Steve Ferguson, forward
Mike ("Alvo") Alvarez, forward
Claude Brown, forward
Blair Sandburg, halfback
Will Kwan, halfback
Stacey Galindo, halfback
Candace "Diss" Erich ("Call me Candy and you die"), fullback
Harry Chang, fullback
Drake McPike, fullback
Tony Han, fullback
George Callahan, goalkeeper
"Good game!" Alvo called over the rush of the water.
"Fun game, you mean. We weren't very good." Harry winced as he gingerly lathered his grass-stained knees.
"We need to play more together," George said seriously. "Tuesday afternoons aren't enough. Twice a week would be better."
"With my schedule?" Kwan ducked his head under the shower head. "Callahan, I kick balls to clear my head between physics tests. Physics rules."
"Anthropology rules," Harry Chang and Blair chanted in unison, fists to their heads in true People's Front of Judea fashion.
"Slackers rule!" Drake responded (which didn't quite explain the Feynman diagrams tattooed around his upper left arm).
"Will you guys quit comparing dick size over there?" Diss's voice broke in via the shared vent above both sexes' locker rooms.
"They're comparing classloads, Candace," Claude answered the vent (as Claude was going for an MBA in a fiercely liberal university, he kept his own study orientation a closely-guarded secret).
"Totally same-diff," Stacey's voice chimed in over the vent. "Y'know, academic excellence isn't the same as masculinity."
"Hey, Stacey, I'd like to see your syllabus," Steve called, and guffawed.
"Shyeah, right, Steve," Stacey answered. "You couldn't handle pre-med in your biggest wet dream."
"What she said," Diss added. "You'd have better luck asking Tony out, Ferguson."
Loud chorus of "oohs" from both shower rooms as Steve's face went red and his lips went white. He always took the gym shower furthest from Tony after the game.
"Darling, you are so not on my diet," Tony said over to Steve, and batted his eyes.
"Go out with Blair, Tony, he'll eat anything," Steve said cattily. "Or is that any*one*?"
Another chorus of "oohs." "Got you one, Sandburg," Drake said.
Blair laughed. "At least I always have a date on Saturday night, Steve -- whether you, or your sister, shows up."
"Ooohs," and applause. "Good one, dude," Kwan said. Tony snapped his fingers.
"Oh, you'd love to suck my dick, you pussy whore," Steve snarled.
Dead silence for one split-second.
Then Drake imitated a game-show buzzer. "You lose. Thanks for playing."
"Something wrong with having a pussy, Ferguson?" Diss called over the vent in the friendliest boom she had.
Blair let the instant anger whip through him like wind through a winter tree, and past and away. "If you really want me to blow you, Ferguson, I'll make it more familiar to you. Just pay me $20 up front, like all the other guys who've blown you while you closed your eyes and told yourself it's a girl."
Whoops and applause.
"Um, guys," George said. "This isn't gonna help us play the game any better."
"Always knew you were a whore, Sandburg," Steve said, in a tone Blair recognized from every jock who'd ever beaten him up after class for being too smart and wrecking the curve. "You just named the price. You'd let everybody in this room fuck you for $20, wouldn't you, faggot?"
"Wrong, asshole," Tony said in his lispiest voice. "I'm the faggot. Blair's just a shuttlecock."
"Steve," Blair said, "I could fuck everybody on this team for free, if I wanted to. But you gotta pay up front."
"For free? Hey, I'm in," Drake said.
"Um, that's okay, Blair, really," George said. He averted his eyes whenever Tony kissed his boyfriend or Blair slapped a teammate's ass.
"Uh, yeah, me too," Alvo added, one hand going to the small gold cross around his neck. But his eyes were on Blair's face and body under the water spray.
"Well I wouldn't say no," Harry said, grinning at the stunned Blair. "I've heard your stories often enough. More important, I've heard from some of your dates."
"Is this for real, Blair?" Stacey asked. "Cause my roommate Michelle says you're totally good at eating pussy. She talked about you for a week."
"Look, you guys, I haven't even said I'd -- a week?" Blair preened a little bit. Michelle -- oh yeah, the tall brunette with the leather skirt and the legs up to her ears, squealed like Flipper when she came, and they'd finished the kung pao chicken afterward. Fun date.
"His pussy-eating's gotta be better than the way he blocks a kick," Diss added. "If he's really that good, you can take notes, Steve. I'm in."
"Yeah, me too, what the hell," Claude said.
"You are gorgeous, darling," Tony said. "I wouldn't say no to anything we did."
"I've got homework," Kwan protested.
"Not right now, Will, fer Christ's sake!" Harry turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. "We're done for the day. And we don't have any condoms or other stuff."
"'Other stuff'?" George added nervously.
"Lube," Blair elucidated, and the idea swelled in his mind. He looked around at his teammates, and hit the cold water to douse his hot-water-induced erection. It had been too long since he'd had a decent recreational fuck; four weeks of term papers, blue books and blue balls.
"Harnesses!" Diss called. "And vibrators!"
Blair blinked. "Vibrators?" he asked the vent.
"You saying only the guys can stick it in you, Sandburg?" Diss retorted. "That's sexist."
"Can I bring my vibrator?" Drake snapped a towel at his own ass.
"What about hand-jobs?" Claude said. "Will those count?"
"You know, I haven't said yes yet," Blair said. He looked over at the white-faced, pop-eyed Steve, and smiled sweetly. "How bout it, Steve? Want that straight-boy dick of yours sucked by a fucking expert? Or do you even have $20?"
Steve whipped his towel tight around his waist and marched toward his locker, yanked out his trousers, fumbled out his wallet, snapped it open, reached in and pulled out a $20. He waved it at Blair. "I'll see you next week, whore." He stuffed the bi ll back into his wallet and crashed past the other lockers, dragging his clothes with him till he was out of sight of the showers.
Tony sighed. "God, it's such a pain to shower with straights some times."
"Yeah. But he's our best forward." Blair took down his towel. "Alea jacta est." He wrapped it tight around him to cover his sudden nervous shaking. He'd just agreed to have sex with 10 other people. No all-nighters this week, and he'd better not skip any meals. And no masturbation either, dammit.
"Guys, I really don't think this is a good idea," George said. "This could fuck up our game, and a lot more than the game."
Blair headed toward his clothes. "Think of it as an ancient ritual, George. We're appealing to the fertility gods for victory in the sacred game."
