on I was.

“Good advice,” mused Liam wryly from behind us, in reaction to my new poster suggestion. “Could be the tagline for a Vin Diesel movie. The first part, anyway.” The guys snickered.

I felt giddy, probably because of how hard my heart was beating and all the blood rushing through my brain and … other places. I leaned into the warmth of Keith’s body and Rico’s warm, simple touch on my ass and heard myself say, “More.” Hastily, I added, “We—we need to do more.” My voice sounded a little strained to my ears, but I didn’t think the others noticed.

Ed sounded surprised, as if we’d already reach the limits of bad behavior. “Another one? Like what?”

“Something silly,” Liam proposed. “Like—”

“Something hot,” Keith broke in, rough and low right in my ear, and I was forced to wonder just how aware Keith was after all of what he and Rico were doing to me right then. Rico chose that moment to move closer to me, almost pressed against me, so that I could feel the brushing of the entire length of his hard, tight body against mine, and his roving right hand slid around my hip, the thumb and upper fingers of his hand slipping under my polo shirt. I took in a ragged breath. My heart was pounding so wildly that I wondered if Keith’s hand felt it where he had it pressed firmly against my left pec. I was keenly aware of the clothes separating me, Keith, and Rico, and I wondered feverishly what I would do if, as seemed likely, they all suddenly burned away in a flash in the next second.

“Hot and silly,” said Rico in the mischievously seductive tone he used sometimes—the one I thought of as his sexy-smooth voice. My guts twisted with want. I felt like I was going to cream in my jeans from the ramping, rampaging intensity of this unlooked-for moment of raw intimacy, and to avoid that dire fate I shoved my thoughts desperately away from my physical predicament, trying to divert my puny, sex-constricted mind from this stupidly hot friend-cluster. But crowbarring my brain away from my guys only threw me into the pool of anonymous hot schoolmates I saw at in the corridors and classrooms and the locker room every day. And the only ones I ever really noticed out of the hundreds of guys in my school were the absolute hotties, and thinking about them wasn’t exactly going to be doing much for my raging boner. Swiftly, like rainwater down a well-worn gully, my tiny brain performed the same sort-and-winnow it always did, sifting straight down through the long roster of our school’s yummy hunky jocks, discarding left and right until only my favorite eye-candy and wank-off fantasy jock dude was left: the boyishly cute, divinely muscled, tight-waisted, gorgeous-assed and (as had been verified in numerous locker-room sightings) prodigiously hung Shawn Kirby, the absolute platonic ideal of delicious male goodness.

I wanted to lick him so, so bad.

I shook myself, my attempts at self-diversion as perilous as the erotic sensations I was actually experiencing. Needing to push this epically weird moment forward somehow, I bent forward impulsively and, drawing another long, straight line though number 9 on the poster (“Be sure to get eight hours of good, restful sleep!”), I quickly and carefully wrote in a new entry underneath, one that, as things turned out, would be as fateful as the one I’d just put up. When I was done, I leaned back and let the others see. Rico chuckled softly, and as he was pressed hard against me now I felt it wash through me as much as heard it. His warm breath huffed against my bare neck, of the side opposite from Keith, and Keith must have been looking at me too, because I could feel the breath from his nose against my jaw on that side, too.

“Oh fuck…!” Ed said in a slow drawl, sounding deliciously scandalized.

“I cannot believe you wrote that,” Keith said, teasingly admonishing. I could tell he was surprised and impressed at my audacity. I was so attuned to his deep voice right then that everything he said went right to my dick.

“Perfect,” Liam said, approving.

We stared in awe at the words I’d added to the poster in neat, thick capital letters, words that I had no way of knowing were bound to turn our world upside down: “9. BE SURE TO DRINK SHAWN KIRBY’S HOT, DELICIOUS CUM.”

We stood there for a moment, taking it in. My heart was pounding like a trip-hammer. Keith’s hand was idly caressing my chest now, and Rico’s had slid around to my stomach as he pressed hard against me. I felt a sudden electric thrill as I realized I could feel Rico’s rock-hard cock against my ass, and from the way Keith was breathing it sounded like he was just as incredibly aroused as Rico and I were.

At that moment, Ed said suddenly, “Is anyone else turned on as fuck?”

I looked over, laughing and feeling the snorts of amusement from the guys hanging on me, and saw that Ed and Liam had moved closer, just on the other side of where we were standing, so that between my group of three and the other two we sort of formed a tight little ring around the open display case. Ed’s pale eyes met mine—he was sheepish but obviously flushed with arousal, and when I glanced over at Liam I saw that he was, too, though he was doing a slightly better job of hiding it under a wry smirk. His bright blue eyes were dancing as he stared hungrily back at us.

“I think,” Liam said carefully, with the air of someone proposing a group activity, like a game of horse or a trip to Disneyland, “that since we can’t do number 9 at the moment, we should … at least take care of number 10.”

There was a quiet beat as we all looked at each other, each of us obviously flushed with arousal. Then Rico spoke up. “We do want to get big and strong,” he said, and we all smiled at each other.

“It’s something we boys all need to do,” rumbled Keith, and that got more smiles. I felt a twist of portent in my guts. We’d echoed these words from the poster many times before, sure, but that word, need, felt like it resonated with me more than usual. There was a need, and it wasn’t all quite the joke it had always been.

I slowly and deliberately capped the marker with an audible snap, and set it down inside the open case. “Well, when it comes to number 10,” I said, feeling a rush of wild empowerment, “I think we’re all already halfway there.”

I looked around at my guys, at sly Liam, open and earnest Ed, over my shoulder at grinning Rico, and then the other way at Keith. Then Keith did something he’d never done before. Keeping his arm around my neck, he slid around close so he was facing me, pressed hard against my front even as Rico pushed his hard body against my back. A shudder of intense arousal coursed through me and I stared deep into Keith’s dark, intense eyes. He was now stroking my side with one hand, sliding under Rico’s arm as he slid his hand under my shirt and stroked my flat abs. Keith’s other hand was clasped around the back of my neck.

I kept my eyes locked with Keith’s, but I heard Liam telling Ed in a voice that was both amused and aroused, “Looks like those three are way ahead of us. What do you think? Should we join them, or should we … help each other?”

