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Description Motivating the team has been taken up a notch.

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Part 1

I can’t even walk down the hall anymore, not without every guy in school checking me out, caressing my ass, even grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me in for a fast hot kiss as I pass. I feel their stares on me as I move past them, their whispering to each other in longing, even the stifled moan of unexpected orgasms as guys I barely know stand in groups yearning for my bod.

When you’re the star of a football team as successful as ours, you get used to a little adulation, and if you’re smart you don’t let it go to your head. But us, the Mavericks of John Needham High in Fremont, Texas, we were experiencing on a whole new level undreamed of by most high school football stars, or even by the guys who make those teenage football movies in Hollywood. It was enough to make anyone blow as gasket.

Part of me wishes Coach Cruz had never gotten Sandovol involved at all—things have changed so much. But then I have to admit it to myself. There’s no way I’d ever really go back now.

The Coach, Jaime “Tom” Cruz, had known this guy Sandovol for ever, since at least his own high school days in Baton Rouge. Maybe that was why Coach looked just like one of us, not a day over 18 and hot as shit, even though when we stole a look at his license it said he was 28. Anyway, Coach was smart. He brought the Sand Man in slow.

See, last year everyone agreed on the Mavs. We sucked. We came to the end of the season 5 and 5, almost locked out of the regional playoffs, with one game left to go. Back then, people were laughing at us in the halls, and we couldn’t exactly argue. Coach evidently decided he had to do something drastic if he was to get our minds and our game out of the dumps, not to mention prevent the first actual losing season for the Mavs in twenty years. But like I said, he started slow.

First came the teaser. Here’s how it happened for me: I was at home a couple days after we lost game 9, sprawled on the couch in the basement den in sweats and a tank. My social studies textbook was propped up on my chest and I was staring at it and absolutely not absorbing a damn word of it. Normally I’m pretty good with the rest of my schoolwork but the way the season had slid was spooking me. Of course, the teachers usually went pretty soft with us, but not so much if we were losing, the hypocrites. I tried forcing myself to concentrate, but just then the doorbell rang.

I listened to see if my sister was going to answer it, but then I remembered she’d gone out. I padded up the basement stairs barefoot and opened the door.

I must’ve done a pretty comic double-take, because the pizza guy laughed at me, but there was a reason. Standing there on my doorstep, hefting a thermal pizza bag and done up in Domino’s red and white, was a dead ringer for yours truly.

He was still grinning at me, but warmly, and suddenly I felt an overpowering desire to grab this guy and drag him downstairs and spend the night alternately making out with him and fucking his brains out, maybe letting him return the favor. And I was not totally barking up the wrong tree. That warm grin seemed to say, “Sounds great to me.”

Meanwhile he slid the pizza box out of the thermal bag and handed it to me. “Large meat lover’s,” he said, with a wink, just like I would’ve done, I’m embarrassed to admit. I had to laugh.

I started to take the pizza box kind of automatically, because he was handing it to me, but then I realized I hadn’t ordered it. “This isn’t mine,” I said.

“It is now,” Pizza Me said.

So I took it. “Listen,” I said. “You want to come in and share this with me?”

Pizza Me smiled. “Another time.” And he turned around and just walked away. I watched him walk down the sidewalk to the curb and get into his pickup—which, fuck a duck, was a dead clone copy of my pickup—and drive off into the night.

I ate every speck of that pizza.

Now I heard much later that something similar happened to just about everyone on the team, but no one said anything because we all basically told ourselves the next day that we’d imagined it. It happened a little differently for each of us. For Kent Wiley it was the mechanic working on his old Mustang down at Downtown Repair, and the smudge of grease on his cheek kept him from noticing at first. His friend Tyler picked up a hitchhiker on the drive back from his Dad’s in Waco, but after a few miles of small talk the guy got out again, before Tyler had figured out how to ask him why they looked so much alike. (Tyler told me he actually asked his mom that night if he had a twin brother somewhere, but his mom only got upset that her son thought her capable of keeping something like that from him.) Jake, the second-string QB, was working out at the gym in town, and for him it was the guy who worked in with him on the bench press. I think that’s my favorite out of the stories I heard when we all compared notes, because it’s funny to think of Jake taking turns with himself doing sets on the bench press, and spotting himself, neither of them saying a word and then going their separate ways.

Then came the first round of what was to come.

After we’d lost game 10, with the last game of the season, against Tupelo, looming the next weekend, Coach had us all over at his house. We were pretty dispirited. Usually at these things, especially after a few beers, we’d all let off some steam groping each other, making out and shit. I dunno how it had gotten to be this way, exactly, but even before strange things started happening we were the hottest bunch o’ hunks in West Texas, and normally we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. But now the tone was all different and all I did this time was put my arm around the broad shoulders of Tall Thom Lo, the running back, while we all sat on the couches and chairs and around the floor in Coach’s rec room and watched the tape of the last game. And I did that mostly because Thom was getting more and more mortified, cringing as each of his fumbles and trips showed up on Coach’s huge plasma screen in living color.

I looked around. All of us were here, and most of us were sitting in little clusters, grouped close like cattle sensing bad weather. Mike, the redheaded tailback, was sitting on one couch between Bryce and Kel, the two huge offensive linemen, quietly commenting on the game to each other. Two defensive backs, Kent and Tyler, sat silently on the carpet in front of them, wincing occasionally. I noticed they were holding hands. Were they a couple all of a sudden? Or seeking mutual support? I looked around and noticed a lot of the groups of twos and threes were holding hands or had arms around each other’s bulging shoulders like me and Thom.

Then there was Dana. He was standing off to the side alone, dressed in a white short-sleeved rugby shirt, cutoffs, and bare feet even though it was November. Dana was a rookie—a freshman in fact—but from his skill and confidence you’d think he’d been playing high school football all his life, if you follow me. Even though he was a wide receiver he was one of the most muscular guys on the team, though it was all densely concentrated and packed onto a 5’9” body that didn’t have an ounce of fat or anything that didn’t contribute to its perfection. He was certainly one of the most handsome (though Coach has us all beat) and, according to rumor, sported the only boner on the team that could put mine to shame. I’d never seen it hard though—Dana was pretty aloof and spent most of his time working out alone in his basement gym. His arms were folded and he was glowering at the screen, although whether he was annoyed by the team or just his own performance was hard to say. I suddenly realized that despite being on the team with him since before the school year started and going through all the shit that a hard-driven football team goes through together, I didn’t know him very well. I figured I wanted to do something about that.

The game got to the end and we watched, for a second time, as Cy Creek High celebrated their game-winning touchdown. And then it was over.

The TV was flipped off. No one spoke, and we didn’t really look at each other. “Guys, we’re a good team,” Coach said at last into the silence. “We’re just lacking something. Confidence.”

He stood up and paced in front of us. I was momentarily distracted by his perfect ass, nicely on display in his worn chinos, and then, as he turned to face us, his equally sculpted pecs, which were held tight by an otherwise loose and very old and worn tee. I could see the hard flesh of those pecs in a couple places where the fabric was worn through, and there were a few small tears along the seams on each side where his lats pushed against the shirt that suddenly boned me. Thom noticed and tried not to stare at it.

“After a lot of thought I have decided to try something different,” he said as he paced, his Louisiana accent slightly stronger than usual. “An incentive program. Chad, would you come up here, please.”

I nodded and stood up, moving out in front of the guys. As QB and captain I was used to helping Coach motivate the guys, though usually he clued me in first. As I stood in front of them I caught a bunch of smirks and a couple of snickers as the guys noticed my monster boner in my jeans. I’m famous for popping boners all the time. My dick just automatically responds to hot guys—in the halls, in the locker room, even at the movies. I think most of them assumed I’d sprung this one was for Thom Lo, who was blushing at the implied compliment from his QB. I was glad I’d popped a woody, though, if it lightened things up.

Coach looked at me and then turned at looked at, well, at the empty space behind him. He nodded, as if he was wearing his headsets, but there were nothing there. Then he turned back to me. “Chad, I want you to meet someone.”