"Yeah," Harry chimed in. "Like the Mayans sacrificing their losing ball players, or those big bonfire parties some colleges have before the biggest football game of the year."
"We even have priestesses," Tony added, and postured like an Egyptian painting.
"In your dreams, Han," Stacey retorted.
"What about...afterwards?" George really looked worried.
"Same as now, I guess," Kwan said, heading to his own clothes. "We clean up, get dressed, and go back to class."
"And if it's really, really good," Claude said to George, grinning, "we do what we always do when it's really, really good."
George grinned nervously. "Oh...kay."
"George, if it's any comfort, a blowjob feels good whether you're getting it from a girl or a guy." Blair winked at the beet-faced blond. "And just for the record, everybody," he added, pulling his shirt on over his wet curls, "so our stories will match when we get busted...I hereby agree to the terms and give my consent. See you next week."
Mike Alvarez looked horrified. "On the field?"
In the men's locker room, actually. Everyone met there instead of heading out to the field next Tuesday at 2 p.m. Stacey and Diss knocked and were let in, Stacey with her purse and Diss with a knapsack; the door was locked after them. Some of the guys -- George, Alvo, Kwan -- looked more as if they were heading to the chair than to a sexual assignation, despite any earlier bravado or denial. Everyone was still dressed, looking at each other and back to Blair. Steve wouldn't look Blair in the eyes, but Drake and Tony were grinning.
"I've reserved the entire men's locker for our time-slot, for a 'team meeting.'" George set down his big gym bag and stretched to the ceiling, trying to still his nervous movements.
"Then the game clock is on. We have two hours to do this," Blair said bluntly.
Stacey shrugged. "No biggie. Let's see, 8 guys, 2 minutes a guy..."
Everybody burst out laughing and the tension was broken. Even Steve snorted.
"Some of us actually do know about foreplay, honey," Tony replied archly to Stacey. "We just choose not to waste time about it."
"You are such a man," Stacey replied, rolling her eyes.
"First things first." Blair pulled his vest off. "Let's establish the laws of the game here. Do handjobs count or not?"
"What, just jacking? I'd say not," Diss said, and it was seconded. "Mouths, asses, some major penetration going on. Blow jobs, cunnilingus, fucking, the usual."
"Do I need to be the one fucked for it to count?" Off came Blair's flannel shirt. "Or can I fuck, too?"
"You better," said Tony, and nudged Blair as he took off his own shirt. "Don't worry, darling -- I'm sure Alan won't care what we get up to."
"Han, you and Alan spend your weekends fucking other guys and comparing notes," Blair said, grinning and shaking his head as he shucked off his second shirt. "I'd feel special if he warned you to stay away from me."
"How about our straights?" Blair took off his undershirt. "We're in this for fun, you know."
George grinned nervously, fist on his belt. "Um...you don't mind if I don't look at you while you, you know--?"
"Pretend I'm a girlfriend, Callahan." Off came another of Blair's undershirts, and he hid his smile. Gay, straight, they all want blowjobs. "Though you may not want to mention this to any girlfriend later."
"No blackmail, anyone, speaking of which," Claude said. "We keep this among ourselves. Period. I mean it. I'd get dragged off to a Tennessee Bible camp for deprogramming if this ever got back to my parents in any way, shape or form."
"Papa would just kill me." Alvo's shirt was off, but the gold cross was still around his neck.
"Yeah, like I want everyone to point at me and say 'There goes the slut.' No one will hear it from me." Stacey undid her skirt and sat down to remove her pantyhose.
George nodded vigorously. "Once it's over, we leave here and it never officially happened."
"It's in all our interests not to talk about this. Which also means not creating a need to talk." Blair toed off his sneakers, keeping his eyes on everyone. "Keep your goods shrink-wrapped for your protection. And if you can't be gentle with me, at least be mindful. If I wind up going to the emergency room for any reason -- covered with evidence that looks like a gang-rape -- this is gonna look really good in the Ranier Herald. They'd shut down the entire sports program."
"Yeah, Steve, remember that." Diss unzipped her own jeans. "Unlike when a frat-boy roofies and rapes a girl at a party around here, this'll be taken seriously by the faculty."
"I'm not a damn rapist, Erich," Steve snapped as he pulled off his sweater. "I go last, Sandburg. And you do everybody on the team if you want this." The $20 bill was tucked under a shampoo bottle on a divider wall.
Blair rolled his eyes as he undid his jeans. "Yeah, Steve, I'm only doing this 'cause I need 20 bucks. I couldn't, oh, tutor Bonehead English to a Phi Kappa Tau for an hour to get that money."
"Well, come on and tutor me then, white boy," Claude said, grinning, as his underwear came off.
"Right. Then let's suit up." Blair pulled off his last sock.
By this time most of them were left wearing nothing but a few pieces of jewelry; Alvo's cross, Blair's earrings, Diss's necklace, Tony's ring. They were all sizes and colors, and shapes from tall gangly Drake to wide and stocky Diss.
The suddenly co-ed nature of the locker room wasn't fraught at all; they'd scrimmaged so often on the field that it was more like sharing a hot-tub with friends of both genders. There was some friendly inspection of each others' goods. Male equipment ranged from George's pimple of a penis to Mike Alvarez' chubby to the insolent swing of Harry's putter, with at least one double-take at Drake's gleaming gold Prince Albert. "Ew, didn't that hurt?" Stacey asked. "Yup," Drake said, rolling up his clothes to pack in his bag.
Diss' massive mammaries got some major eyeballing. "Dude, that is such a waste," Kwan said mournfully.
"The women I fuck don't think so," Diss replied, and George snorted. "And if one of you tripods even thinks about asking if you can watch me and a girlfriend doing it, you'll find out first-hand what vaginal suppositories taste like." At seeing several men immediately shut mouths that were just opening to say something, she snorted and rolled her eyes. "I thought as much."
"Men," Tony said in a disgusted voice, and Diss nodded firmly.
Harry sidled up to Stacey, smiling and arching his brows. "So, Stace, doing anything after the orgy?"
"Yeah. Calculus," Stacey replied, smiling and arching her brows back. "You're welcome to join me."
"Ooh, lemme bring my slide rule and join you," Harry crooned.
"If that's your slide rule, I don't see any numbers on it," Stacey said, looking.