Ed’s coy, soft-spoken reply was, “I hate group projects,” and that was why Keith and I were both grinning as we moved in simultaneously for a kiss. His lips brushed mine, tentatively at first, and then firmly, eagerly, and it felt like an electric revelation. I moaned into the kiss, loving the feel of his lips against mine and his strong hand around my neck; and Keith, who to my knowledge had never kissed anyone before, deepened the kiss like a pro, sliding his warm sweet tongue into my mouth in a move that felt like coming home. At the same time Rico’s naturally buff body was pressed up against me from behind at every conceivable point of contact with me—torso, hips, legs, ass—and both of his hands were now around and under my shirt, slowly caressing my chest and abs, while he ministered to my neck and jaw with his hot lips and tongue above the place Keith’s strong, firm hand gripped my nape. Keith’s hard body was pressed so close to me that the backs of Rico’s hands must have been doing double duty, feeling us both up as we all mashed together, and Keith returned the favor by snaking his free left hand around to grope Rico’s back under his shirt, cinching the three of us even tighter into a single throbbing, arousal flooded unit.

Rico had taken up a gentle rocking motion, like the rolling of a ship passing across a gentle, undulating ocean, and the rhythm passed through us as Keith and I kissed and the three of us ranged our hands over each other’s tight, young, heated bodies. I felt the soft fabric of Keith’s loose Green Day tee under my fingers and palms, I felt the three of us writhing together through our clothes, and my mind felt blown and my body amped to the point of having been brought in a short time all the way, very nearly to the verge of an epic orgasm.

My senses spun with what felt like a feral level of need I’d never known before. I could imagine us, almost feel us naked. I could imagine Rico’s cock not just humping me slowly to a tempo that seemed to thrum through the universe itself, but sliding between my bare cheeks, up and down my crack. I was aware and a little ashamed that I wasn’t ready to picture Rico pushing into me, for the three of us to be actually fucking, and I blushed as I intensified my kiss with Keith in compensation, sliding my hands finally under Keith’s tee for the first time. Most of my fantasies so far had involved hunky guys undressing, getting boned, beating off for me, maybe kissing me while we both came on my pale, decently defined chest. What we were doing now was beyond anything I’d ever imagined being remotely possible, and doing this, but with the clothes gone, bodies intertwined, feeling every inch of each other’s warm, sweaty skin as we gave each other pleasure—that by itself was a vision wild enough, intense enough, urgent enough to push me to the very brink.

Rico’s lips had moved up from my jaw as Keith and I hungrily made out, our crotches grinding together as Rico’s churned against my backside, and he mouthing the shell of my ear when suddenly he paused and let out a shuddering breath. His right hand had quested south and had found the damp head of my very erect cock, not something he was going to have missed the moment he moved his attentions down from my abs. It was as hard as it had ever been, and big enough that when it was straight up like this it tended to shove rudely up right up out of the waistband of my jeans under my shirt. I hated to get hard to school, not that I could really help it anymore these days, because of the risk of getting an inexplicable wet spot at the bottom of my shirt, like I was prone to spill on myself constantly, all the time, like a complete moron. It was one of the reasons I always wore thick shirts in dark, rich colors, like the heavy, extra-long navy polo I had on today.

“Dude,” Rico whispered in my ear, as his hand wrapped smoothly around the head and upper shaft, making me quiver and ratcheting my arousal almost beyond endurance. “Fuck, bro, you’re huge.”

Keith heard this and broke our kiss, panting as he kept his sweetly cute face a bare inch from mine. I loved the feeling of his breaths gusting over my hot, kiss-swollen lips, and I hope he felt the same way, because I could barely catch my own breath, or keep it even when I did. “I thought you were smuggling zucchinis down there,” Keith murmured against my cheek, catching Rico’s gaze and then mine with a wicked grin.

“No, I’d say that’s meat, not vegetable,” Rico teased in my ear in a breathier version of his sexy-smooth voice. His tone was light, but I could feel that his need was as urgent as mine in the grip he was giving me and the press of his whole body against me.

“Fuck you guys,” I huffed. I smiled wolfishly and met Keith’s gaze, letting him see my raw need, letting it spill into him, though it looked like he was drowning in his own. I took a stab at the arch banter my guys seemed to still be capable of, but my body was flooded with buzzing euphoria and my brain was shorting out from overstimulation. “That,” I panted, “is a dick, and it needs to be—it needs to—”

“To … get big and strong?” Rico purred. He was pushing his own big, hard boner against my ass with a twisty thrusting motion more blatant than anything he’d done so far. As I had nowhere to go, with Keith and his hips and his own long, hard erection pressed as hard as possible against me in front, it felt almost like Rico was pushing inside me, right through our clothes, and I gasped.

“Fuck,” I shuddered. No more jokes. I couldn’t stand it much longer—I had to blow my load, and it felt so huge I was going to paint the gym with it. I pulled Keith tight against me. “Rico,” I said, “you have to do it. Open us up. Grab our cocks.” Rico’s hands seemed to stutter in their movements at the direct call to sex. All this was lust until now, but lust could be just guys rubbing together. But we needed to be more than guys rubbing together. We need to get. The fuck. Off.

“Do it, Rico,” I said, quiet and insistent. “Do it!” As Rico diverted both hands to fumbling with our buttons and zips—first me, then Keith—I took courage enough to escalate my own groping, grabbing Keith’s hard, round ass in both hands and surprising a gasp of pleasure out of my friend. Rico had opened us up already and yanked down the elastic of our shorts, but rather than the coolness you normally felt exposing your dick to the open air the space between us was so warm that laying us bare only intensified the feeling of intercourse in progress.

I felt Rico try to wrap his hand around both our shafts, only to moan in my ear, “Fuck, Cam, you’re so big I can’t get my hand around you both.”

I grunted, feeling him stroke our precum-slicked shafts together. I was so close, painfully close. “Small-handed freak,” I gasped. Keith snorted.

“My hand … not the problem,” Rico said raggedly. To my delight he moved his other hand in and grabbed our cocks together in both of his warm, strong fists. Suddenly Keith and I were kissing again, hard and insistent, our iron-hard dicks shoving into Rico’s hands between us as he basically started to fuck my ass through our clothes. My hands were everywhere on Keith’s body, mauling his ass, pawing his back under his shirt, scrabbling through his close-cropped hair, and Keith was doing the same to me and Rico together. In seconds we were all three building together toward a monumental explosion. I was shouting and huffing into Keith’s mouth, and then suddenly we were all cumming hard and strong and loud as fuck.