And then the weirdest thing happened. The air right in front of me, between me and the guys watching from the couches, seemed to get warm, like it was August and I was standing out in my uncle’s ranch land, the air shimmering with heat—only it wasn’t all around me, only the space in front of me. Colors began to appear in that space, and they swirled and multiplied and soon began to look like the shape of a man! I stared and the man-shape got more and more defined, as if a guy was just coalescing from nothing right in front of me, standing inches away from me, facing me. And then it solidified more and sharpened dramatically and it was in every detail a hot hunky guy, standing in front of me, buck naked and boned with a ten-inch surfboard hard-on like mine. Exactly like mine. Exactly! My eyes shot quickly up to the face—it was me, my face, looking into my eyes with a vast astonishment matching my own in his bright blue eyes, even as the last shifting of his particles stilled and his skin smoothed and calmed and cooled and became, somehow, palpably real.

Somebody said, “Holy shit.”

We stared at each other, entranced, and he flashed that warm grin at me again and I felt myself returning it in spades. There was no pizza box in the way this time. Oblivious to the others we closed the gap between us. In the space between moments we were holding each other, and I felt my own broad naked back with my hands, an electric thrill shooting up my spine. We stared into each other’s shining eyes only a heartbeat more, and then we kissed. I heard cheers and catcalls and a few lusty moans from the guys, but all I cared about was that kiss, and man, I gotta tell you, that kiss was fucking HOT.

And then he melted away, and I was left hugging myself, with (I’m told) a hot-flushed look of desire on my face comical enough to get a few laughs, though most of the guys were either totally mindfucked or completely turned on. Some were automatically gently groping whoever they were sitting next to. And even in that moment I remembered the Pizza Me guy and figured out that that moment had happened in order to prepare me for this one. And as I looked out at the guys, enough of them were going with the program for me to wonder, even then, still coming off my high, if they’d been “prepared” too.

I drifted back to where Thom was sitting staring at me in frank lust and envy, not touching the boner in his sweats. “That,” I heard Coach say, “is the incentive. Whoever in my judgment contributes most to winning this last game—and thereby giving us a winning season—that man will have, well, a date for that night. You’ve told guys to go fuck themselves, right? Now you’ll know what it feels like.”

I’m not sure quite when I left Coach’s house. I don’t remember getting in my pickup and driving off. At some point I realized I was driving down empty highway, miles from anywhere in pitch darkness, and as I slowed down to pull over and figure out where I was I realized I wasn’t alone. Dana had calmly gotten in the passenger side when I was getting ready to leave and had sat silently for however long I’d been driving. He looked more preoccupied than I was.

I drew the truck to a halt on the shoulder. Dana noticed and looked up at me. I could tell just looking at him he was overcome with lust, though I wasn’t sure if it was for me. He still seemed distracted even as he looked at me.

“How did it feel?” he said softly. His right hand was absently massaging a slowly growing lump in his cutoffs.

“About ten times as awesome as this,” I said, pulling him into a passionate kiss that seemed to last for hours. Despite all the casual making out our team did I’d never kissed Dana before, and it was amazing—passionate, delicious, hot. His tongue was warm and strong and sweet and long and seemed so comfortable pressed against mine that they were like two perfect lovers snuggling in a warm bed and about as reluctant to separate. In fact we broke apart only when I thought I heard something behind me. I turned and looked back—straight into the face of Thom Lo, who was staring at us open mouthed from the bed of the pickup!

I laughed and motioned for him to come up into the cab. As Thom scrambled out of the back I caught Dana’s eye. He seemed disappointed. “It’s cold out there,” I said. Dana nodded in resignation. Still he perked up a little as I motioned for him to scoot close as Thom climbed in to give our tall, rangy stowaway the room he need on the passenger side. Dana complied, pressing his butt hard against mine on the bench seat and putting his left arm around my shoulders, since we were all three built enough that our shoulders overlapped a good deal.

We passed the trip back into Fremont pretty much in silence, trying to ignore the three big tents we’d all pitched. The sexual tension was so strong that Thom turned on the radio and, much to our amusement, began singing along with Hall and Oates’s “Man-eater.” I dropped Thom off at his house and Dana and I were still laughing when we got to his place. I gave him a friendly kiss goodnight. “See you tomorrow, Man-eater,” he said as he got out, and I laughed. I was grinning all the way home, too. What a wild night!

I was psyched and pumped with adrenaline the whole week, and it even carried over into my schoolwork. Mr. Rieger actually gave me an attaboy as we filed out of English on Friday. Though we had no classes together, me being a junior and him only a freshman, I saw a lot of Dana—that first Monday after the night at Coach’s he was at my side outside the school before first bell, at lunch, during practice after school, and in my pickup as I drove him home; a long kiss goodnight, and then finding myself waiting for him the next morning, early, shivering in the damp early morning chill that vanished when he appeared. I was enchanted by how serious he was, at the intelligence in his beautiful eyes. It sounds funny, but as a good-looking guy and someone prominent in the student body it hadn’t often occurred to me to be grateful or surprised that someone thought I was hot or wanted to be with me; but as that magical week progressed I felt humbled and thankful that this special man was interested in me.

Coach worked us hard that week and didn’t mention again the Incentive he’d placed before us. He didn’t have to, of course. None of us exactly forgot. But lying in bed Saturday night, pleasantly exhausted from a final grueling practice, I was staring up at the ceiling and it dawned on me that I was completely torn. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted the winner of Coach’s little contest to be me—or Dana.

Part 2

My vacillation about whether I wanted me or Dana to win the coach’s MVP challenge for that last game against Tupelo—and, more importantly, the very strange and sexy reward that came with it of a crazy hot night with a guy exactly as hot as you—lasted all the way into the game. So imagine my surprise when it didn’t go at all how I expected.

I was jazzed going in, thanks to the genius-level motivation, and ended up playing my best game in years, and the ball seemed to know just what I planned and where it was meant to go. The whole team was psyched, and Dana was ahead of the pack, bristling with energy and so in the pocket he not only didn’t look like a rookie, you would have thought he was ready to go pro that night. Right before halftime we had the perfect play—I unleashed the ball at exactly the right moment, Dana downfield and in motion, and then they came together with a snap I swear I could hear all the way upfield over the grunting of tackles and the deafening roar of the season-ender crowd. The ball looked perfect in his bare arms-the only one on the team that wasn’t wearing longer sleeves under his jersey on that bitter cold November night, and he kept the same gentle arc to the end zone without even breaking stride, as if he snatched footballs out of the sky every time he ran, like it was no big thing.

We were pumped as we jostled into the locker room for halftime. Coach was smiling, almost beaming—something I hadn’t seen in a while. He was high-fiving everyone and clapping them on the pads as they passed, and when I got to him I wrapped in him a spontaneous bear hug. He let out an oof but slapped my back hard as I squeezed him. “All right, all right,” he said, and as I let him go he turned to the raucously celebratory team. “All right,” he said, louder now for us all to hear as I grabbed a water bottle from the cooler (noticing it was still the new brand we’d switched to after the last game) and took a long, refreshing swig. It was a big space—we were well funded thanks to the boosters—but it seemed very full and crowded with a couple dozen exuberant jocks in full gear all grabbing each other’s asses and playfully butting heads. I caught sight of the two DBs, Kent and Tyler, in time to see them grab each other for a big, happy smooch, and there were a few more of these going around the room. I mean, we generally had no inhibitions when it came to stuff like that—we were all pretty hot guys, after all, and overflowing with hormones. But tonight we were stoked, and that meant lots of guy sandwiches and liplocks and grab-ass. My eyes sought out Dana across the room, and he was ruddy-faced and hot as hell, with sweat-dampened hair and shining eyes, excitedly replaying one of the scores with Jake. I registered a bit of jealousy that Dana was having a moment with my backup QB, even as Thom Lo turned up unexpectedly behind me, shyly snaking his arms around me from behind. I playfully pushed my ass against his groin. “You guys are doing great,” the coach was telling us in his big, speech-making voice, “but it’s only halftime! Keep it up and we’ll end the season with our heads held high!”

“Hey coach,” someone shouted. I turned to see it was Bryce, one of our extra-large offensive linemen. He was smiling, but his question sounded serious. “So was that us playing out there,” he asked, “or did we have—help?”