"Shower first, I think," Blair said.
"Yeah," Harry said.
"Good idea," Stacey added. "I still smell like nitric acid."
They took the stalls in their usual formation, Steve furthest from Tony (and from Blair). Both women showered next to Tony.
When Tony turned off his water, he walked over to Blair and said, "Good luck, darling," and kissed his mouth.
Harry grinned and said, "Ditto." And he walked over to Blair's shower head. "Remember, Sandburg, you're upholding the honor of the Anthropology department here."
"Honor?" Blair said drolly, and kissed Harry's mouth.
Claude finished his shower and walked over to follow suit. "Line forms on the left," Kwan called as he stood behind Claude.
Blair laughed even as he kissed Claude. They'd just invented an opening ritual for their orgy.
All of them wound up kissing Blair when their showers were done. The kisses ranged from a peck from tightly-pinched lips beneath tightly-closed eyes (several of the male teammates) to Drake's French half-gainer of a tonsil-dive with a buttock squeeze. "I'm better at kissing people without stubble, Sandburg," Diss said bluntly, but hers was a very good open-mouthed salute; women always were better at the non-fucking parts of sexual exchanges than most men were.
Towel-less, they headed back to the lockers and the long narrow benches. Naked, sensitized by the water on his skin, Blair began to realize that this would really happen. He looked at everyone, and saw the same realization in their faces and the way they looked at him. He was a little apprehensive, but he was also becoming aroused.
Tony walked over to his duffle bag and pulled out a string of flat packets. "Who needs a condom?" Several hands went out, but men also brought out their own packages of prophylactics. Diss took out a roll of Saran Wrap and a tube of K-Y.
Drake pulled out a tube of his own, this one a glittery clear red gel labeled Hot Lix. "Is anyone allergic to cinnamon?"
Stacey grinned when Blair produced a spool of dental floss. "All right, you do know what you're doing!"
"Hazard of the position," Blair said, and mimed pulling a pubic hair out of his teeth.
"Ugh." Alvo looked away.
"TMI," Kwan added, making a face.
"Watch and learn, guys," Diss said, smirking. "If you wanna get 'em, learn how to give 'em." She flicked her tongue across her front teeth in Blair's direction, and Sandburg returned the salute.
Diss then took out a collection of black leather straps and metal rings, stepped through the straps and buckled the harness around her wide hips, her big breasts swinging a little with her movements, till a narrow black leather patch was centered over her vagina. Most of the men watched her, Blair included, mouths open. When she was done, Diss straightened and stared at them until they looked away, erections still pointing. "If you're interested," she said, sounding very amused at the reaction, "this is called a Terra Firma and you can buy it at Toys in Babeland." She reached back into her duffle for a marbled black- and-white dildo and fitted it into the front ring of the harness patch, snapping the flexible device firmly into place and giving it a test bounce. Then out came a condom packet, and Diss sheathed and lubed her silicone dick as assiduously as did any of the men with their meat versions.
"Terra...Firma..." Claude muttered, scribbling on the back of a receipt before tucking it back into his wallet and the wallet back into his trousers in his bag.
Blair pulled out his own leather assistant. He snapped the ring firmly around his cock and balls, and took up a condom. "K-Y me, Diss."
It was almost comical how the stone straight men stood and stared (or looked away) and got flustered as women and gays and bis and freaks matter-of-factly prepared with such sexual accoutrements. Watch and learn indeed, guys.
But George had something even better than a sex toy in his gym bag. Grinning, awkward, he pulled out a big roll that turned out to be a padded camping bedroll. "Bless you, George," said Blair. He hadn't been looking forward to dealing with the hard wooden benches or the cold concrete.
"Last thing anyone on this team needs is a sore knee or back," George said, blushing hard, and the others laughed. Always thinking about the team, George was.
Tony pulled out a long bolster from his duffle and tossed it onto the bunkroll. "For your knees, or your hips."
Stacey added an inflatable red bath pillow that looked like a big pair of lips, which got more than a few snickers. "I don't want to bang my head on the floor," Stacey said indignantly.
"Michael Rennie was ill/The Day The Earth Stood Still," Harry crooned a la "Rocky Horror," causing more laughs, and several joined in.
"Great," Claude said, looking at the lips. "Is someone besides Harry providing the background music for this?"
Tony started the classic wakka-ch-wakka of the cheap porn video and got more laughs; Drake joined Tony on the backbeat.
"Oh, that works. Sandburg Does Soccer," Claude laughed.
"And my mom thought she'd keep me away from dangerous stuff if I didn't try out for football," Blair said, grinning. He took a deep breath, gave himself a squeeze for luck, and walked over to the makeshift bed, clothed only in his cockring and condom, and his courage. "Let the games begin. So who's on first?"
There was a single awkward, silent moment.
Harry Chang stepped out of the loose circle of players around the bed-pad. "For the glory of the human ritual," he said grandly, "and for Anthropology majors everywhere."
"All right. Let us give one another the secret handshake," Blair said solemnly.
They clasped forearms and grinned at each other.
"I'm thinking of a number," Harry said.
Both men chorused a la Bill and Ted. "Sixty-nine, dude!"
"Works for me," said Blair. "Let's do it."
They sank to the pad, turning to make a comfortable formation.
George and Alvo stood away, not looking, eyes closed. Steve gagged at the moist sounds coming from both participants. But Tony and both women (and most of the other men) stared, eyes intent on the reciprocal position. "Interesting handshake," Diss said, flipping on the vibrator egg buried in her anchored dildo.
Harry's cock, big and long when limp, wasn't much bigger when erect. The latex taste was well-masked by the sharp cinnamon tang of the lube. His mouth full, Blair looked up at the people bending over, watching, eyes hot and mouths open. Harry gagged a bit as Blair got bigger.
They were watching him. Watching him suck dick, open himself wide for sex from all comers, take it all and ask for more --
He sucked Harry hard, harder, harder.
Harry let go of Blair's dick, gasping, eyes wide, mouth open and wet. "I'm, I'm, oh, oh oh--" and convulsed, flopping like a fish.
Blair's head never left Harry's groin. Only when his partner was limp did Blair lift his head, his thumb and fingers still holding the condom on Harry's sagging cock as it slid out of his mouth. Blair wiped his own mouth, and looked up at the others. And grinned. "That's one."
Steve walked over to the chalkboard used for football plays, took up the chalk and made a single tally scratch.