It might have taken us forever to come down from that, Rico languidly stroking our still-mostly hard, cum-drenched dicks as we leaned and pressed comfortably against each other, except that Liam and Ed started applauding.

We looked over at them, surprised and abashed, to see that they had indeed apparently taken care of each other while we were busy—their half-turgid cocks were still out, and the wet evidence of their encounter was soaking through their tee shirts and spattering the well-polished wood floor of the gym at their feet. But their attention was entirely on goading us, though when they stopped clapping I noticed Liam put a deliberate arm around our slightly taller friend, and Ed did not seem to mind.

“That was amazing,” Liam teased, lips twisting in a smile. “All we had to do to finish ourselves off was watch you guys.” Ed was blushing and said nothing, but his avid gaze toward where Rico was still stroking us made it clear that what Liam said was certainly true for him.

“Fuck you guys,” I said again, my wit seeming to have deserted me. It suddenly occurred to me that we needed to get out of there. Though a glance at the clock over the folded-up bleachers told me our interlude, which at felt like hours, had actually only taken minutes (maybe time really had stopped), it wouldn’t be long for the lacrosse and soccer teams, who at the moment were all safely out in the fields, to come in from practice and head for the locker rooms.

“So,” drawled Keith, “what are we going to do about … our clothes?” It was true, of course—we were all soaked, shirt and pants, with cum. Lots of cum, prodigious amounts even, like we’d deliberately saved our wads for a month so as to have this moment together. Which was a joke, because I’d already jacked off twice that day—once at home before school and once in the bathroom during lunch. But hey, horny teenagers, right?

“Cam lives closest,” Liam said shrewdly, running his free hand through his longish, slightly damp golden locks.

“You mean, ‘Meat’,” Rico interrupted. I shot him a look.

“Right,” Liam said, beaming. “‘Meat’. We can … sneak over to Meat’s house and borrow some clothes, maybe … do some laundry?” He looked at me questioningly, and I sighed.

“Sure,” I said resignedly, not because I didn’t want the guys over, but because I could feel a nickname settling onto me that I would never be able to shed. “Come on, follow me.”

They’d all been to my house before plenty of times, but there was a shortcut they didn’t know about through the woods from the end of the cul-de-sac near my house to the trees behind the high school, and fortunately it could be reached without passing the practice fields. So we were able to slip away and turn up at home without making a spectacle of ourselves on Main Street with our tight, semen-soaked duds. I poked my head into the house from the back door cautiously, but it seemed all clear—if my brothers were home I would have heard shouts and video-game noises from the den. They were still at lacrosse. I motioned the guys to follow me in, and we filed up the stairs to my room.

What happened next was pretty funny—we all suddenly got shy about undressing in front of each other. “Guys, we just had a fucking shared orgasm together,” I chided them, and they grinned sheepishly or ferally according to temperament. “We’re totally past the whole naked thing. So rip your clothes off already! I’ll give you some of my stuff while we run your stuff through the washer.”

“It’s something we all need to,” Keith offered, and we all kind of laughed nervously at the weirdness of it all and started pulling our clothes off. It was a little difficult pulling of shirts and pants, since everything was wet and sticky, but before long we had made a pile of soiled clothes, alongside another little pile of shoes, bags, and instrument cases, and a stack of wallets and keys and so on in a heap on my desk. And then we were all standing around with our asses hanging out, trying not to look at each other.

“Can we—?” said Ed, embarrassed, with a gesture toward my dresser.

“Please,” I said. “Be my guest.”

As host I decided to indulge in the privilege of watching them as they moved around naked, pulled out clothes that might fit, and self-consciously got dressed. I stood there, buck naked myself, and eyed them appraisingly. Rico, as I already knew, was the fittest out of all of us, and it looked as though he had put some meat on his bones since the last time I’d seen him shirtless, having slipped at some point from “defined” into “buff”; but I was surprised to see that all four of them, even tall, skinny Ed, had some serious definition and very nice proportions—wide shoulders, trim waist, nice ass, the works. I was clearly best hung out of all of them, a fact that up until today would have been a cause for chagrin. It had always felt weird to me, from the time I’d become aware of it a few years before, to be unusual only in that one, specific and very private way, and to be completely average in every other respect and endeavor. But collectively my friends seemed not only well proportioned but generously endowed as well.

“You, uh, gonna get dressed?” Ed asked, sounding faintly intimidated. He kept glancing at my tool, which was big even when completely flaccid (I was apparently, from what little comparative info I had been able to gather on the subject, both a shower and a grower). Though he in particular had nothing to worry about on that score—it looked to me like he lived up to the stereotype I’d read about somewhere of tall, lanky guys generally being very well hung.

“Eventually,” I answered, giving him a cheeky smile. He rolled his eyes and started pulling on a pair of my boxer briefs.

Keith was eying my junk as well. “That thing is a fucking weapon,” he said as he hauled on a pair of my board shorts, totally commando. Usually he didn’t talk a lot and was primarily seeking comfort from contact with us, but today seemed to have emboldened him. As if in demonstration of the thoughts I was having at that very moment he closed the distance between us, still shirtless as if to keep his hairy, nicely defined chest on display and available for touching, and, instead of wrapping an arm around my shoulders like he usually would, reached down and cupped my balls.

My eyebrows shot up and I felt my eyes widen. His hand moved to stroke my fat, flaccid shaft a few times, and I could feel it wanting to perk up at the ministrations. “Dude,” I said, almost whining, “my brothers might be home any minute.”

“Leave Meat alone,” said Rico, grinning ferociously at us from where he was flipping idly through my button-down shirts hanging in the closet—presumably out of sheer curiosity, since he and Liam were already dressed apart from bare feet. “We can … make another sandwich later if we want.” And the fucker even winked at us. Clearly this whole “Meat” thing was going to be a serious pain, though the sandwich part—well, that was something to think about.

I glared at Rico, but Keith grinned at me, and, letting go of my dick, now already half-hard again, he turned and instead dropped his arms around Liam and Rico, steering them out the door despite still being shirtless himself. Ed trailed after them, shrugging into one of my tees that looked like it might be a bit small on him. “Speaking of which,” Keith said in his sexy basso profundo, “let’s go see what kind of food we can raid from Meat’s refrigerator.”