The others looked around at Coach. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer, but Coach just folded his well-muscled arms over his equally sculpted chest. “I don’t want to hear any talk like that,” he admonished. “You guys are playing at your natural ability—just with some extra motivation for what happens afterward,” he added with a crooked grin. We responded with throaty cheers.

I felt Thom shift himself closer against me, and I figured he was just getting comfortable. But then he whispered in my ear, “If-if everything’s perfectly normal, then why … do I feel like I could run to Miami from here?” He sounded tentative and nervous, as if he’d had to psych himself up all night to share what he’d been thinking with me. “Why have I had two guys come on to me this week after months of nothing? And why,” and here he bent even closer, his lips brushing my ear, “is my dick an inch bigger than it was a week ago?”

I shivered. I’d noticed my own tool feeling heavier and thicker in my own private workouts—which, by the way, had been happening with almost alarming frequency ever since I’d had that mind-bending make-out with the other me at the post-game, and the amazing ride home after with Dana and Thom. But I’d kept myself in comfortable denial. We’d quizzed Coach Cruz about how he’d managed the stunt with the Extra Chad, of course, but he’d just let on that he knew someone with “certain abilities” who specialized in the possibilities of the male form, and who owed him a favor or two. It had occurred to me already that if Coach really knew someone with enough magic to conjure up another me to fool around with, and if Coach’s goal was just to win games, then the simplest thing would be for that guy to use his magic to help us win. I’d stayed up thinking about this a couple of nights, between marathon jack-off sessions, and finally decided that the magic must not work that way. The reason might be logistical, or ethical, or whatever; but either way, I’d figured that while the supernatural stuff was there to be the carrot meant to get us to geed up, we were supposed to win the games on our own.

But were we, though? I felt the extra energy, too. And I felt the attraction to myself getting stronger whenever I looked in the mirror. I’d ascribed that to my hopes of winning the challenge, but now I wasn’t so sure. I looked around the churning mass of my teammates as we got ready to go back out, and I thought, fuck, we really are all hotter. Stronger, too, I’ll bet. My eyes met Dana’s, and now he was staring right at me. My dick was already straining from being held tight by Thom like that, but catching sight of Dana’s bright eyes and full lips made it want to burst right through the cup and stand tall and proud and ready for him.

So I was a little distracted when we filed out and jogged back onto the field for the second half. It didn’t take me long to get my head back in the game, though, and soon I could feel myself getting into a rhythm. I was jazzed and excited, deeply thrilled and not a little aroused to be playing good ball. Whenever I played hard my body felt cleansed, like the endorphins that filled me were an army of scrubbing bubbles that made everything good in flesh, blood, and soul, and now I was feeling that twice over. I was giddy with the love of the game, the gift I had for it, and the skills I’d honed over years of relentless work and unswerving commitment. The whole team was matching my energy level, too, from Thom taking my hand-offs, to the offensive team clearing paths for him or me to run for more and more yardage, to the defense shutting down the Tupelo offense and managing at least two turnovers; but to me it was Dana stood out. He was always moving through exactly the right line of play, exactly where he needed to be, and when the receiver I wanted was blocked he was ready to pull the ball right of the air and run, strong and graceful, for the down or the endzone.

Maybe it was my own cockiness that had Dana and me neck and neck for the game’s MVP challenge, because after we’d won the game in a blow-out we all crowded together in the locker room to hear the Coach’s speech from atop one of the benches, some of us half-naked already and ready to hit the showers so we could get in our civvies and party at Dev’s Pizza for the first time in weeks—only to have Coach calmly announce that the game’s MVP was… Thom Lo.

I had already shucked my pads and jersey and was standing there, shirtless and sweaty, with an equally half-bared Thom wrapped around me once again from behind, so I felt him stiffen in surprise when Coach Cruz said his name. Dana was standing beside me, still in full gear, and I exchanged amazed glances with him as the coach explained. “You all played amazing ball tonight. Our defense was the best we’ve ever had, and our QB and captain here was downright flawless.” The guys responded to this with playful cheers and ribbing, and Dana punched me in the bare arm with a grin. “Some of you exceeded our already high expectations—including a certain rookie I could name.” This gave me license to punch Dana back, and I happily did so. “But one team member was calm and steady the whole game, head down and taking care of business, and was directly responsible for more than half our downs tonight, not to mention two touchdowns of his own. Let’s hear it for Thom Lo!”

Thom bashfully tried to bat the attention away, lifting one of the long arms he had wrapped around me to wave in acknowledgement of the loud applause and cheers from the entire team. But Coach beckoned him forward to where he stood over the rest of us, and after a moment’s hesitation, which only generated lots of cajoling and laughing encouragement from the guys, Thom reluctantly threaded his way through the crowd and stood before the Coach, his tan, well-muscled shoulders gleaming with sweat.

Dana, still standing next to me, curled his arm around my bare waist, and I dropped mine across his pads as we looked on fondly. I think we both felt sort of proprietary toward Thom. Weird, as Thom was at least my age, and well older than Dana. But he brought out something protective in us.

I noticed there was a man I didn’t recognize standing to the side behind the Coach. He was nondescript in every way: plain face, dark hair fading to silver, thin lips, rimless glasses, wearing a gray business suit that seemed designed to be well fitted but not flashy. He was looking around the room with an air of polite interest, and at first I had thought he was a booster, or maybe someone from the school board. But a niggling suspicion reminded me of Coach’s “friend” with the “certain abilities”, and when Coach reach toward him and the nondescript man handed him a small black object that looked like a car-lock clicker, that cinched it. This had to be the Coach’s magician.

I have to say he was not at all what I’d expected; the Coach’s description had put me in mind of wizards working in the mundane world, and my mind had gone to Harry Dresden (and thence, because I was a fan of the now-forgotten TV show as well as the books, directly to Paul Blackthorne.) But this guy was, to all appearances, more board-room dullard than Dresden. My dad works for the county, and whenever I’d gone to his office I’d seen a hundred lawyers and administrators and budget officials who looked just like this guy.

Even as I was thinking those things my scrutiny must have attracted his attention, because he met my gaze suddenly. His eyes seemed to nail me to the floor where I stood, even through the rimless specs, and I was rapidly filled with apprehension and awe in equal measure. This was no nobody, whoever he was.

The magician smiled pleasantly at me and then looked away, back toward Thom, and it was like a bubble popped. I felt as though I had just woken up, like I’d broken the surface of Crimson Lake and could hear sounds and see the guys around me again. I blinked, and then did a double-take. The magician was gone.

“Did you see that guy?” I asked Dana out of the corner of my mouth, leaning toward him, stomach fluttering. The stranger’s disappearance might not have involved anything occult—it was crowded enough between where I stood and where he’d been that he could have just slipped out of view. But it felt a little uncanny.

“Who?” Dana responded, sounding confused. I was about to explain, but Coach was waving for silence as he presented the clicker to Thom, who took it with every sign of reluctance.

“This is good just for tonight,” Coach explained, eyes twinkling, “and it’s coded just for you, so no one gets any ideas about pickpocketing him and trying it out for themselves!” The team protested their collective innocence, while I watched Thom. “When you’re ready,” Coach told him, indicating the clicker, “just press the button, and for the next eight hours you’ll be—”

But several of the guys had seen this train coming a mile off and shouted out in concert, “—beside yourself!” Everyone moaned and complained at the pun, but the Coach waved them off.

“All right, you nut-sacks!” he bellowed at us all. “Good game, everyone! See you at Dev’s—first round of pizzas is on me!” This got the loudest, throatiest roar of approval yet, and as Coach stood down from the bench he was surrounded by guys in various states of undress. He made his way through them, laughing and clapping shoulders and backs, and headed in my general direction. Thom was close behind him, earning his own cheerful affection in the very hands-on way he had, along with a lot of lewd suggestions about how he should use his gift—preferably involving sharing his “prize” with some or all of the team.

I freed my right arm temporarily as Coach approached and reached out to shake his hand. He did so, and then repeated the action with Dana, smiling proudly at both of us. “Bet you both thought you had it in the bag, huh, boys?” he teased.