Claude reached down and fitted his hands under Blair's armpits, lifting him up to his feet. "Put your hands on the lockers, Sandburg," he said roughly.
Blair smiled at him. "So the man wants some ass. Go for it." He leaned forward a little, hands on the row of lockers and his feet spread, as Claude's big warm hands began to briskly feel and fondle into his crevice. Thick slippery fingers reached into his divide, probed at his hole. "Mm. Nails are clipped."
"Couldn't do this with Sherry if they weren't," Claude replied, and one thick digit just breached Blair. "Christ, you're hot."
Blair smiled a little bit. Then he reached backward with his ass, taking more of the finger inside him and squeezing it. "Imagine what this is gonna feel like on your dick, Brown."
Several of the men watching dropped their jaws. George looked away fast, clearing his throat loudly. Alvo couldn't stop looking. Drake arched an eyebrow and gave an appreciative nod. "Oh man," Kwan said, and stared down at his own reaction to the sight. Diss nodded approvingly.
Claude made a sound that wasn't a word, and the finger left Blair. A blunter, thicker, slipperier appendage took over and nosed into the widening hole. "Fuck," Claude said softly. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
"All right," Diss said in a gutteral tone.
"Dude, it's goin' in," Kwan said, fascinated and revolted.
"Fuckin' pig," Steve muttered in the background, staring at the chalkboard.
"Oink, oink," Blair snapped in Steve's direction, angry. But Claude's work soon had him thinking about other things than sex- phobic teammates. "Oh, oh."
"Take it, Blair, take it," Drake chanted, shaking imaginary pom- poms. "Take it, Blair, take it."
"I got it," Blair gasped. Claude was a little clumsy but nothing he couldn't handle. He'd been readying himself all week for this. "Come on, Claude, gimme the whole thing."
"Doin' it, man," Claude grunted. "Ease up a little."
"Deep breaths." Blair demonstrated. "When I blow out, push in." Whoosh. "Ah! That's it." Sandburg locked his elbows and planted his feet.
"Yeah," Claude said gutterally. "Yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah..."
"Oh fuck," Drake said in plain respect. "Dude, you are planted."
Once in, Claude's reptile brain took over. Blair had known this moment would happen, having both been there and commanded it from others. Braced, he weathered the strong pounding and gripping hands on his waist and hips and the torrent of profanity on his ears, exulting in the raw fucking he had coaxed forth. The final snap nearly drove half of Claude up into his split, lifting Blair onto the balls of his feet; then it was done, and the great wet cock slipped out of him as Claude sank to the ground.
"Two," Blair said, smiling.
"Goaaalllll," Harry called sleepily from the ground.
Scratch went the chalk, and the stick snapped in Steve's white- knuckled fist.
Blair straightened, winced, shook out his hands (which now bore locker-shaped dents on the palms), and accepted a towel. "Whew. My ass needs a breather. Who wants a blowjob?"
Three or four of the guys stepped forward, and everyone snorted.
Blair reached out, and took George's hand. George was red in the face, but it wasn't just embarrassment any more. And a stout red cock stuck straight out from his groin and overflowed Blair's other hand. So much for the pimple.
"Mmph," George said, pushing his cock into Blair's hand.
Blair squeezed George hard. "You need a condom. I'll handle that. Siddown, Callahan." He let go, and the air whooshed out of the bolster as George plopped down.
Blair peeled a condom and popped it into his mouth, working it around till it was positioned correctly. He knelt over George's splayed legs, hands on the powerful hairy thighs of their goalie, and reached out with his mouth for the man's cock. The fattie filled his mouth and stretched his jaws wide even as he pushed his lips over the barrel of flesh. His head rocked back as George thrust hard, and came back as the hips subsided. George's hands were clenched into fists in his crumpled jersey, not in Blair's hair or around his ears. Nice; the man knew his b.j. etiquette.
Blair's head lifted off, and revealed George's half-sheathed cock in the condom that had been in Sandburg's mouth.
"Oooh," said several spectators, and Blair got a round of golf- clapping. "Dude, I gotta learn that one," Drake said.
Blair used his fingers to finish unrolling the rubber, and only then dropped his jaw and covered George's cock again.
"Unh! Unh, unh, unh!"
Fucking pig. Well, Steve was right. Pigs liked fucking, and Blair was guilty of that one. George just sounded like one...Blair found a good rhythm for sucking that suited them both, and went at it.
He heard and felt a teammate approaching as he sucked, then twitched as something long and hot, with a cold tip, was pressed against his back, between his shoulder blades, and rolled back and forth on his spine. Cold...Drake's Prince Albert. Drake was rubbing his cock against his back.
As Blair sucked at George, Drake rubbed his cock against Blair's shoulders and the back of his neck, teasing the shoulder-length curls. Blair shuddered and sucked harder, reacting to the raw sexuality of the moves, and the hot-cold sensation of the beringed cock on his body.
"Want come on you, man?" Drake growled, rubbing himself harder on Blair's back and neck. "Want me to come on your ass, come in your hair? Want the freak jizzing all over you?"
Blair convulsed and George howled, finally grabbing Blair's hair and humping hard. The cock was yanked away from his back and a single, hot gobbet splatted between his shoulders. Blair let go of George, coughing, and Callahan melted into a puddle beneath Sandburg, his cock listing slowly down like an uprooted tree.
Scratch. Steve chalked another tally mark, face twisted in disgust. Three.
Blair rested on his hands and knees, his coughing slowing down. "That one doesn't count, Drake," he gasped, rubbing his jaw.
"I know, man." Drake wiped Blair's back with the towel. "Just throwing a little oomph into it."
"While you're there, you wanna?" Blair said, and raised his ass a little in invitation.
"Not with the ring on. Anyone else?" Drake looked around.
And Diss crouched behind Blair, hands stroking his ass and pushing more cool lube into the hole. Drake helped Harry drag the blissed-out George away from the arena.
The stout, naked, harnessed woman knelt behind Blair, who was on his hands and knees. Diss was already condomed and lubed, and her silicone cock quivered from the small vibrator egg buried in its base.
"Dude, how can you feel anything with that thing?" Kwan said.
"Dude," Diss replied in a disgusted tone even as she fitted herself to Blair's ass, "it's called a clitoris. This thing's parked right on top of it. Sandburg and I are gonna be feeling the same shit going on."
