Padding out of the communal shower in the apartment at Old Dominion University--ODU--that the father of Steve Tenley, a senior and the captain of the swimming team all us guys were on, rented for us, I heard the sounds of sex coming from the TV in the living room. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I padded in there to see what sort of DVD the guys had on.
There were six of us in the apartment, sharing three bedrooms. We all were on the ODU swim team--as a freshman, I was the youngest one of the group--and we all were actively gay too. That’s why we were sharing an apartment. Most of the guys on the ODU swim team were gay. That’s how we’d been recruited. Coach Wilson checked the high schools across the Mid-Atlantic region out real well. When he was pretty sure of the guys he was targeting, he’d come check us out our senior year as long as we had hit eighteen. He already knew our swimming credentials. He would wine and dine us, promise us all sorts of privileges and extra stash to come to ODU, and then, if we went back to his hotel room with him and let him fuck us, we’d get a scholarship offer.
The DVD running on the TV arrested my attention when I entered the living room. Really exotic. Three guys were going at it. They all were studs and hung. Two of the guys were spiking the third guy--together, at the same time. I took in my breath and felt the immediate arousal going through me. I’d seen a lot of gay porn DVDs before and I’d been fucked by Coach, Steve, Chip, and a couple of the other guys. But I hadn’t seen two guys with both of their dicks inside a third guy at the same time before. The third guy was grimacing, but he seemed to be enjoying it.
The DVD wasn’t running just for its own benefit. Both Chip, a junior, and Jason, a sophomore, had their eyes glued to the set. Jason was bent over an ottoman on his belly right in front of the TV, and Chip was crouched over his back, hands on Jason’s hips, and was fucking Jason in long, deep strokes. Jason was wearing a cut-off T, but otherwise both were naked. Their toes were buried into the carpet behind the ottoman to give them traction. Chip was thrusting, but Jason was thrusting back too. Both of them had classic swimmers’ bodies--long and lean. Aerodynamic. I was more muscled than the two, and not so tall. Like Steve, I relied on muscle power to pull me through the water.
Jason was coaxing Chip’s face around for kisses while they fucked, but both were paying attention to the movie too. I watched them for a couple of minutes, my butt twitching from the remembrance of Chip’s cock, which wasn’t thick, but it was unusually long and was curved up, so that the bulb dragged along the wall of a guy’s channel as he stroked. Chip was gulping and shuddering with each stroke, which was pretty much the same reaction I had when Chip fucked me. In contrast, Coach’s cock was like a beer can and he was a stuffer and pistoner, manhandling a guy and getting off as quick as he could. Steve was a finesser, the best mix of length and thickness, and spending time--caressing all the walls, taking his time, bringing a guy close to jack off and then backing off. Each approach to shooting off raising a guy to a new level of arousal.
As interesting as what Chip and Jason were doing was, what was happening on the DVD was newer and more fascinating to me--I’d been bent over that ottoman and fucked by Chip before myself. Seeing two guys fucking a third one at the same time was taking my breath away. I let my towel fall, took my erect cock in my hand, leaned back against the wall next to the door, and began to stroke myself, my eyes boring into the action on the DVD. My other hand went to tweaking my taut nipples.
“Come over here, Troy.” It was Steve’s voice--coming from somewhere over at the side, in the shadows.
I looked over into the corner of the room. Steve, naked, a towel at his feet was slouched in a straight chair. He had been leaving the shower when I entered it; he’d told me to stay in the shower so he could fuck me, but I said I had to get right back to the books but that I’d sleep in his bed that night, if he wanted, so he moved to the chair. He was watching Chip and Jason fuck and had his own hard on in his hand and was stroking himself.
I looked at Steve but then turned my eyes back to the TV set. I couldn’t get enough of what I could see on the screen. When I’d come in, two of the guys were standing, with the third, a smaller guy--like I was smaller than most in the apartment--suspended between them, his legs off the ground, his knees hooked on the hips of one of the muscle-bound studs, and his fists locked behind the guy’s neck. The other guy was crouched behind him, his hands covering the little guy’s pecs. The camera shots made clear that both big guys had their dicks in the small guy’s ass and both were pumping him.
When I looked back from seeing Steve over in the corner, the three had changed positions. They were on a bed now. One of the big guys was on his back, and the little guy was riding his cock, facing him. The third guy came up on his knees on the bed, straddling the other big guy’s thighs. He palmed the belly of the small guy and used his other hand to work his cock inside the small guy’s ass. That done, he cupped the small guy’s chin with a hand, arching his torso back. The big guy under the small guy grasped the small guy’s cock, and the three were set in motion.
The small guy on the DVD moaned deeply. So did I.
“I said come here,” Steve growled from the corner of the room. I turned my eyes on him again. He was rolling a condom on his cock, and holding it erect. “Sit on it.”
“Facing me,” he commanded when I’d gotten over to him.
“No, I want to watch the DVD,” I answered. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to sit on his cock. I slowly came down on it in his lap, my back to his chest. He let out a long sigh as I skewered myself, wrapped his arms around my chest, dug his teeth into the line between my shoulder blades, and started pulling me on and off the cock.