“I’m happy with the way things turned out, Coach,” I said truthfully, and Dana said he felt the same.

“Good, good,” Coach said. “All right, hit the showers. Dev made me promise not to let you guys stink up the joint!” He made to move past us toward the office, but I stopped him with a hand to his elbow.

“Hey, Coach, was that your ‘friend’ we saw earlier?” I asked. “The one who owed you a favor?”

Coach eyed me with interest. “Saw him, did you?” he asked. I nodded, but when Coach checked with Dana (who was back under my draped arm again), the rookie shook his head—he hadn’t seen him. Coach looked back at me, and there was an odd look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite make sense of. “Yep, that’s Sandoval,” I said. “Known him forever. You’ll probably see him around again.” Then he added, seemingly as an afterthought: “Though… if you do see him without me around, let me know, okay?”

I blinked at him for a second, but responded with a more or less automatic “Sure, Coach.” He nodded at me, smiled at Dana, and was gone.

I didn’t have much time to think about this, though, because Tall Thom was now standing before us, looking like a lost puppy. He still clutching the little black clicker in both hands. I took him into a hug with my other arm, and Dana followed suit. After a quick, reassuring kiss, I asked him how he was doing. “I dunno what to think,” he admitted, and I thought his voice sounded just slightly deeper than usual—maybe from all the emotional weirdness of winning the game and then, out of the blue, the MVP title and the bizarre prize that went with it. The rest of the team was busy, changing clothes and heading in and out of the showers—we were pretty good about giving space to couples and little clusters like us lately. “I was sure you were going to win, Cap,” Thom said. Then he leaned in closer as if to confide something, though since he was between us Dana and I could both hear. “I was, um, looking forward to seeing you, um, both,” he said falteringly. His ears were bright red, and in that moment he had never been more adorable to me.

“Me, too,” Dana seconded, with a very lusty edge to his voice.

“I don’t know,” I said slowly, meeting Thom’s brown eyes. “I think we all lucked out.” I pulled them both a little closer, and was excited to feel Dana’s hand slip down to cup my hard, round muscle ass. Thom gave us both a cautious grin.

“When are you going to do it?” Dana asked eagerly.

“If you start now, you can wash yourself in the shower!” I put in.

Thom looked at me with wide eyes. “No!” he said. “That would be…too much.” I could tell there was a streak of impulsiveness in him, though—the same instinctive jerk to action that had put him in my truck bed last week, and started him holding me in team meetings instead of waiting for me to hold him. “Plus I didn’t bring extra clothes,” he added, indicating he’d thought ahead about his prize probably more than I would have.

At any rate, I felt a need to goad him out of his shell a little, if only because I knew he’d enjoy it—especially if he had our support. “You gotta do it while we’re with the guys, though,” I told him. “They’re gonna want to see.”

“And it’s kind of a reward for the whole team, too,” Dana added reasonably, reaching up to ruffle Thom’s short, dark hair, which, now that I noticed it, seemed to have grown out a good inch or so since last week, just as mine had, and—I looked at Dana closely—his too. “We won the game, and thanks to you, we have a winning season now too.”

Thom seemed to consider and reject several options, all less than ideal. “Can I ride over with you guys?” he asked finally. Dev’s Pizza Joint was on the state highway, too far for walking, especially in the cold, so it was a foregone conclusion everyone would be driving or bumming a ride. “That way I can do it with you guys. You know, before we go into Dev’s,” he trailed off, looking at us both hopefully.

Dana deferred to me, so I said, “Sounds perfect. Let’s go get washed up, and we’ll head over together.” And so that was what we did. After fairly brief showers in which I demurely tried not to check out Thom’s and Dana’s half- or three-quarters erections (or my own), despite many ribald remarks from the remaining team members passing in and out of the big group shower area, we dressed in our regular clothes and walked out together to my truck. I opened my door, and Thom clambered into the middle of the bench, then Dana and I got in on either side, all of us flushed and self-conscious about the massive wood we were sporting and the anticipation I knew we were all feeling about what kinds of things might happen after we made an appearance at Dev’s.

After a few minutes of quiet driving Thom burst out laughing. “I feel like I’m going on a blind date,” he said.

“I think this is pretty much the opposite of a blind date,” Dana said, and we both laughed.

I put my hand on Thom’s thigh, which was pressed tight against mine. “Just relax,” I said. “This is all about you having fun. Nothing else matters.” We got to a red light, and when I turned to smile at Thom he leaned in and gave me a deep kiss, his tongue sharing with me all the gratitude and arousal he was feeling in that moment. It took the honking of an open-topped Jeep Cherokee behind us—Kent and Tyler, as it turned out, the fuckers—to break us loose and return us to the real world. As we pulled away from the intersection, Thom slipped his hand under mine and threaded our fingers together, then did the same with a grinning Dana on the other side.

And then we were getting out of the truck at Dev’s and standing together in the parking lot. I’d picked a corner that was kind of out of the way, so it would be just the three of us for now. As Thom fished the clicker out of his pocket I took a moment to admire how the blue, long-sleeved compression tee flattered Dana’s impressive muscles to a T. Thom looked exceptionally good, too, even though he, like me, was wearing a more conventional, but still nicely snug, long-sleeved tee shirt (his was solid dark green, while mine was in Steelers colors with the logo over what seemed lately to be my extra-large pecs). None of us was wearing a coat, maybe because we all wanted to share our hungry stares with each other. Between Dana’s compact, heroic built and Thom’s long, limber, super-defined muscles, I was in teen hormone heaven.

Instinctively we drew in around Thom, bracketing him. “Go ahead, buddy,” I said, my breath misting a little in the night air. “Bite the bullet.”

Thom looked at both of us and nodded. He lifted up the device like it was one of those compact phaser weapons and, his face resolute, he released the little lock on the side and pushed the button.

Once again, just as it had in Coach’s rec room, a shimmer developed in front of Thom, between me and Dana. It was hard to see in this dim light, with only a street lamp across the lot to illuminate us, but there was a bit of a glow to it, too, as if to hint at the curbing and directing of monumental energies. The shimmer became a cloud of swirling colors, twisting and curling as if they were twining in and out of this dimension. And then it sharpened and solidified, until it became, in the space of a few heartbeats, another instance of that lithe, beautiful, very aroused man we called Tall Thom Lo.

They stared at each other. “Fuuuck,” they said together, and Dana and I laughed. Without having to think about it I slid both arms around each Thom’s waists, and Dana did the same, drawing us all into a four-way hug.

We could tell by the way they were looking at each other that they very much wanted to kiss. “Go for it,” Dana urged. “You know they’re going to want to see it in there, so you might as well practice out here.”

They didn’t need much encouragement. Folding their arms around each other in as perfect fit they pressed themselves together and melted into a searing hot kiss that made me want to rip off my jeans and start plowing the nearest Tall Thom Ass. “J-Jeeeezus, that’s hot,” moaned Dana. We drew our own embrace of the two Thoms closer, hemming them in, feeling their blazing warmth as they made out hungrily. Then suddenly one of the Thoms—the new one—broke the kiss and turned to me, seeking out my eager mouth, and the other did the same with Dana. We pressed tighter and closer together, and before long we were trying a four-way kiss. It was hot, despite being a little awkward thanks to the Thoms’ height, but most of all it was tantalizing of other possibilities to come.

We rested our foreheads together, panting. “Do we have to go inside?” Thom said, and the other Thom added, “We could just stay out here and do this.” “Or go someplace warm.” “And private.”

I chuckled. “If we don’t make an appearance,” I said, “you’re going to have a couple dozen very pissed off jocks on your ass.”

“Maybe literally,” added Dana.

The Thoms sighed as one, and Dana and I laughed. Regrouping into a close formation, Thoms in the middle and me and Dana flanking, the four of us headed for the front door of the bustling, clamorous pizza joint, completely unaware of who’d been watching our little scene in the parking lot from the shadows, or exactly what lay in store for us in the night and days to come.