The probe was cooler than Claude's cock, and a bit smaller in circumference, but it was bent at a perfect angle, and it quivered deliciously as it probed at him and slowly filled him. "Oh yeah, baby, fuck me good," he said throatily, his own cock stiffening at the sensations.
"Oh you like that," Diss said. "You like your boy-hole all filled up, don't you? Want me up you, pushing your button?"
Thrust. Sensation exploded. Blair arched and cried. Bingo. Trust a woman to find the boy-clit.
Diss took Blair's ass with long, deep strokes of precision cocking, pressing his button again and again till Blair was a solid ball of sex, arching and wailing at the touches inside him. His cock bounced, aching and hungry for touch, straining at the ring that bound it. If he let go with even one hand to hold himself he'd collapse. He was bound to her body like her harness, held fast like the silicone plaything that commanded his flesh, straining on the knife-edge of release but not there.
Was it Stacey saying something? He couldn't make the words make sense. But then a hot smooth body slithered between Blair's braced arms, under his body. A hot hand wrapped around his cock and jacked hard. Oh, yeah. Yeah. A hot wet mouth on his dick sucking hard. Oh oh oh yeah yeah yeah...
Gasping for air, Blair smelled woman. He looked down, and saw what had to be Stacey's vagina. She was sucking his dick while Diss fucked his ass. He grinned, and dived. He felt Stacey's squeal vibrate around his cock; Diss laughed and slapped his ass. Women were such fun.
"Good for you, boy-hole. Eat her pussy. Eat her, and I'll fuck you good."
Button, button, who's got the button? He nibbled at Stacey's buried bud, awash in a sea of womanly smells and tastes, jumping at her sucks and pulls at his dick. Diss was still buried in his ass but merely held her place there, rubbing her breasts against his buttocks while he and Stacey found their rhythm.
Louder noises of sex around him. The others. They were into it deep, like Blair. Watching him get fucked and sucked, played like a game-fish on a line, being done by two women at once.
Blair made Stacey squeal the way Diss had made him wail. His face slid in her lush wet opening as he chewed at her succulent labia and prodded her naked little clit with his stiff tongue-tip, sliding his cock in her wet open mouth. He felt Diss withdraw, felt slender flexible heat take the silicone's place inside him; Diss had her fingers up him, coaxing his sex, pressing him, pressing.
They could have spent the balance of their locker-room time this way, satyr and nymphs welcoming the spring. But he had a matter of honor to think about. So Blair made Stacey come one more time, and gave himself up to Diss' hands and Stacey's mouth.
Afterwards the participants rested for a few minutes, Blair lazily kissing Stacey and fingering Diss' clit beneath the dildo. "Well?" he asked.
"Michelle was totally right about you. Here, you got one." Stacey offered the floss.
Diss dismantled her harness and detatched her cock, breathing hard and covered with sweat. "Not bad for a man, Sandburg."
"Coming from a stone dyke, I know that's a compliment," Blair replied. "How'm I doing, someone?"
"Five, darling. Forty minutes. How are you holding up?"
Blair yawned. "Give me five minutes, Tony." He eyed his equipment. "And a fresh condom. And a shower."
Will Kwan helped him up. "Dude, that was awesome. Could you, like--?" He gestured downward. Not surprisingly, watching two women on one man, one of them an actual lesbian, had made him rock-hard.
Blair nodded. He was getting tired, and he definitely reeked. "Come with me. Wash my back and I'll suck your dick."
"Dude, this is just like high school."
Blair grinned. "What kind of high school did you go to?"
The hot water felt good, especially on his tender ass. He seemed to be holding up well enough. With the hot water still streaking down upon both of them, Blair knelt on a folded soaked towel and went down on Kwan while Will stood under the shower spray and kept his eyes shut, no doubt picturing what he'd just seen. The sensation of the warm water streaming down on them both, combined with the hot flesh in his mouth and his hands on Will's ass, was very erotic, in a slow-burn way for him. Kwan finished quickly.
"Now that is hot," he heard Stacey say.
Leaving Kwan slumped against the wall, Blair wiped his mouth and looked over at his appreciative audience, sorting out the once and future participants. Did him, did him, waiting, did her, have to do him...
Alvo looked nervous and frightened. But his cock was at full extension, shiny and taut beneath its condom as he looked at Blair. This was a new traveler who badly needed an experienced guide.
Blair stood and turned off the shower, leaving Kwan to grope for a towel, and walked over to the forward, putting one hand on a bare warm shoulder. "Remember, Alvo," he said, smiling gently, "once we all walk out of this locker room, this never officially happened."
Claude thumped Alvo's bare shoulder. "This might answer a few questions for you, Alvo -- so you don't panic and run off to marry some nice Catholic girl and have a bunch of babies. Carpe diem."
Alvo nodded nervously. His feet stumbled a little, following Blair's lead back to the makeshift bed. But his body language had already shouted their choice, and his eyes were dark; his mouth was so warm and tender on Blair's. "Oh God, you're so beautiful," he whispered.
Ah, this was why he'd been so nervous. Bad enough being a man raised in a macho culture who found himself sexually attracted to a male teammate; he could have acquitted himself by throwing Blair against a wall and fucking his ass like the meanest top-dog in prison. How much worse to be a man raised in a macho culture, and to wish for tenderness from that teammate.
Blair spent some time on Alvo's mouth and nipples before working his way south while Alvo kissed everything of Blair's that he could reach.
"What'll it be, Alvo?" Blair whispered in Alvo's ear. "We can suck each other. Or I can suck you, or you can put it in. Or do you want mine?"
Alvo's voice was frightened, but his eyes were hot. "Y-yours," he whispered.
Alvo nodded rapidly.
Blair smiled at him and kissed his mouth again. "Brave man. But let's start with a finger and see how you like that, okay?"
Alvo liked it fine, judging from the arching and wide-eyed gasping; he squealed when Blair used his free hand to clamp down on the base of Alvo's cock before he could launch.
When Alvo was trembling and sweating, sprawled on the pad, Blair let go of the eager cock, withdrew his finger and peeled off the cot. "You're pretty tight on a finger, Alvo. Still want me to put my dick in there?"
Alvo still looked frightened, this time at the force of his own reaction to Blair. But he nodded. He helped Blair arrange the bolster under his ass, and spread wide for a thick application of K-Y, his legs draped over Blair's forearms.