“Gee, I hope there’s lots of protein and cruciferous vegetables,” Rico said, and the others laughed, disappearing down the stairs. I thought I caught Liam saying something about “protein on tap,” but I might have misheard.

I stood there a moment, slightly dazed, and then abruptly shook my head. Deciding I couldn’t stay nude indefinitely, I went over to my dresser and pulled out my favorite deep-russet polo. I’d had it forever and it had always been one of my loose, comfy, slop around at home shirts, but when I hauled it on I was surprised to feel it pulling tight across my shoulders. It was tight across the chest, too. Fuck! Of all the shirts for Mom to shrink in the wash. Or my brother, more likely—Mom had recently added laundry to Brad’s chore list since he refused to learn how to cook, and we usually cooked dinner weeknights since Mom always worked late (which meant it usually fell on me, with my year-younger brother Nathan as dutiful acolyte). Brad was grumpy about having to do the laundry, and I wouldn’t have put it past him to shrink my clothes, whether out of negligence or malice—either was equally plausible.

I sighed dramatically as only a little brother will when subjected to the attentions of his older sibling. I pulled on a pair of jeans that also seemed tight in the thighs and ass and rode up an inch at the ankles to boot, and sighed again louder, not that there was anyone to hear. I gathered up our jizz-drenched clothes and padded downstairs barefoot to wash them. For a moment I briefly considering having a go at shrinking the guys’ clothes as well, so we’d all be even, and equally exasperated. But, unlike my brother Brad, I wasn’t a dick, and so I headed for the laundry room thinking hard instead about how insanely hot my encounter with Rico and Keith had been (with Liam and Ed watching!). Still, I tended to be nervous about anything that involved unbalancing the status quo, and as I got the load started I found myself wondering uneasily what exactly lay in store for me and my friends.

I busied myself starting a load of our cum-soaked clothes, hesitating only a second before tossing in the half-load of my brothers’ morning workout togs that were heaped, still damp and reeking, in the basket by the washer. My momentary hesitation was born of concern that the undeniable collective potency of our copious quantities of jizz, the odor of which I’d been keenly aware of as I’d brought our junk downstairs right under my own very sensitive nose, would effortlessly overpower Brad and Nathan’s stinky sweat-socks and jockstraps should they share a single washload together. But then I got the image in my head of my cranky older brother, Brad, settling onto the bench press down in the basement only to suddenly furrow his brow and take a sniff at the shoulder of his beloved gray Steelers sweatshirt, then glare up at Nathan standing over him, spotting, and growl in his usual, super-serious voice, “Why the fuck do I smell like jizz?!” I snorted, picturing it, the beauty of imagining Brad all consternated at having cum-scented clothes only equaled by the look of utter perplexity I envisioned Nathan giving back to him in response. After that, tossing all my brothers’ sweaty duds in the load with my guys’ stuff felt almost like a dare.

Of course, I knew it was really all academic. I lived in a house with three active sons, two of them committed athletes practically since they were out of pull-ups. Appliance-wise, my parents had known what they were doing. It wasn’t even a question that the heavy-duty machine I was currently feeding sweat-soaked workout gear into was more than a match for anything I could throw at it. This particular washer had probably gotten rid of enough boy-sweat and cum to create a whole new primordial soup on some barren world and start life all over again. A whole new race of humans bred from the Townsend boys’ jizz and sweat, I mused, starting the washer going and enjoying the comforting sound of powerful sprays of hot water dousing the soiled clothes within. What kind of new humans would result from that? As I put the detergent and fabric softener away, I considered wryly what my disparate brothers and I had in common that might characterize this new race of men. Hung and horny for starters, I thought to myself, smirking and shaking my head as I exited the little laundry room and headed out through the kitchen toward the family room at the front of the house, where I guessed my guys would be. Sure enough, as I left behind the noise of the washer I could hear the TV going and happy chatter and laughter from the direction I was heading.

Before passing out of the kitchen I checked the clock on the stove. Nearly five-thirty. Practice should have wrapped up by now. Nathan and Brad were probably heading for the showers. Nathan and Brad—and Shawn. Shawn the Adonis Kirby. God, just the thought of him made my hefty dick twitch in my too-snug jeans. I’d had a crush on him for ages—one of those worship-from-afar things, as I knew without even having to think about it that he’d never … But admiring his form, appreciating the perfection of his sweetly muscled body, his flawless skin, his shining eyes, that had been one of my favorite things for a while now. God. I stopped, putting up a hand on the doorjamb leading out of the kitchen to steady myself. My appetite for Shawn had only mounted and intensified as I’d approached our senior year. I’d driven past his house more than once that summer on the way to my new reluctantly acquired job weekend afternoons at Target, hoping to see him, and been rewarded twice by the blessed sight of Shawn mowing his lawn shirtless and sweaty, an image I’d shamelessly beaten off to countless times since.

I’d even very nearly talked myself into actually trying out for the lacrosse team, just so I could be around him and watch him perform. Yeah, okay, it’s true I wasn’t quite a jock to the degree my brothers were. They sometimes seemed like they’re all about putting muscles and sports ahead of everything else. But I could hold my own, and on a soccer pitch I could outplay both of them on a good day, if my heart was in it and I was really especially invested that day in getting under Brad’s skin and proving to him I wasn’t just the nerdy kid brother he was so quick to dismiss. Sure, at lacrosse I wasn’t quite so adept, to say the least, not anything like my brothers, who took to it like ducks to water. But it would almost have been worth the fumbling and humiliation to have the privilege of seeing the smiling god of Southlake High every day in a sweat-damp jersey and loose, butt-hugging shorts as he ran up and down the field, pushing his luscious physique and firing up with excitement and adrenaline as he competed and played with his friends and teammates, before heading in with the guys to get naked in the showers.


I bent my head a little and smiled ruefully at my pathetic self. I wondered at the turn my thoughts were taking. It almost felt as though I was drawn to Shawn tonight more than ever. I’d had him on my mind for a while, but tonight it was almost like I was feeling a real, low-level but hard-to-ignore urge to actually go, right now, and leave the house and find Shawn and … do things to him. Geez Louise! What the hell was wrong with me? I gripped the doorframe a bit harder, trying to steady myself mentally as well as physically.