Part 3

Dev’s that night was like pandemonium—and I mean that almost literally. It was as if this most raucous pizza joint in all of West Texas was filled to capacity with all the loud, laughing, gleeful demons that could possibly be packed into it, except we were more like supernatural avatars of raw sex appeal, hot, hard muscles, and straining, extra-large cocks, and on top of that all flooded with so much raging testosterone it was like we were made of the stuff, like our veins were coursing with seething male hormones instead of the blood that ought to be there. Maybe because all the blood was in our dicks.

It was wall to wall hot guys, and when we burst in we were swallowed up and surrounded by cheering exuberance and drawn into the center of the heaving man-melee without us having to do anything at all. I’d been pondering a dramatic entrance—me and Dana coming in first, the two Thoms hidden behind us only to be dramatically revealed to cheers and catcalls as we stepped aside—but I was just realizing it wouldn’t work, both Thoms being considerably taller than I was, and Dana was even shorter, when it all went out the window. The moment we stepped inside we were caught up in the throng and all we could do was enjoy the ride.

It wasn’t just the football team, of course, though we were all there and there were a lot of us, from the benchers and special teams all the way to Coach Cruz. (Most of the coaches let us boys have our fun without them horning in, but we liked having Coach Cruz around, especially since he looked and acted like one of us anyway.) I thought I even caught sight of Sandoval, too, the lights glinting off his rimless glasses, but then I lost him in the crowd and instantly forgot about him as the revelry ramped up around me. The place was stuffed with teen athletes and everyone else. The band was here, looking geeky-hot and as jazzed about our victory as we were, and the cheerleaders (mostly male this year for some reason) were twisting through the mob instigating all kinds of trouble—half the gropes to my ass as we shoved through the mass of hot, sexy humanity were from cheer-guys, I’m certain of it. They can’t get enough of my ass, or really of the rest of me. Pan(sex)demonium, I’m telling you.

I’d abandoned my obviously flawed plan the moment we were sucked into the deluge; instead I’d gotten behind the two Tall Thoms, my hands on the nearest one’s strong, firm shoulders, and started driving them ahead of me, with Dana on point, plowing through the crowd like a cowcatcher on an iron horse. Everyone was cheering and shouting congratulations and awed admiration of our flawless play during the game as we moved through them with constant pats and touches and affectionate grins. Two boyish sandy-haired guys I didn’t even know—I think they were on the swim team?—even grabbed me and stole a quick, wild kiss each before they were lost again in the throng. I was already hard and aflame with arousal just from what had happened in the parking lot—seeing the new Thom come into being, only to be drawn urgently into the other Thom’s arms, watching them kiss with ferocious passion, me and Dana joining in to share their lust—but it felt like my massive, recently bumped-up-even-bigger cock was trying to get even harder, and the rest of me with it, as I inhaled the intoxicating fervor and lust of this roiling sea of hot young men brushing past me and making every effort to share the touch of their hard, ready bodies with mine. My hands stayed on Thom’s shoulders only because I feared drowning in teen masculinity, and Thom, his hands on his doppelganger’s tight waist, and his on Dana’s as we pushed forward as relentlessly as our fevered minds allowed, must have been feeling the same way.

We were sweating a little with unbridled lust—ours and everyone else’s in the cheering, laughing press of guy-bods—and the heat of all these studs crammed into Dev’s, big room, side rooms, and all, by the time we pushed through to/were squeezed out at the big round, thick polished hardwood tables Dev kept for us at the center of the main space. No parceling out to booths of six or eight for us—these were the Mavericks’ tables, and we had arrived where we belonged. The tables were already covered with every kind of pizza—round pizza, square pizza, cheese, pepperoni, white, chicken pesto, even that skanky Hawaiian pizza that only Bryce and Kel liked. Pitchers of soda and what looked suspiciously like beer crowded in with the pizza-laden metal trays alongside stacks of red Solo cups, like we were at some guy’s wild my-parents-are-in-Guam house party. A lot of the pizzas were already half gone or more, slices of Dev’s exquisite handiwork being pulled and devoured left and right by all the guys ringed around the Mavericks pizza HQ, but more were being brought even as I watched by servers as excited to be a part of this as everyone else. Most of them were Needham High dudes themselves and many were on one of the other teams that strived for attention in between football games or took over the headlines when football was done it was their turn to shine. I winked cockily at one of the grinning staffers as he slid past by me, as if to say, it ain’t your turn yet, losers—pulling off a win tonight’s win against Tupelo High had squeaked us through into the freakin’ regional play-offs!

A fresh roar of excited welcome greeted us as we arrived at the heart of things, and Kent and Tyler started up a chant of “Tall Thoms! Tall Thoms! Tall Thoms!” that quickly took over the whole space and got both Thoms blushing adorably. Everyone from the team started swarming around us, pizza momentarily forgotten. “Guys! Guys!” Coach Cruz called above the crowd. “You’re going to break Dev’s heart if you don’t get all that shit eaten!”

They all laughed, and Mike Dormady, our grinning redheaded tailback, shouted, “Fuck the pizza, we want to see them kiss!” Instantly a new chant arose, as everyone around us shouted “Do it! Do it! Do it!”

“Oh, all right,” I yelled over them, and grabbing Dana around the neck in one quick, lightning move I hauled him to me and bent to plant a blistering hot kiss on him. But they literally pulled us apart as the crowd laughed and booed.

“Not you two, them!” Mike insisted with a laugh, and the chant reverted to “Tall Thoms! Tall Thoms! Tall Thoms!”, an appreciation now infused with an excited, joyous demand for spectacle. Still blushing, the two Thoms shrugged only slightly out of sync, wrapped their long, nicely thick arms around each other, and started going at it, much to the whooping delight of the assembled throng. Dana and I clung to each other, laughing and cheering them on with the rest, and when they didn’t show any sign of coming up for air, or even slowing down, we all clapped and cheered and shouted our bawdiest encouragements as they made out, subtly grinding their hips together as they did so, though only those of us who were closest could see that their passion and arousal did not stop with their shifting lips and eager tongues.

“Fuuuck, Man-Eater,” Dana said, only loud enough for me to hear as I held him against me, the two of us watching the display with rapt, overwhelming arousal, barely noticing the warm, built bodies pressing against us on all sides as the crowd gathered around us to enjoy the scene with us. “Fuck, just imagine if that had been you.”

I turned to look down at him and saw the fathomless fire in his bright gray eyes. I aimed my sexiest crooked grin at him. “You wanted to be between us, didn’t you?” I asked knowingly, because I’d imagined the same scenario, only with two Danas holding me close.

His unbridled desire was all over his handsome face. “Fuck yeah,” he said, too quiet to hear, but I read the words on those full, raspberry lips and my spine tingled, my balls surged, and my raging hard-on nearly broke out of my jeans.

“Degenerate,” I grinned back to him, before grabbing his thick-muscled body against me in a fierce embrace and ravishing the fuck out of that sweet, sexy mouth.

An hour or so later we burst out of the back doors of the still-throbbing joint into the bracing evening chill, me and Dana and the two Thoms, all of us laughing and flushed and horny as fuck. We were all still impossibly hard but we also needed to piss like stallions, so we decided to head to the back of the rear gravel parking lot for employees and see how far we could spray our whizz from our rigid, uncontrollable boners. After all, this would be a lot easier than trying to get our whizz into the urinals or the toilets with the kind of boners we had, and the multitudes here tonight the men’s room was probably packed anyway. So: obvious solution, right?

We may have had a bit of liquid reasoning from those pitchers that looked like beer and tasted like it too, I’ll admit. But the truth was, it was a wild, head-spinning night, and we didn’t need much to veer us off the rails.

We got to the edge of the gravel and lined up, the Thoms on one side of me, Dana on the other. “You first, Cap,” Dana said.

“Yeah, take the lead, QB,” one of the Thoms seconded. Somehow they had ended up shirtless sooner than either of us, their tanned, defined bodies looking edible under the light of the stars and distant security lights. I pondered pulling off my long-sleeved tee despite the chill, wondering if they’d all be turned on by the pebbled, erect nips my thick, almost disproportionate pecs were currently sporting. But no: first things first. I fumbled at the buttons of my fly and freed my prodigious tool into the cool night air.