Blair caressed Alvo's belly with one lubed hand before taking the man's cock in hand and lining himself up with the point of entry. "Let me know the instant you've had enough."
Blair wisely did not go by Alvo's verbal cues but by his body's responses, and he halted himself with Alvo hotly clutched just around his knob and Alvo's penis wilting a bit in his hand. He used his free hand to ravage Alvo's tits, probe under his arms, slide into his navel, and form a slit for his thrusting tongue to copulate; he rolled his knob in that clenched fist of an ass, jacked him in time with his movements in Alvo's ass, and so coaxed Alvo's sex back on line. Alvo jumped and twitched and cried under Blair's slow and wanton destruction of his virginity. Another one lost to the stone straights.
"Oh honey, save some of that for me," Tony said, one hand sinking hard into one round buttock of Blair's.
"Sandburg's ass is free, Tony," someone said.
"No," Blair gasped, everything concentrated on that inch of cock playing in Alvo's pucker. "Got to keep my mind on the job."
And keep it he did, playing and probing and opening Alvo till he convulsed, crying. Out came Blair's cock, rock-hard, and he dragged it insolently through the semen spatters on Alvo's sweat- covered chest and belly, forming an S.
Then Tony's mouth was open on Blair's open mouth, and his hands were wrapped hard around Blair's ass. "Put it in, honey, now, I know what you need." Tony's ass was wet, puckered open, filled with jelly, and Blair shouted as his cock flew to its roost. All the raw sex he'd held back for Alvo's sake he unleashed in a flurry of pounding; a tsunami of fucking overwhelmed him. There was only Tony's legs tight around him and their mouths sealed together, and the movement.
Tony let go of Blair's mouth to chew at his throat and his nipples. "Oh, honey, these sweet tits are begging for a ring or two."
"Ah! You think?" Blair's head fell forward, pushing his tit further into Tony's mouth even as his cock went further into Tony's ass.
"Darling, you are a sex god. You should be decked accordingly." Up came Tony's head once more.
"I'll settle for being a sex bodhisattv-- Ah!"
Tony's mouth on Blair's made speech impossible after that.
The end came quickly after that. With Tony's heels sinking deep into his buttocks and pressing him home, Blair buried himself to the hilt and came hard.
He came out of his doze to Tony kissing him awake, stroking his hair. "Changed your mind, honey?" he said, smiling.
Blair pushed a few thoughts past his sleepy brain. "Um. Nope. Still like pussy too, Tone. Sorry."
Big warm hands closed around his shoulders from behind. "You're limp as a dishrag, Sandburg," Drake said. "Perfect."
Blair smiled a little. He wouldn't have to do any work for number nine.
Sprawled flat on the pad, belly down, head on his folded arms, he sleepily catalogued Drake's work. Dab of the Hot Lix cinnamon gel (making his ass burn deliciously) and the cool crinkle of plastic wrap fitted into his divide. Big warm hands on his rump, spreading him open; a hot tongue licking him, licking his split, licking him open, licking into him. Thick, pointed tongue going into him, probing; licking the puckered walls. Tongue gone, plastic wrap gone, and two fingers in a slick condom made their way in now, a third finger stroking the vein just under the tender skin between balls and asshole, thumb squeezing the fleshy cheek against the buried fingers. Blair whimpered at the sensations.
"Hands behind your back, man," Drake said, and smacked the top of Blair's ass with his free hand. "Now."
Shivering, Blair did so, crossing his hands at the wrists. A cool stiff band went around both hands and closed firmly around the crossed wrists, with a cold metallic touch at the join; Drake's belt. A strong pull at his bound hands pulled his upper body up, and Drake's free hand seized the nearest tit. A look from the corner of his eye saw how Drake did it; he was holding the end of the belt in his teeth while his hands took Blair fore and aft. Blair shivered again and squeezed the fingers in his ass.
Everything left at once, and Blair thumped to the pad again, still bound. He opened his eyes upon a glint of gold. The Prince Albert ring adorning Drake's glans waved before him, inches from his nose. The cock gleamed, and smelled strongly of cinnamon.
Drake sat before him, legs spread wide on either side of Blair's head. His gold-ringed cock jutted toward Blair's face. "Crawl for it," he said.
Bound, Blair inched forward like a snake, mouth open. The gold- ringed cock glanced away and the length slid past Blair's parted lips, cold ring and hot cinnamon-flavored flesh. It was uncondomed, so Blair took it from the side, mouthing the barrel and rubbing his face against it. Drake arched over Blair's back and bound arms as Blair played his dick, his body like a warm canopy.
Blair took the ring in his teeth and tugged the cock this way and that, now sucking the sides, now toying with the ring again. He thought of a ring in his tit, how it would feel to be chewed and tugged like this. Mm, maybe Tony was right...
Even as he dealt with Drake's cock, Blair felt another cock divide his cheeks and probe at his slicked ass -- this cock cooler than the others, but sliding in to him with the feel of human skin sliding over firm flesh, not like Diss' silicone dildo. Must be a toy of Drake's -- oh god, a cyberskin, those were incredible things, gorgeous texture. It was naked, uncondomed, greased, rapidly getting warmer as it sank into him.
Trust Drake to figure out how to bareback Blair from both ends.
Blair arched his ass up and spread his legs, freeing his cock to rub on the bolster.
"Keep sucking, man," Drake growled, flicking a finger at Blair's forehead before returning to his plundering of a second orifice. In, in it went, slow and inexorable, spreading open Blair's hole. Drake slapped Blair's ass and thrust, and thrust.
Fucked at both ends, Blair gave himself up to Drake's hands, and descended into madness.
The chalk scratch roused him from his torpor. Blinking sleepily, Blair reached up to help Drake remove his condom, and realized his hands were free. He was lying on his back; the dildo lay on the floor between his legs. "Wow," he said.
Drake grinned down at him and picked up the pale peach-colored fleshy dildo. It was indeed a cyberskin. "Betsy has that effect on people." He patted the dildo affectionately. "I'll have to retire the old girl to the trophy case now."
He did not want to know. He really did not want to know.
The rest of Blair's teammates were sitting on the bench around his makeshift bed, finished and watching his performance. Many were breathing hard just from watching the show. Both women and most of the men had already dressed; Alvo and Tony were still naked.