Suddenly Rico’s loud, delighted shriek erupted from the front of the house, and I broke out in a grin as I was reminded of how we’d accidentally discovered how ticklish Rico was a year or so back, and how we all, of course, had ruthlessly exploited that weakness at every opportunity since. Fuck Shawn, I told myself. I had a roomful of darn sexy guys in my own den right this minute, all of whom had just gotten off together with me and who were currently experiencing the rush of a post-sex happy languor that, I decided easily, absolutely needed to have me in the middle of it. Well, I had an hour or so to kill before I’d have to start dinner, and I could spend that time immersed in buddy-testosterone just as easily as my brothers. And without having to suit up in gloves and helmets. Though maybe, if I was lucky, we might still have the whole heading naked for the showers thing.

I smiled and, wriggling my shoulders a little in my old, too-tight polo, I headed for the family room and the warm camaraderie of my friends.

Brad Townsend couldn’t figure out quite what had come over him today.

Sure, he’d been thrilled when Coach Brown had invited him to turn up for the first few lacrosse practices and help kick-start the fall season and the training for new recruits. He was supposed to be over his high school glories now that he was a college man, but the truth was that he hadn’t felt much of a transition yet. He was living at home and going to university twenty minutes away, where he didn’t know anyone yet and where there wasn’t a competitive lacrosse team (just intramurals, and fuck that). And the guys he was closest to—Shawn, Mateus, his brother Nate—were still here at Southlake High. In fact, they were all right here on this practice field, suited up, winded, blood pumping, and grinning after a tough practice.

But there was something weird about Shawn today, and it was bugging the fuck out of Brad. Shawn looked—amazing. Magnetic. His bright eyes and dazzling smile had been snagging something in Brad’s gut all afternoon. Even weirder than that, Brad had been noticing Shawn in a way he wasn’t used to. He’d been catching himself watching Shawn as he ran and as he fielded and threw the ball, effortlessly wielding his stick like the natural he’d always been. Noticing all that wasn’t exactly new for Brad, in itself—he’d always been impressed by Shawn’s form and natural ability since they’d started playing in middle school, Shawn a year behind him but almost uncanny in his facility with the game almost from the beginning. Brad knew he’d spent plenty of time admiring Shawn’s skill and elegance on the field.

Today, though, there was something more going on. It was the same admiration, in a way, but it was intensified and augmented. Brad found himself fixated on Shawn’s form and proportions: his broad shoulders, his narrow waist, those powerful yet sleek thighs, his calves straining as he ran. Thick biceps that bunched against his jersey as he fielded the fast-moving little ball and flung it back into play. Most of all, Brad found himself staring at Shawn’s hard, round ass, and that realization, that he was staring in wonder and almost veneration at his friend’s firm, perfect ass—combined with the hard pounding of his heart and the pretty much constant half-boned condition of his magnum-sized dick in its tightly packed jock all through practice—made him seriously wonder what the holy hell was going on with them both today.

It didn’t get any better when practice broke and they retired back to the locker rooms. Though he’d gotten a good, sweaty workout along with everyone else, engaging in all the plays and showing the less experienced guys how it was done, Brad found himself stalling, putting off heading into the showers by engaging Shawn, Nate, and Mateus at their lockers in an animated conversation, sussing out the factors in recent successes and spit-balling possible play-book refinements. Even this convo about tactics and gaming was unsetting for Brad, though, because he’d gotten them started on it after the guys had started undressing, and he was too aware of the strong, muscular bodies of his closest buddies, seeming almost to radiate warmth, their attractiveness washing over him from all directions, seeping into his skin and thickening his eager, tireless, uncontrollable cock. He was sitting on the bench and the others were standing around him, which somehow ramped up his awareness of these hot, hormone-filled, god-muscled men clustered together with Brad, somehow, at the center.

He tried to regulate his breathing as he took them in, forcing his thoughts into formation around the overloading stimulus. Shawn was shirtless, and it was as if his exposed skin was a drug that Brad was born addicted to, from his bulging traps brushed by his long black hair all the way down to tight, rock-carved abs and the slightest brush of a treasure trail slipping down under the elastic of his field shorts. Worse, Mateus and Nate had continued undressing and were engaging in the conversation bare-ass naked—Mateus in his usual straight-faced, solemn way, thick arms folded over his almost disproportionate chest and looking for all the world like a statue of some kind of idealized Brazilian alpha-male carved from the richest caramel, Nate thoughtful but eager to make his points. Brad was at the moment keenly aware of the extent to which his younger brother had been pushing himself in their basement gym workouts over the last year, so that while he still managed to look impressively lean and lanky Nate was now almost as hard and defined as Brad from stem to stern. Lately Brad had been driving himself harder in reaction to Nate’s training, just to make sure he stayed ahead of his ambitious but devoted brother.

They both pretty much had size, definition, and symmetry worthy of a fitness magazine cover model or one of those guys that got thousands of followers on Instragram just from constantly posting shirtless pictures of themselves poised on clifftops or cuddling with puppies or earnestly brandishing their teeth-whitening kits. And Mateus—he was cuter than both of them, Brad reckoned honestly, and bigger enough that by comparison, he looked like he put on muscle as easily as he and Nate put on a shirt. They were all three of them good-looking and built and more than decently hung, and probably the object of infatuation any number of girls and guys throughout the excitable and envious student body of the school, or any potential teeming mob of rabid Instagram followers. But they weren’t Shawn. It wasn’t just that they weren’t aesthetically perfect like Shawn—they weren’t beautiful like Shawn, or mesmerizing like Shawn. Something about Shawn was drawing Brad in, making him want to be much more intimate with his buddy than they’d ever been.

And the weirdest part of all, out of all this bizarro escalation of his always-powerful bond with the humble dark-haired god, was that Brad was almost certain the others were feeling it too: desire, attraction, and arousal. A strange thought slid around underneath all these other new and jarring perceptions: this undertow of Shawn’s allure that was pulling on them now wouldn’t be limited to just them in the morning. All the guys at school would feel this heady pull, he was certain, as powerfully as the three friends were feeling it now. Now was the turning point, his mind told him. You must lay claim now, before you become one in a crowd of hungry, needy admirers.