“Oh, fuck,” the others said, staring in very gratifying awe.

“Christ, what is that, a foot long?” Dana asked in disbelief.

“At least,” the nearest Thom said, google-eyed.

“And thick as my wrist,” the other added.

I was going to snark that that wasn’t saying much, as Thom’s arms and wrists weren’t as impressively thick as Dana’s or mine were, and then I’d trot out my usual line that I was “only” eleven and a half inches—though that was still longer than the so-called footlongs at Subway. But the glib remark died on my lips as I realized my easy-boning cock had felt bigger and thicker and just generally huger lately, and given what Thom had said about sporting another inch of prick himself—fuck, I was probably well past a foot now. I tore my eyes away from the rigid monster jutting out in front of me and instead looked left and right at my buddies. “You guys too,” I urged, and they quickly followed suit, Dana exposing his thick, round nine-inches-easy torpedo cock while the Thoms whipped out extra-long, slightly curved erections that looked like they’d feel unspeakable amazing shoving down your throat or deep into your ass.

If I didn’t have to pee so bad… “One-two-three hike!” I shouted, and let loose a mighty arc of piss that sailed well into the grassy scrub beyond the parking lot and disappeared into the semidarkness.

Dana snorted at my quarterback humor and let loose a second later, the Thoms shortly after. Dana’s whizz seemed to spray in a straighter line and well past mine like it was under much higher water pressure, while the Thoms, whose erections cranked to an elevation much closer to the vertical, sent streams soaring so high and far it looked like they were aiming for the shadowed treeline far at the back of the lot, the curved angle of their dicks sending the sailing liquid across and above my effort and Dana’s too.

We pissed for a while—more than a while—but eventually our soaring arcs ebbs and flagged, unlike our nonstop, iron-hard erections. We had fun competing with each other to see how many extra spurts we could make, and how far we could send them. But soon we were just four guys at the edge of a gravel parking lot with our boners out, standing close enough the feel the warmth radiating from the guys next to us. The need to piss that had brought us out here was behind us now, and we didn’t know what was next, only that we weren’t ready to put our dicks away yet.

Wordlessly I grabbed some napkins I’d grabbed from a stack at a wait station near the back door and handed a small stack to the others, using what I kept to wipe the wet piss from my rigid cock. It looked pale under what little light we had to see by, pale and immense, and I really wanted to wrap my hands around it. But actually stroking myself in front of the guys—for all the handsy goofing around we did, and all the playful making out, the team didn’t really go that far when we were together—and the closer intimacy I had with Dana and Thom was new enough we hadn’t progressed further than serious kissing and enjoying the feel of each others’ bods. I was nervous about pushing things further, though rationally I knew we were all four of us ready and then some. Instead I shoved the napkins in my pocket, thinking I might need them again.

Except—there was something else in my right jeans pocket. It wasn’t my keys, which I always kept on the left. Not coins either. It was something hard and plastic. I pushed in past the paper napkins and snagged it, pulling it out carefully to not spill the napkins out all over the gravel at my booted feet.

The others were looking at me. I held it up, and their eyes widened. It was a clicker.

“Looks like someone thought you played well tonight too,” one of the Thoms said quietly.

“It’s not yours?” I asked, just to be sure. I knew Thom’s was coded just to him, so if it was his it wouldn’t affect me at all. But if it was mine… Both Thoms shook their head, glancing from the clicker to me and then to Dana, their lips quirking as they caught sight of the puppy-dog eyes on the sexy musclefucker.

There was sure no doubt what he was thinking. “Fuck, Cap, what are you waiting for?” Dana said, his expression one of transparent eagerness as his gray eyes fixed on the little black device.

I grinned, remembering a time I’d thought the receiver was just another shy freshman. “You think I should?” I asked, turning back to the Thoms—Dana’s advice on the matter was obvious.

“Worked for me,” the other Thom said. Was he the original? I didn’t know. Maybe it was just as cool to be the one that appeared as the one who was here already.

Maybe I was about to find out.

I closed my eyes and clicked. Instantly I felt a change, but it wasn’t anything like what I was expecting. I heard a gasp from Dana on my left, and murmured “Holy fuck”s from the Thoms on my right.

I opened my eyes and looked down, drawing in a deep breath. “Wooo-o-o-owww,” I sighed. Where only a moment before I had sported a major thirteen-inch monster hard-on ready to have ready lips and a warm mouth wrapped around it, I now possessed two such monsters, each thrusting proudly into the night, each tipped with welling globs of clear, sweet precum.

“God, Cap,” Dana said roughly, his own torpedo glistening with rapidly rising pre. “God, I’m gonna cum just looking at those things.”

“Not yet,” I said immediately. There was a necessity so obvious that I barely had to meet the glinting eyes of the two grinning Thoms before they were on their knees before me in the patch of grass just beyond the gravel edge of the lot, arms wrapped tight around each other, as they aimed their hot, expressive mouths directly at my rampant, desperate erections.

Dana moved instinctively behind me, and I shoved my pants down enough that he could rut that fat, phat, godly cock along my crack as he wrapped powerful, thick-muscled arms around my torso from behind. I nearly blew my loads just from how good it felt to have Dana behind me, and—I swear to god, I was so clueless that this was the very first time I’d thought this—my mind was filled with just how amazing it would be to have Dana’s beautiful, club-thick cock push deep into my hot, virgin ass. And even as my mind and heart swelled with that ball-churning, skin-heating vision I felt warm breath on my pre-damp cockheads. No contact, not yet. We knew this would be fast—none of us would last long, not after an hour of foreplay with a hundred supernaturally hot and hard-muscled teen-hunks kicked off by the euphoric make-outs out from that had followed the evocation of the second Thom. We were beyond ready to blow our wads, and we needed to explode through the climax that had been building up relentlessly since the game itself so we could sink deep into a more relaxing round of pleasure building up to an even more tremendous, earth-shattering release. The Thoms were right there with us, ready to blow so that we could move on to the real pleasures ahead of us—but they weren’t above a little teasing first.

“Come on,” I grated, and the Thoms grinned up at me… and then sank down on both my thirteen-inchers on one, fluid, heart-stopping move, swallowing them together almost to the pubes. “Oh! Oh god! Oh, fuck!” I screamed.

“Yeah,” panted Dana behind me in encouragement as he gripped me harder, pushing his pre-slickened tusk along the tight track between my hard, round glutes. “Yeah, yeah!” he blathered, relentless and needy. “Make us cum! Make us cum, guys, come on, make us cum!”

That swift move swallowing my super-sensitive cocks had driven me right up to the edge, and it only took a few moments, working my cocks not in unison now but in a fucking syncopated rhythm that completely threw me off, before I was crying out, “Yeah, fuck, god, guys, I’m gonna—!” They didn’t pull off, instead sucking harder, driving me mercilessly to orgasm as they started blowing their own loads at my feet, and suddenly I felt the release build up and explode through me, every particle of me shimmering with white-hot orgasm, and I pounded shot after shot of release down the Thoms’ eager throats even as Dana shot exactly alongside my own release, thrusting again and again until we were both completely spent.

The Thoms pulled off me and rose to their feet, and we all fell against each other, heaving and reveling in simple, beautifully pure ecstasy. “Come home with me,” I said, knowing they would understand I meant all of them, Dana and both Thoms. They knew I lived in the sprawling apartment over the multicar garage, so we’d have a space that was all to ourselves—complete with a king-size bed. “We need to do this properly,” I coaxed—I truly wasn’t certain they’d agree, though I was pretty sure, and it was totally worth asking no matter what. “We need to do it for real.” Somehow that part was important to me, doing it right, doing it for real; and I wasn’t at all sure why.

“You had to ask?” panted Dana. “I was going to be in your bed tonight,” he said with a smile in his voice, his heaving chest feeling good against my back as they all held me close, “whether I was invited or not!”

“Seriously,” one Thom agreed, and the other added, “Try and stop us.”