One left. One white-faced, white-lipped, black-haired, red-cocked man left. One fist still gripping the chalk.
Blair rolled over onto his elbows -- gently -- and met Steve's flat glittery stare with his own gaze. He smiled sleepily. "Guess what?"
Harry chanted, "Now at bat, Number Ten -- Steve-eve-eve Fergusonson -son."
Tony and several others imitated the distant roar of a cheering crowd.
Steve stepped forward, as if he was indeed at bat. "In the shower, Sandburg."
"Ooh, prison-style," Tony muttered. "What a surprise."
Blair nodded. And blinked. And lifted his arms. "Little help here."
George and Harry helped hoist Blair to his tottery feet. "One more, champ, and the belt is yours," Claude said, rubbing Blair's shoulders.
"Yes. I am the greatest sexual athlete of all time!" Blair proclaimed a la Muhammed Ali, raising his fists.
He walked into the showers once again, past Steve, who wouldn't touch him. This was going to be fun. He washed himself while Steve looked at him with disgust.
He'd hardly turned off the water before Steve's hand was on his wrist, pulling him into a toilet stall and closing the door behind him.
Yeah, Steve, you're really fooling everyone this way.
"Against the wall."
Blair rested his folded arms on the stall wall and spread his legs a little.
"No, no no -- the other way. Your back."
Back? Okay... Blair turned and rested his back against the stall, facing Steve. Facing those glittering eyes. That trembling mouth.
Rage. Such deep-buried rage in those eyes. So easy to read: *How dare he? How dare Blair do this, and do it so well, and so playfully and joyfully?*
Alvo had opened his own door. Blair reached for Steve's.
"Steve," Blair said gently. "I don't know what they told you growing up. But you won't go to hell for feeling love for a man. If that was true, then every apostle would be damned, for loving Jesus."
Pain in those eyes, like a stab wound to the guts. "Shut your goddamn mouth," Steve snarled, and lunged at Blair's mouth with his own, tongue stabbing deep, hands gripping blair's shoulders.
Tap tap tap ta-tap-tap. Steve, busy proving his domination of a mere faggot, didn't notice the tapping on the wall. But Blair saw the feet surrounding the stall. Harry was doing Morse code. [B U OK]
Steve, busy humping Blair and driving his tongue down Blair's throat, didn't notice Blair tapping the bathroom wall with one knuckle. [YES] Once he'd reassured his potential defenders that he wasn't being raped, Blair reached both arms up to hold Steve closer.
Steve pulled away, still holding Blair's shoulders with his hands at arm-length. "Don't do that! Just, just stand there, dammit! Stop doing that!"
"Okay," he said quietly, and went limp against the wall. Steve lunged at him again. Doing nothing while Drake did all the work had been fun. He was almost done.
His body was the worse for wear. His tits were bruised. His jaw ached. His butt hurt and his genitals were so sore that even just Steve's dry-humping was painful. He needed a nap, badly. He had twenty minutes left. He could do this. He was almost done.
He was done. Steve had let go of him, panting and scrubbing at his dick with a swatch of toilet paper.
Blair blinked, and pulled a swatch of his own to wipe Steve's semen spatters from his belly. That was anticlimactic. He called out, "I did it!"
"Yay!" everyone cheered.
Blair opened the door on a group of grinning people, high-fiving his teammates and erstwhile sex partners.
Blair stopped at Steve's snapped reply. He turned to face Steve, who was leaning in the door of the toilet.
Steve kept his eyes aggressively fixed on Blair's face, as if they hadn't just had a sexual exchange. "You're not done yet, Sandburg," he said, smiling snidely. "You said everybody on the team. Everybody. Who'd you leave out, smart guy?"
Blair stared at Steve. Everyone else looked at Steve and at each other. Blair looked at everyone present, and couldn't find one person he hadn't yet had sex with. "Steve, I got everybody." He walked, slowly and gingerly, to the chalkboard. Steve had left nine marks. Blair picked up the chalk stump and made a stroke through the four hatches. "Ten. I got everybody on the team, Steve."
"George," Steve said, still smiling at Blair. "How many members constitute a soccer team?"
"Eleven," George said, eyeing Steve.
"Eleven," Steve said. "Blair."
Blink. Oh crap. Blair rested his head on the chalkboard's edge.
"Oh come on, Steve, that doesn't count!" Stacey snapped.
"That is so bogus," Kwan added.
"He's right," George said. "There's eleven on the team."
"Blair said 'everybody on the team,'" Alvo added. "'Everybody' includes himself."
But Steve was right, dammit. Blair stared blearily down at his team player. Red as a sunburnt outfielder, limp as a used jock strap. He gently took it in his hand. Ow.
Once more out of the breeches, dear friend, once more.
He stroked his nipples a little, stroked his thigh near his cock, lightly touched the peritoneum and his balls. Ooh. Ah. A twitch, but he was still limp.
"Have some, dude." Drake offered the clear red cinnamon gel, and squeezed a blob into Blair's hand.
"Thanks." Blair slicked up his cock and yelped at the burn from the stuff. It was a good burn, but it only got another twitch. He stroked a little, held his cock, plucked a nipple. Squeezed hard, eyes closed. Twitch.
"Fifteen minutes." Steve held up his watch before Blair's eyes.
"Lay off, dickweed," Diss snapped.
Dammit, this was a matter of honor now, not that fucking $20 bill. He'd said everybody.
"Need help?" Diss held up her silicone vibrator.
Blair shook his head, closed his eyes, squeezed, thumped, grunted at the pain.
A fantasy. Fantasize. Uh, the captured student and tribe of Amazons -- no, too close to home. Wrestling match that turns into sex with the crowd cheering -- doing that already. The Minotaur in the Labyrinth -- nope. The spread in ON OUR BACKS -- no, a pale imitation of what Diss had done to him. That Tom of Finland layout -- oh, it wasn't doing anything for him right now. The naked woman, the horse and the pie -- too weird.
Dammit, he had to think of something! Think, think, think!
He threw his head back, teeth bared, and yanked --
Sex is a powerful consciousness-altering substance, especially when indulged in by a person with latent shamanic tendencies. Pushed to his sexual limits, and beyond, Blair Sandburg abruptly beheld something so vivid and real it was either a dream or a waking vision.