Lay claim? His brain answered, disconcerted and unsure. Lay claim to what?

As these strange thoughts wrestled in Brad’s consciousness, he became aware that their conversation was the only set of sounds echoing through the locker room, a sign that everyone else had already showered and gone already. Just then Mateus paused in what he was saying and looked down at Brad’s crotch. “Looks like B.T. here is even more excited to be back on the field than we thought,” Mateus said, as straight-faced as always but with an unmistakable grin in his voice.

The others looked down and made sounds like they were trying to hold their reactions. Brad looked down too, and cursed out loud. His oversized dick had not only worked its way out of his jock, as it had a tendency of doing, but had also managed to bone up almost completely, with the result that the head and a bit more of his two-sizes-too-large tool were now shamelessly poking out of the right leg of his lacrosse shorts where he sat on the locker room bench.

“Damn, Brad,” Nate said. Brad looked up at him. Nate, of course, had seen his dick plenty of times, at home and in the locker room and showers—but they also both knew that Nate was the one who couldn’t keep it down, not Brad. And his was even harder to hide than Brad’s, or their nerdy but equally-Townsend-hung middle brother Cam’s. Brad dropped his gaze to Nate’s crotch, and sure enough Nate’s whopper was hard as a rock, jutting straight out to the side so that it was flat against Nate’s hip before it jutted out a few inches past it.

“I’m not the only one, bro,” he said, drawing the others’ gaze to Nate’s own impressive tool. His brother blushed. Brad, meanwhile, watched as Nate’s light-brown eyes flicked to Shawn’s perfect, magnetically muscled torso before skittering away. His stomach fluttered—he was sure now. That was it. Brad knew that he and Nate were feeling the same thing, and that eased his mind considerably. He glanced to his left and saw that Mateus, too, was also deeply aroused and impressively boned, his own pale brown, uncut tool standing straight out from his body. It was not quite as big as the brothers’, but still long and very, very wide and thick, and—Brad was startled to realize he was thinking—unnervingly mouth-watering. The damp head was almost brushing Brad’s thick, bulging shoulder, inches from his heated face.

Brad turned his head to face Shawn, who was looking them all over with the strangest look on his sweet, kissable face. Could it be that he looked—guilty?

Brad locked eyes with Shawn. Deliberately, as if invoking a direct challenge from some ancient ritual of chivalry, Brad slowly slid back the fabric of his shorts a few inches and then, still staring straight into Shawn’s ocean-blue eyes, he wrapped his hand around his own achingly hard cock.

Shawn swallowed.

“Something you want to tell us, Kirby?” Brad said in a soft, steely voice.

Shawn first shook his head minutely, then he shrugged his broad, fucking lickable shoulders instead. “I don’t know,” he said after a second. He glanced at the others, who had followed Brad’s lead and wrapped a hand around their iron-hard dicks and were watching Shawn closely. Then Shawn turned his gaze back to Brad. “I feel it too,” he said uncertainly. “I feel myself … arousing you.” He shrugged again, as if unsure how to explain further.

“Show us the rest,” Mateus said suddenly. Shawn looked over at him, momentarily confused, but Mateus nodded down at the shorts Shawn was still wearing. Brad had been planning to ask for the same thing, but he was glad Meteus had brought it up instead. He realized that Shawn had been standing with his right forearm angled in an odd way, over his hip and crotch, almost as if he was trying to hide something.

“Oh,” the bonerific godling said. “Yeah, sure, that’s … only fair.” But even as Shawn made to reach for his shorts with his other hand, Brad reached up in a lightning move and yanked down both Shawn’s shorts and the jock underneath, freeing what Shawn had been hiding behind his forearm—a magnificent boner that, while not as huge as his or Nate’s, or as thick as Mateus’s, was much bigger than average and, more to the point, almost unbearably beautiful. It was long and wide and proud and perfect, and Brad realized he wanted it in his mouth. He wanted to taste its cum. It wasn’t overriding everything else; it didn’t replace or eclipse all his other wants and desires. It was more like something that was in his bones, a primal fact of Brad’s biology, there underneath everything else since time immemorial even if he’d only recognized and awakened to it today.

“Fuuuuuck,” Nate moaned. Mateus’s fat cock flexed at Brad’s shoulder, drawing a trail of precum across Brad’s round, hard delt.

“That dick … was made to be sucked,” Brad heard himself say. “By us,” he added. He wasn’t sure if he could make Shawn reserve that intoxicating cock only for them, but he felt somehow that Shawn would put them ahead of everyone else.

That dick, though. It was meant to be sucked, to fill a hot, hungry mouth with its length and girth and velvet-covered hardness, to spill gouts of cum down eager throats. He knew it beyond any questioning.

Brad tore his eyes away from the magnificent and irresistible erection, already glistening with the first few copious streams of clear, delicious-looking precum, long enough for him to see that Shawn was staring intensely down at him, and it was clear from his darkened eyes, flushed cheeks, and ragged breaths that Shawn agreed.

I lay in bed that night in a daze, letting the drifting cool air from the half-open window brush playfully over my naked body as I idly traced my fingertips up and down my unrelenting, unflagging boner, trying to make sense of the night’s events.

When I’d finally walked into our big, cozy family room I’d found the guys sprawled on the deep, enveloping, super-comfortable chocolate-brown sectional we had in there. They were watching an international soccer match on the wall-mounted wide-screen, somewhat to my surprise (we didn’t pride ourselves on hating sports like some of our more nerd-identifying friends did, including a lot of the guys we were in band with, but we didn’t often pay attention to it either). Liam and Ed were curled up on the shorter side of the sectional, Liam’s arm still wrapped around Ed’s shoulder and looked like it was going to stay there forever, and they were both avidly pointing and commenting at the soccer hunks on the screen—Ed was as vocal as I’d ever seen him, and Liam looked unusually relaxed, as if he felt like he didn’t need to be the one sorting things out a few moves ahead of everyone for a while. Rico and Keith were laughing and playing on the longer end like puppies, Keith relentlessly trying to get at Rico’s ticklish sides under his tee shirt and Rico slapping his hands away and trying to fight back, hunting for any possible super-sensitive spots on Keith’s own exposed torso.