I continued watching the DVD as he fucked me. Even when he pushed me down on my hands and knees on the floor in front of the chair and crouched over my hips, pumping me deep and fast, I had my head raised, watching the double fuck on the DVD.
He shuddered, came in the bulb of the condom, and lowered his face to the hollow of my neck. “You like watching that doubling shit, don’t you?” he whispered.
“Yes, I like that double fucking,” I answered.
“Clean my cock. Suck me.”
“After I see the two big guys shoot off,” I answered.
“Fuck it,” Steve growled, with a deep exhale of air. He pushed me down on my belly, as he pulled out of me, rose, and padded off toward the john.
He passed Coach Wilson by the door, who took the situation in, stripped off his sweatpants and jock as he walked over to the chair, put a foot on either side of my thighs, reached down and pulled me back up to my hands and knees, mounted my hips, and thrust inside me.
I groaned at the thickness of him and how hard and fast he started to stroke. He grabbed the hair on the back of my head and arched my torso up to his chest as he stroked me. I didn’t mind. I had my eyes on the DVD, where the two big studs were now hovering over the little guy and pumping their cocks to arced ejaculations on his chest and face. Coach reached under and fisted my cock. Three strokes and I was spouting out on the carpet.
* * * *
I had been laying my head back on the passenger headrest, trying to keep it from spinning. We’d left The Wave in downtown Norfolk, where I’d had a few too many beers and where I’d gotten to the point of being felt up by a couple of guys before Steve had intervened, telling me to save it for later. There had been no later, though, and I was aching for the need to be laid.
We’d kissed and he felt me up some more when we got out to his truck in the parking lot. He unzipped for me and I leaned over in the seat and gave him a blow job, but when I thought he was going to pull me over into his lap and onto his cock, he didn’t. He pushed me over toward the passenger window, put the truck in gear and nosed out onto the street.
“This isn’t the way back to ODU,” I said, having opened my eyes and taken a look out the passenger window.
“No, we’re going over toward the naval docks,” he said. “There’s a club over there--the Continental--that I want you to see.”
I lifted my wrist to where I could see my watch and concentrated on bringing the numbers into focus. “It’s already nearly 2:00 a.m.,” I said. “Everything should be closing.”
“Not the Continental. It’s just revving up. We’re gonna get you done by some sailors.”
“That sounds nice,” I said vaguely, and closed my eyes and let my head fall back on the headrest.
The next thing I knew we were parking in a dark lot in a seedy-looking neighborhood of strip mall stores and he was herding me down the street. After a few blocks, there was an area that was lit up by neon signs. A few storefront bars and derelict-looking three- and four-story building with blinking signs that claimed they were hotels. Rising above them in the distance were the gray-steel superstructures of naval vessels, which told me we weren’t far away from the naval yard.
As we drew closer, I could see that there were men milling around on the sidewalks--some were dressed like I was, in shorts, boots, and tight T-shirts. In my case, I was wearing a cut-off T in black mesh. In contrast, there were guys walking--or staggering--around in naval enlisted dress whites--tight white trousers, with wide bottoms, and white jumpers with black string ties. I had no doubt we’d found a red light district for gay sailors.
Steve, holding my arm--and almost holding me up as close to pass-out drunk as I was--waded into the crowd, ignoring propositions left and right. We came up to the head of an alley between two storefront bars. A naval guy was leaning up again the corner at the opening of the alley, a leg bent with his booted foot flat on the wall behind him. He was smoking a cigarette. He smiled and inclined his head toward us as Steve turned us into the alley. There was a quizzical look on his face. Steve didn’t react to him, though, so his eyes went back into a “bored” setting and settled back on the wall.
Steve guided me down the alley, which was dimly lit from the street from which we had entered. Three quarters down the alley, we came upon two tall, muscular sailors, one white and one black, who were stripped to the waist, with their tunics hung over their shoulders. They were smoking and standing close together.
As we passed, the white guy reached out and run his fingers down my bare arm. “Hey, babe,” he whispered.
“Inside,” Steve muttered and kept dragging me down the alley.
The two sailor studs fell into step behind us and followed us to the back of the alley, which dumped into another alley. We made a left and then down some stairs into a basement. The word “Continental” was lit in a small neon sign over the area way we entered under the building. I could hear the raucous noise of men talking over loud music on a juke box. The black sailor moved around us, punched in some numbers on a keypad, and the large metal door opened into a large, square smoke-filled room. The place was overrun with muscular guys in various combinations of white enlisted naval dress. A bar ran down one side of the room, Across the room from that was a small stage, where a small, Hispanic guy in a red G-string was gyrating to the loud music on a pole. Round tables and scattered straight chairs were spread around the room. Guys in white mingled among these, all drinking beer, most feeling each other up.
Prominent in the club room were the blown-up art posters hanging around on the walls. I recognized the art work of Tom of Finland, the elongated, muscular bodies of sensual hunks in suggestive--some beyond the suggestive--poses. All of the subjects were sailors. What was going on in the club matched the randiness of the art in the posters, which seemed to stream down off the wall to materialize in actual sailors rutting around inside the testosterone-charged room.