The image seemed straight out of the Burton book he'd found over the weekend. A man in the jungle, but not a native; a white man, tall and muscular and beautiful, wearing the tattered remnants of an Army uniform. Rifle on his back, his face smudged with dirt, his eyes hard and full of pain, the man looked about him and up and around, inhumanly alert and wary.
And Blair was there, too. Naked, loose and limp from sex, the antithesis of this hard untouchable man, he appeared before the lost soldier. The soldier started and stared at Blair, eyes wide, but he didn't unsling his rifle. He looked at him, top to toe to top again. His eyes were hungry, full of pain.
Blair walked right up to the man and drew the battle-weary soldier into his arms. "Don't be afraid," he whispered. "I'll take care of you." He pulled away the man's weapons and clothes, from the khaki head-cloth to his grimy boots. Naked, the tall and beautiful man was no longer a soldier; he embraced Blair and they sank together under the lush green canopy--
A nudge dispelled the jungle vision. Blair blinked open his eyes and he was back in the locker room. His cock was in his hand, retreating from its semi-erect state. And his own semen smeared his belly.
It was March 21. He had just turned 20 that day. And a crumpled, sweaty $20 bill lay at his feet.
The chalkboard bore the tally. Eleven people.
Steve set down the chalk. "You did it," he said. "You actually did it, Sandburg." If anything, Steve looked even more disgusted than he had before. "You fucked an entire soccer team for $20."
Blair stared at Ferguson. "No, Steve, I fucked you for $20," he corrected, grinning like a cat who had most definitely gotten all the cream. "Everyone else was a freebie."
"Definitely better than the way you block a kick, Sandburg." Diss thumped his shoulder -- gently.
"That was good," George said. "We'll work on your blocking later, Blair."
"Darling, you could give lessons at the White Party." Tony kissed Blair's temple.
"It was great," Alvo said sleepily, caressing Blair's hair and then pulling back his hand. "But you really need to shampoo. Eyuck."
"Who the man? You the man!" Drake waved Betsy in salute.
"Too bad I can't tell Michelle," Stacey said.
"Dude, that was amazing," Kwan added.
"Anthropology rullllessss," Harry crowed, and yawned.
"We were really, really good," Claude added. "And you know what that means, guys."
Blair blinked away the last shreds of the vivid fantasy-image and smiled. "Oh, yeah."
And everyone shouted, "Pastariffic Friday!"
"Pizza's on me," Blair said, waving his new $20.
Steve looked at all of his teammates, his face getting redder and redder with every non-judgmental reaction. "Fuck you all," he spat, and tore out of the locker room. The door slammed behind him.
Tony shook his head. "Repressed fags are always the worst, aren't they?"
"Dammit," George said sadly. "He was our best forward."
For a few days afterward, Blair took his classes standing in the back with the slackers and latecomers, and he frankly dozed during his Mythology lecture late Tuesday afternoon.
Steve didn't show up at their Friday night celebration at Pastariffic ("Good game?" the waitress said; "Oh, yeah," George replied, and they whooped like footballers). In fact, he never did return to the soccer team. It was a while before he was even seen anywhere near the playing fields or the locker room, and he went out of his way to avoid former teammates. Their playing worsened with the lack of Ferguson's kicking, but not even George minded too much; the locker room had lightened up perceptibly as well.
They left the eleven chalk-marks on the board until the football coach erased them five months later; till then, the men would look at them and smile, and someone would call out "Still there," to the women's vent.
And it was a long, long time before Blair could eat anything with cinnamon in it without getting an instant hard-on.
Blair set down his cinnamon roll, chewing thoughtfully.
"Find something in your roll, Chief?"
"Hm?" Blair looked up at Jim, then shook his head and picked up his coffee mug. "Just remembrance of things past," he said when he'd finished his bite.
Jim yawned hugely over his own coffee mug and cinamon roll. "Don't you have to dunk the roll in your coffee for that to work, Marcel?"
"Technically, it's supposed to be a madeleine and a cup of tea. But a cinnamon roll seems to work just as well. And cinnamon has other benefits -- it's a proven turn-on for males."
"Don't even think about it, Sandburg." Jim tried to glare, but the effect was spoiled by another huge yawn. "After what we did last night, I don't have anything left -- I shot three times."
Blair buried a grin in his coffee. "You could at least try not to sound smug about it."
"Can't help it. Three times."
"Well, for God's sake get that silly smile off your face or Simon will know and he really really does not want to know about us, even if he does know about us. Comprende?"
"You say something, Chief?" If that was the best scowl Jim could plaster on his mug, they were doomed to grins and elbows all day -- and sour looks from their boss that usually translated into bigger and duller work loads later.
"Never mind." Blair took another bite of his roll. "Thanks for getting these, by the way."
"The one time of the year I can actually get away with having a 'heart attack with icing' for breakfast? No problem. Happy birthday, babe."
Blair smiled, gave his lost soldier a fond stroke under the table with his foot, and returned his attention to the paper.
BLAIR SANDBURG -- Civilian Liaison Officer, Cascade Police Department, WA.
HARRY CHANG -- Gravesite investigator, Amnesty International.
CLAUDE BROWN -- Stockbroker, Pacific Stock Exchange, Seattle WA.
GEORGE CALLAHAN -- Software engineer, MicroSoft; soccer coach, St. Mary Martyr Catholic Parish, Seattle WA.
CANDACE ERICH -- Lobbyist, Sierra Club, Washington DC.
STACEY GALINDO -- Pediatrician, Eugene OR.
WILLIAM KWAN -- Technician, Ameritrade Labs, WI.
MICHAEL ALVAREZ -- Junior partner in the law firm Steinberg, Albertson and Wu, Berkeley, CA.
ANTHONY HAN -- Drama teacher, Jesse Ventura High School, MN; sponsor of the campus Gay-Straight Alliance club.
DRAKE MCPIKE -- First Lieutenant, US Air Force.
STEVEN FERGUSON -- Bank executive, Boise ID. Grand Marshall, 2009 Boise Pride Parade.
Author's Note: All of the sex-related recreational devices mentioned in the story exist. Toys in Babeland is a sex-shop in Seattle. The Terra Firma is the brand name for a style of leather dildo harness, and Hot Lix is the brand name for a cinnamon-flavored body gel. Cyberskin has a very lifelike fleshy texture; it's used to make artificial vaginas as well as realistic-feeling dildoes.
Disclaimer: The Sentinel is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.