They were all wearing my clothes, and for some reason that was turning me on. Seeing blue-eyed, blond Liam in my old, knee-torn jeans and a dark, saturated-navy polo that really seemed to frame his pale skin and light up his eyes; or Ed in one of my few light-colored tees, the solid yellow that I’d worn so much it was almost threadbare, stretched taut and snug across his developing pecs and short enough ride up and expose half a row of faint but clear bricks of ab muscle below the hem. Or Rico, looking workout-pumped in a muscle-hugging dark red lacrosse team tee (I’d stolen it from Brad years ago as a loose, comfy sleep shirt, but it looked tight on Rico now) and my newest jeans clinging very nicely to his well-built thighs and—I almost gasped as he twisted to go on the offensive against Keith—Rico’s amazing ass, an ass that in this moment looked almost as hot as Shawn’s. Or Keith, who was wearing my board shorts and nothing else, and who was very obviously rock-hard boned in them.

My gaze swept across the others and I saw that they were all boned. Their cocks were hard and rampant, and they were hard in my clothes. That totally did it for me. My heart started pounding in a raw flood of pure arousal, and my dick, already swollen and yearning and half-hard the whole time we’d been home, now inflated suddenly to full, enormous erection. I hastily shoved a hand into my snug jeans, straightening out my oversized dick so it was standing up where it needed to be, trapped under the waistband. The movement must have caught their attention, because the four of them suddenly looked up all at once to where I was standing there staring at them in the doorway. They grinned back up at me, and as one their eyes raked down my unexpectedly tight shirt pulling taut against my shoulders and chest and upper arms, down to where my dick stood out from my waistband, not yet hidden behind the shirt like it usually was. I glanced down at it. It looked huge, like it was thrusting up even more out of my pants than usual, and all but shouted how ridiculously unslakable I was turning out to be these days. I looked back at them, my lips curving in a self-conscious smile, and let my hand drop to one side without pulling the shirt in front of the unmistakable evidence of my intense arousal.

“Hey guys,” I said, sounding a little husky in my own ears. I cleared my throat. I was going to say something corny like “What’s up?”, but, well, we could all see what was up. Liam, to my utter amazement, actually licked his lips, his and Ed’s eyes still riveted on my dick. Keith and Rico, frozen in the act of roughhousing like a pair of cartoon characters, fell away smiling from each other at the same time, dropping back onto the couch in a way that left a nice, not-too-big gap between them, obviously meant for me. Rico beamed at me, eyes dancing, and Keith stared hungrily at me, needing to touch me more than ever. He seemed to be almost ready to jump up and come over to me, but he was restraining himself with visible difficulty, letting me come to them.

I smiled at them and did just that.

In seconds, so quickly that it seemed like it happened between moments of time, we all had our pants and underwear (if any) around our bare ankles, straining cocks exposed to the pleasantly open air. The soccer crowd on TV roared, seemingly in approval, and we all laughed as I wrapped my hands around Keith’s and Rico’s big, rigid dicks like they belonged there, and they overlapped my arms and both wrapped a hand around my monster cock, like that’s where their hands belonged too. Ed and Liam were grasping each other’s exposed dicks as well, and I noticed for the first time that Liam’s cock, though not nearly as long as mine, was bigger girth-wise than mine and Keith’s put together (and not only was I used to being bigger than everyone but my brother Nate, but Keith was plenty respectable in the girth department himself). Liam’s eyes were on my own dick as they gripped and stroked each other, though, at least until Liam turned his head to steal a sweet kiss from a more than willing Ed. We lay back on the couch and pretended to watch the well-built, gorgeously assed soccer hunks playing their game, but the atmosphere in the room was almost combustible, our senses ramping up into almost fevered state as we shared our raging cocks with each other. I knew we all felt it—the heart-pounding excitement of a collective arousal more right, more stimulating, more euphoric than any solo jack-off could possibly be.

We were panting and gasping within a handful of trip-hammer heartbeats, and then we were cumming, all at once, all five of us, spraying jet after jet of cum all over the shirts we’d just put on—except for Keith, of course, who’d leaned forward slightly to blow his load and now fell back half against me, huge amounts of his cum all over my hand and his tight, lightly hairy abs and matting up the curly dark hairs of his more-nicely-muscled-than-I-remembered chest. He grinned up at me cockily, squeezing my still-hard, dick where he gripped the long shaft just under where Rico’s fist was reluctantly loosening but not yet letting go. Both their hands were covered in cum, just like mine were where they loosely held onto Keith’s and Rico’s dicks. Keith glanced down at his jizz-covered torso and then back up at me, brows arched slightly, as if to ask what I was going to do about that—as if it were my fault he’d blown his load all over himself, again.

Realizing my old polo was likewise coated in wet cum, I sighed and hauled it off with some difficulty, using it to wipe up Keith’s chest and abs and all of our cum-slicked hands. The others followed suit, pulling off the shirts they’d only just borrowed from me as I ministered to Keith. Keith’s other hand was on me the whole time, sliding over my shoulder and my strangely thick-feeling triceps, and Rico was running his own hands over my broad back at the same time, murmuring to himself in Spanish about how his dick couldn’t be satisfied (I think). Then suddenly, as I was finishing up on his hairy chest, Keith’s hand slipped up around my neck and he pulled me in for a hot, deep kiss, even as Rico wrapped his strong arms around me from behind, pressing his bare chest against my back as we twined there on the sofa. My cock, which hand never really relented even after blowing a colossal load even more intense than the one I’d had at school, surged, wanting to start something as if oblivious to the fact that it had just finished a world-class orgasm only moments before.

“We should go,” I heard Liam say behind me. “Like you said, your brothers will be home any minute.” Rico, Keith, and I broke apart reluctantly, climbing to our feet as we separated. I drank in the tableau we made: five shirtless guys, all good-looking and flushed from sex and all unexpectedly defined, even muscular—certainly the label applied in Rico’s case, but somehow it looked like it would soon fit for all of us. And we were all still hard, despite just having cum, my own rigid monster standing obscenely up out of my jeans. Our arousals all reinforced each other, so that together we were as randy and cum-hungry as ten horny teens put together. Even now I wanted to push Rico and Keith back down on the couch and get off again, and not just with hands, but with mouths and lips and tongues and maybe, just maybe, tight, hot, virgin asses. My dick quivered with want for these guys even now, ten minutes after we’d all been cumming geysers together, and the fact that they were all just as hard and were that hard while still wearing my own clothes, their big, seeping, unquenchable dicks pushing angrily against the fabric of my jeans and my shorts, infused me with so much arousal I was pretty sure I’d never go soft again.