I sighed happily, my arms full of sexy man, my cocks assuaged for the moment, though only for the moment. A notion twisted through my murky thoughts that things were only going to get stranger. With the playoffs ahead, there would be whatever changes and incentives those games might involve, while expectations and excitement mounted and the pressure built ceaselessly on me and my team, but I didn’t want to think about that. Teenage sex bliss will make you complacent that way. We broke apart, though staying always no more than a couple inches from each other, and I hiked my pants back up with a laugh as we tucked our impressive, half-hard tools away, wiping ourselves down with the napkins I’d brought as best we could. Soon we were heading back into Dev’s, to make our goodbyes and then head home to a private us-place where it could just me, and Dana, and the two Tall Thoms, just four hot, randy guys looking to make each other very, very happy.

Part 4

The next morning I awoke hard and happy. Sunlight streamed through the gauzy drapes over my garage apartment’s huge windows—the kind of morning rays that you could revel in because it was Saturday and you could lay in bed as long as you wanted, enjoying the delicious ache of leg and butt and arms and shoulders that came from football played hard and with everything I had. And I was in no hurry to be anywhere but nestled under soft sheets and a dreamy thick navy-blue duvet with my arms wrapped tight around Tall Thom’s long, lanky, very fit body. My lips were brushing his sweet neck, my extra-thick pecs were pressing firmly against his decently wide upper back, our strong, limber, lightly hairy legs were intertwined… and, best of all, my very hard, eager, thirteen-inch dick—no, check that, my very hard and eager thirteen-inch dicks—were nuzzling the crease of his very fine ass, gently jostling each other like tall, playful and athletic twins as they painted little lines of precum along his soft, smooth skin.

We were by no means alone under the cozy covers of my big California king. My brawny right arm was wrapped around Thom, my hand lazily caressing his firm chest and perfect, carved abs, and Thom’s arm was snug around the thicker, deliciously muscled physique of a certain short, beautiful, and very cocky rookie. They were huddled close, facing each other, noses overlapping and lips barely a millimeter apart as they slept. The same hand that caressed Thom’s chest and abs was enjoying the brush of Dana’s hard, impressive torso, too, along the back of the hand and the lucky knuckles that felt every bump of Dana’s eight-pack and, sliding up, the sudden impediment of pectoral muscle pushing out from Dana’s exquisite chest.

Their bodies weren’t all that was hard, of course. Down below I’d already brushed against Thom’s long, curved, mouth-watering boner and Dana’s extremely girthy, arrow-straight nine-inch torpedo, and all three of us were subtly shifting our interlaced legs and tight-pressed hips against each other. I was tempted as fuck to just wrap my big hand around both of those wangs and bring the three of us off together for the umpteenth time since the game and its eye-opening afterparty—but fuck, they were sleeping so sweetly in each other’s arms, and the three of us cuddling was so incredibly comfortable, that I didn’t want to even think about bringing any of it to an end.

Of course there had been four of us last night, and I did miss the warmth and tender touches and kisses and deep-thrust lovemaking of the second Tall Thom behind me. Fuck, I could still feel that long, curving, iron-hard dick pushing way, way inside me. I lay there, holding Thom in my arms and craving that perfect feeling of fucking him and being fucked by him. It was new to him, I knew, and yet it came so naturally to him it was like his rigid, sinuous dick was born to be in my ass. The idea of Thom’s whispered, heart-pounding revelation, that that thing had grown an inch in the last week, was a hundred times hotter than the concurrent realization that my own junk had been getting bigger and I’d barely even noticed. Even the fact that my cock had doubled was not as hot as Thom’s curved erection getting bigger and bigger, inch by fucking inch.

Fuck, was Dana’s extra-fat cock growing, too? It had to be, right? He was damn huge, and last night Dana had kept gripping it, staring down at the thick, round tool in his fist like it wasn’t quite the cock he remembered. Christ, was it getting longer like Thom’s, or was its impressive girth slowly swelling, thickening day by day so it got harder and harder to wrap your hand around it? Shi-i-i-t, that was hot. My balls tightened just thinking about it, and my own cocks gave a little involuntary shove. Thom reacted by shifting slightly between us. His and Dana’s lips brushed, and they began softly moving their lips together, so that they were almost, but not quite, kissing as they slept.

Man, I was so horny, you wouldn’t believe I’d cum half a dizen times over the last few hours. I wanted other Thom’s dick back in my ass so fucking bad.

The incentive, as our impossibly hot coach had spelled out at that seemingly long-ago post-mortem get-together after the heartbreaking Cy Creek game, had been “a date for the night”, so we’d known to expect that the two Thoms would be one again by morning; and so it was, but part of me had been holding out hope that the second Thom would get some extra time with us. I wondered what Thom would have thought of that. Most of his jitters over winning the incentive were about the unexpected attention, I knew, but he had definitely enjoyed double-teaming me and Dana all night. Would he miss being able to sandwich me as much as I was missing him doing it? I wasn’t sure, but it did seem appropriate that he was the one being sandwiched now, and that was definitely satisfying something deep in his heart and his balls.

What I was trying not to think about was that the very awesome twinning of my cock had not been ctrl-z’ed with the amber rays of dawn. I mean, fuck, I loved having a big tool. It felt great soft and heavy in my briefs or wadded up in my jock and cup, and it felt great hard and huge in my hand, or with warm lips and a tongue wrapped avidly around it, or shoved deep into Thom’s tight ass or Dana’s even tighter ass. But having two of them—man, I could feel them rubbing together all the time, stimulating each other, driving each other crazy, leaking hot pre all over each others sensitive heads and long, thick shafts. And, damn, I hadn’t really had a chance to experience them all soft and thick and everything, but I could tell they were going to make me nuts wrapping around each other when they were flaccid, too. I would be constantly, constantly turned on and aroused just from the sensation of my soft dicks enfolding each other in frisky, heated embrace.

Fuck, I was close. I was way close, past any hope of stopping it. Instinctively I drew my groin up tight against Thom’s firm ass, causing me to relive memories of what it had felt like to be inside Thom and to have him inside me. My dicks were sliding up the pre-lubricated skin of Thom’s lower back, adding just that extra amount of friction, and suddenly I was silently spurting hard up along Thom’s long spine over and over and over, shooting so hard I felt the first volleys of hot cum slap against the undersides of my almost-too-big pecs. I tried not to shudder enough to wake the other two, but I felt myself holding them just a bit tighter, and, perhaps sensing my intensified arousal they were holding each other even closer, too, and actively kissing slowly and sensuously now even though they were still clearly slumbering with mouths and lips too close to ignore.

I lay there for several minutes, my heart pounding in my ears, trying to keep my ragged breaths as quiet as I could. Something in me was hoping to preserve this comfy, intimate morning-after tableau, but it only took me a few minutes to start squicking out at the idea of leaving stripes of seed all over Thom’s back (not to mention my own abs and chest). I painstakingly detached myself from Thom and Dana and slipped backwards out of the bed, almost falling on my ass before I regained my balance in a sort of crouch and rose to my feet, enjoying the muscle burn from last night’s game (and postgame exertions) that had always meant the steady accumulation of strength, hotness, and most of all the gridiron prowess that made me feel proud of what my team and I could do when we were out there voluntarily killing ourselves on the field.

I looked down at myself in appreciative awe, and then at my bed where my two impossibly hot lovers were wrapped up in each other, sleep-kissing like we were all so hot it was impossible not to to be moved to bring each other pleasure when we got at all close to each other, regardless of whether we were even conscious. My dicks, which had softened only slightly after this latest orgasm, stiffened right back up again to total, raging hardness.

I grinned, loving the fuck out of my life.

On my way to the bathroom to get a warm, damp cloth for my front and Thom’s back I passed the long, rectangular table I had by the door. All our stuff was there—keys, wallets, everything. I’d been all for shucking our pants as quickly as possible with all our junk still in the pockets, but Dana had wanted to see if all Thom’s stuff was duped along with his clothes and his bodies, so all four of us had hurriedly emptied our pockets in a big pile here on the table by the door before diving into endless rounds of awesome sex. It turned out that Thom’s stuff had all been duped: keys, driver’s license, even the bills in his wallet (down to identical serial numbers, even). In fact it was still all duped, despite the second Thom himself not longer being here; even the clothers littering the floor by my bare feet included two sets of everything for Thom.