The four of them trooped up to my room to collect bookbags and instrument cases, but they all turned down the offer of another round of replacement shirts. “Your stuff is too tight, man,” Rico admitted, flexing his generous, hairless pecs unconsciously, and Liam unexpectedly added, “Yeah, even for you.” Ed suggested that we all go shopping for clothes that weekend, and there was general agreement as we grouped together in the foyer.

I was reluctant to see them go, and almost told them all to stay for dinner (and after), but before I could say anything Liam folded me into a hug with Ed, and to my surprise and delight they shared with me a very hot three-way kiss. Then Keith and Rico wrapped themselves around me, Rico in front this time, and I let my hands roam over his V-shaped torso as they pressed their bodies and raging hard cocks against me and languidly kissed me and each other. “Think of us tonight,” Rico whispered in my ear, and Keith murmured in his deeper voice against my other ear, “while you jack that huge fucking cock of yours.” I nearly came again right then, and Liam and Ed laughed as they had to practically drag the guys off of me. I stood there in the open doorway behind the screen door, shirtless, my dick exposed, and watched them disappear into the night, headed for their own homes. I knew tomorrow would be a very different day from anything I’d ever known.

I gathered up the latest round of discarded, cum-stained shirts and tossed them into the still-churning washer, then went upstairs to find a new shirt for myself, as walking around with a huge, exposed boner while my whole family sat down for a normal dinner wasn’t exactly an option.

But dinner wasn’t normal either. Mom was working later than usual and had texted to say we should go ahead without her, so when we sat down to the spaghetti and meat sauce I’d made it was just me, Brad, and Nathan. Oh, and Mateus Correia. And Shawn fucking Kirby.

For reasons I could not quite discern, my brothers had come home from practice looking both impressively pumped, like they’d spent the whole afternoon pushing weights like maniacs, and weirdly closed up. Generally Nathan was pretty good about bonding with me while we were home together and with Brad while they were off doing jock stuff, but tonight he was hewing close to Brad, even if he felt bad about it. And they’d brought home Mateus, whose impressive muscles would be a distraction at any other time, only we were all somehow revolving around the most unnervingly attractive, perfectly formed man ever, Shawn Kirby. It wasn’t the first time he’d been at the house by any means, even overnight. He and Brad had been friends for ages. But Shawn hadn’t stayed over since I’d realized how strong my crush was, and having him here now made my dick strain to get even harder than it already was.

I wanted to suck Shawn Kirby’s dick, and I did not see how that would ever actually happen.

We’d eaten, all of us sitting there at the dining table flushed and aroused and distracted without the slightest overt acknowledgement of it. Then they’d all gone upstairs to Brad’s room without even offering to help clean up, though Nathan, to his credit, shot me an apologetic look and a half-smile. I waved him off, my own dick throbbing from the idea of Shawn Kirby’s body being in my house. If I was reading the signs correctly, he’d be there all night, whether he was sleeping on Brad’s floor or whatever they arranged for sleepovers, mere feet from where I lay in bed, a handful of steps away from my surging, aching cock. Mateus was staying too, bunking with Nathan, and I almost felt bad for how drawn to the insanely cute muscle hunk I’d normally be, if Shawn weren’t around.

Now I lay in bed, acutely aware of Brad and Shawn across the hall and Nathan and Mateus in the room next to mine, my dick jumping, pleading against my teasing fingertips, begging for a hand or a mouth. I thought about how we’d all sat at dinner, alternating between staring at Shawn and trying not to look at him. We were all aware he was special, not just me. What struck me now, though, was that Brad and Nathan and Mateus and I had been watching Shawn’s full, pink lips as much as anything, as if we yearned to kiss him but didn’t dare. My friends and I had learned to kiss and to love how effectively it connected us, but it seemed like we were the only ones.

As I lay there I imagined us each kissing Shawn, one after another. Brad kissing hard and urgent. Nathan soft and languid. Mateus with barely restrained hunger and curious, roving hands. And me, kissing Shawn like our kiss was meant to be, as comforting as any embrace and as hot as any fuck. I started cumming, my dick bucking in the hands I’d wrapped around it without realizing, and I shot three huge, hot loads all over my torso in rapid succession. I floated away into the euphoria of orgasm and slept, heedless of how I was covered in cum.

I dreamt I was back at school. It was night—that night, as if I’d dreamt myself there. The moon I’d seen from my bedroom window cast a pale glow over the abandoned building and grounds. I paced purposefully down wide and empty halls, dressed only in the jeans I’d been wearing that night, my huge erection shoving brazenly up into the cool night air in the echoing, moonlit corridors. The scene shifted and I found myself, as I knew I would, back in the night-black gymnasium, approaching the back wall and the case that housed the “Ten ways to get big and strong” poster. A small pool of faint, silvery light illuminated just that part of the gym—just the case and a vague space around it, to the edge of where I now stood, barefoot and shirtless, my body poised and tense as if an important moment were coming. The case was ajar, as before, and the marker was there, lying pertly on the slatted floor where it had first been before Rico had pointed it out to me. It was all as if I’d never been there that afternoon, never used the marker or altered the poster. But as I bent to pick it up my eyes were on the poster in the case, and the two replacement imperatives I’d added were still there. Get hard and get off—together. Be sure to drink Shawn Kirby’s hot, delicious cum.

My lips quirked as I straightened up from retrieving the marker, my dick leaving a streak of precum against my tight abs. I stepped forward, right up to the case, and opened it again, all the way. I uncapped the pen and, very deliberately, drew a straight, thick, black line though number eight, the one about eating cruciferous vegetables whenever you got the chance.

Above it I wrote in a new instruction for the boys.

In careful letters I wrote in my dream, “8. BE SURE TO MAKE OUT WITH EACH OTHER … WHENEVER YOU GET THE CHANCE.”

I capped the marker, dropped it back onto the floor, and then turned and strode out of the dark and vacant gym, my dick pumping endless cum onto my chest and abs as I thought about Shawn Kirby’s sweet, kissable lips, and whether my brothers wanted to taste them quite as much as I did.


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