The only thing that had not been duped was the clicker. And there it was, under one set of Thom’s keys. Mine was there too, propped at an angle against the side of my wallet like a guy casually leaning against an alley wall.

It seemed to catch my eye for some reason, and I paused, my ruler-busting dicks bobbing a bit in front of me. My extra dicks hadn’t gone away, even though they probably should have. But then, I shouldn’t have even had a clicker, so… who knew what was supposed to happen? But the truth was, I wasn’t mulling the mystery of the clicker because I wanted to know why I still had two dicks.

I wanted to know if it would work again.

Of course it wouldn’t. It was stupid. I sure didn’t need to have four dicks, not when I was drunk with the pleasure of—Wait, would it even be four? I suddenly realized I didn’t even know what exactly the thing had done to me—had it added one more dick to my crotch, or had it doubled what was there? Would a repeat performance—which was, of course impossible, because no way the clicker worked twice, right?—would it mean I’d end up with three—or four?

Well, fuck, now I had to try it.

I picked up the little box, and before I could second-guess myself I pressed the little button on its surface—half expecting, because of the appearance of the thing, to hear the chirp of a car being unlocked somewhere.

I was expecting nothing, and I was expecting more cocks. Mostly I was expecting nothing, so I was completely taken by surprise when nothing was most definitely not what happened.

Standing in front of me was a tall, lightly tanned, very handsome blue-eyed athlete with wavy brown hair, full lips, thick, scuplted muscles, beautiful massive round pecs that were a bit larger than would have been proportional, and two enormous thirteen-inch surfboard cocks dripping pre onto my deep-carved abs just as copiously as mine were onto his. The shafts were interlacing, his, mine, his, mine, like someone might come along and try to braid them, if anyone were strong enough they could braid huge, immutable steel rods filled with the raw, primal potency of sex. Maybe if they were soft, I though wildly—though these guys wouldn’t be soft anytime soon.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” the other me said, his awed voice barely a whisper.

“I’ll say,” I agreed in the same barely voiced tone.

We looked at the clicker in my hand. It was black and nondescript, just like—

As if reaching for the same idea we both turned and glanced down at the table, seeking out the other clicker. Even before I reached out and moved Thom’s keys, I saw there was a difference between the two clickers I had not noticed last night. The clicker I had seen in Thom’s hand before we’d gone into the tavern last night had very clearly been simple, solid black. And that had to be the one I was holding, because the other clicker, which could only be the one I’d been mysteriously supplied with, was clearly, in the light of morning, a very dark green, not black.

I looked up, meeting the other me’s eyes. I had picked up Thom’s clicker, the clicker that had made two Thoms. And somehow—despite the fact that it shouldn’t have worked (a) a second time, and (b) at all for me—Thom’s clicker had made two Chad Brewers, quarterback, captain, and the luckiest stud on the face of the earth.

Fuck, I was so turned on. I’d already had a taste of this, literally, and heard the stories of the other guys meeting other thems, and seen how much Thom loved having another him… It was like everything else started to fall out of the back of my head. I’d already started thinking things like, Okay, my extra dick didn’t go away, the extra me probably won’t either. Okay, there’s going to be two of me walking the halls of Needham High on Monday, both mes gathering the stares and smiles and touches of every damn guy in the school. And okay, I’m going to be doing twice as much laundry, thanks a lot, Thom’s clicker…. My brain was spinning, but the more I stared into other me’s eyes, the more incredibly aroused I was, and the more the rest of it just fell away to infinite unimportance.

For one thing, I could now truly see that I was just a bit more perfect in the size and sculpting of my muscles than I thought I was. My skin was smooth and touchable, seeming to compel gentle caresses and enthusiastic gropes. My face, my eyes, my full lips, even my hair—maybe it was just seeing it live, face to face instead of in a mirror, but I didn’t think so. Somehow, in some way, I’d been getting subtle, incremental hotness upgrades—not just in my easy-bone cock but in every single part of me.

And that wasn’t even taking into account the visible striped of jizz I’d just painted across my own damn torso thinking about how awesome it felt have two giant, stimulation-hungry megacocks rubbing against each other in every situation I would be in, soft or hard, public or private, from now on.

Either I dropped the clicker or set it aside, I don’t even know. Barely a few heartbeats passed before I was moving to close the minimal distance between us, both of us draping our powerful arms loosely around the other’s wide, muscular back. Our cocks drove up along our cobbled abs, still interlaced, and shivers ran up my spine as the skin on the front of our huge pecs just barely started to brush.

We just gazed at each other for a few seconds, as I felt my arousal ramp up and up into the fucking stratosphere. I was so hard I couldn’t even remember what not being close to massive release was even like. Then, I heard the sound of a throat being gently cleared.

We looked over to see Dana and Thom awake and gawking at us. They were both sitting up in bed, both of them super-hard and with hands wrapped tightly around their red, urgent erections. Thom was just holding his, but Dana was moving his hand slowly, up and down his thick, round shaft.

“This is the part where you kiss,” Dana prompted hoarsely.

“And then come over here and let us suck you,” Thom suggested, his eyes comically wide. I felt my lips widening in a little smile, and guessed there was a very good chance other me was doing the same, because Thom drew in a little breath—my smiles turned him on.

“I dunno, Thom,” Dana said, eyes not moving from our lips as he stroked. “Look at all that cock. We might need help.”

I wasn’t sure if Thom would register Dana’s wry tone, but evidently he did because he responded in kind, the edges of his lips twitching every so slightly. “Maybe we should call in Kent and Tyler,” Thom said. “They’d definitely help.”

“Or Bryce and Kel,” Dana suggested, still staring at our lips as if expecting something truly momentous to happen there at any moment.

I met other me’s gaze, and then I shifted around so that I was behind him, facing the guys in the bed. The other me put his back against my chest, and I wrapped my arms around my doppelganger from behind. Other me definitely loved pressing his back against my amazing pecs as much as I loved pushing them up against his back, and we both kind of stifled a groan. They guys obviously loved this maneuver and the new pose—Thom was now actively stroking at last—but then, I was reasonably sure anything we did would be deeply appreciated.

I let my hand skate lightly across other me’s impressive pecs. Dana shamelessly licked his lips, and Thom whispered, “Fuuuuuck.”

But I wasn’t just going to pose for him. We both wanted more than that. Not just wanted—we needed more than that. Guiding the other me from behind, I moved us languidly, step by step, toward the guys. They watched, utterly mesmerized.

We stopped a foot from the edge of the enormous bed I—we—shared with our ball-churningly sexy lovers. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” the other me said, his tone playful even as it pretended to be stern and commanding.

“There’s going to be no calling anyone,” I continued.

“No Kent, no Tyler.”

“No fucking Bryce, or Kel, or Mike, or Jake…”

Dana grinned. “Coach Cruz?” he suggested with a wicked twist of his lips.

“Not even Coach Cruz,” I said, smiling just as wickedly back.

“Just you…”

“…and us.”

I kissed other me’s neck, just above the round bulge of his right traps where I knew I had a nice sensitive spot desperate for the brushing of stubbly lips. Other me made a small, involuntary sound that sent my big dicks surging against the smooth skin of his lower back. “Specifically,” other me added, “you two fucking us.”

Fuck yeah. “Right now,” I added.

“The two of you,” other me summarized, “are going to fuck the two of us into fucking next week.”

“And then—well,” I said, twitching my brows at them, “that’ll be just the beginning.”

They were back to gaping, wide-eyed and stroking. Dana was the first to recover. “Then what are you waiting—”

We dove onto them, other me onto Dana, me onto Thom, and started kissing so fiercely that we didn’t even realize how massively we’d all cum until we were suddenly desperate to put our lovemaking plan into immediate, urgent action. Bliss beyond measure, Dana called it after the fact, and I’d be hard-pressed to argue. Fucking awesome was Thom’s verdict, and in that assessment I was right there with him. To that, I will only add that when I said it was only the beginning… I didn’t even know the half of it.

Description Motivating the team has been taken up a notch.

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