Some guys were still in full dress. Others wore only their tight trousers, showing their arousal in bulging baskets, a few were only wearing the naval tunic, their dicks poking straight up from the bottom of the tunic hems. One small black guy was naked and on his back on top of a corner table. Two sailors were on either side of him, holding his legs up and spread. Another sailor was hunched over him between his legs, fucking him. A couple were standing in line behind that guy, stroking their cocks with their fists. The black guy’s head was flopped over the other side of the table, and yet another sailor was feeding his face with a fat cock.
“Beer?” I heard Steve ask the two guys who let us into the club--they were both busy moving their hands on my body. The white guy said “Sure,” and Steve went off to the bar. The white guy hustled me over to a table, sat down in a chair, and pulled me onto his lap. He sat me down sideways on his lap, my right leg suspended over his right leg. He unzipped me, and pushed my shorts down as he pulled me down into his lap. His right hand went immediately under my thigh and back up and grasped my package through the thin material of my briefs.
“I’m Jack and this here’s Hook,” he muttered, nodding at the black guy who was sitting down on the other side of us. “Gonna show you a real good time,” he then said.
That was enough talking. His mouth went to my nipples then, pushing the lower hem of my mesh cut-off T up above my pecs. My back was pressed into the muscular chest of the black guy named Hook, who brought a hand around to palm my belly and cupped my chin with the other, turning my face to his for a kiss.
When I came out of the kiss, I could see that Steve had returned not only with the beers but also with a sailor of his own, who was sitting beside Steve by the table, the two of them kissing and with Steve fondling the sailor’s package.
Out of the haze, I heard Jack say, “Wanna get fucked?”
“Sure,” I answered. It was what I’d come out with Steve for tonight. It hadn’t happened at The Wave, and I was hot for it.
The little black guy wasn’t on the top of the table back in the corner anymore. I was. Guys were on either side of me, lifting and spreading my legs. With their free hands, one was pressing my belly down, holding me down on the surface of the table, and the other one was fisting and stroking my cock. My head was flopped over the end of the table, and I had some guy’s cock in my mouth. He was still in his tight trousers, and I reached up and held his hips on either side. First Jack, and then Hook and then I have no idea how many others, were between my legs. I jerked and groaned at the entry of each of the cocks, but I settled down for however each of the guys wanted to pump me.
Next thing I knew, I was being hustled back down the alley toward the street, Jack on one side of me and Hook on the other. I was dressed again. I had a beer in my hand. Steve sauntered behind us, arm-in-arm with the sailor he’d picked up.
A small hotel lobby, with a key being passed by an uncurious bearded guy in a cage. Then the stairs, with the two bulky sailors carrying me between them, my boots thumping on the steps.
A small, dimly lit bedroom, the light tinted red from the flashing neon sign outside the open window. Two twin beds. Steve and his sailor already naked and fucking on one of the beds. Hands stripping off my shorts, briefs, and T again.
Hook was sitting on the end of the other bed, lifting his big hands to me, pulling me down onto his lap--onto his cock. Skewering me deep and slowly bouncing me up and down on his shaft, his arms around my torso and mine around his. Jack was behind me, close. His hand came around; he had a bottle of poppers in it, which he placed under my nose. I inhaled and saw stars. Floating off in the clouds.
Hook laid his torso back on the bed, and with his hands on my waist, Jack pushed me forward. I felt the bulb of Jack’s cock at my entrance, on top of Hook’s buried shaft, and I murmured something. Whether it was an objection or a welcome, I knew not. Nor did it matter. I was writhing and groaning at the pain of Jack pressing his cock inside me, slowly sliding in on top of Hook’s. I moaned deeply, and he cupped my chin and pulled my face around to his to possess my lips as he began to pump. Moaning and groaning, I was moving from dancing on the clouds to plunging to the depths, stretched to near splitting. Slowly, slowly accommodating to having two cocks inside me, moving against each other, filling, stretching, counterthrusting inside me.
Later, how much later I didn’t know. Empty bottles of beer on the nightstand next to the bottle of poppers. I was on my back, my legs spread. Steve between them, pumping me, while Jack fucked the other sailor on the other bed. Then Jack inside me. Then Hook.
Doubled again, Jack on his back and me riding his cock, Hook coming in behind, pushing me forward on Jack’s chest, and then pushing his cock inside me, on top of Jack’s. Easier to take now, but still taking my breath away as they both pumped.
I woke up with a headache and tracings of light coming in through the window, diluting the red tint of the neon sign so that I no longer felt like I was swimming in a bloody sea. Steve was stretched out beside me, embracing me, his face buried in the side of my neck. He felt me stirring, though and raised up on an elbow and looked down at me.
“You OK?” he asked, in a low voice.
“Yes, I think so,” I answered.
I was, of course. “Not too bad,” I answered. “Where . . . ?”
“You’re in a hotel room. The guys from last night had to get back to their ship early this morning. You get what you wanted to try? You OK with it?”
“What I wanted to try? You arranged this?”
“Yes, you were safe. I know these guys. You wanted to try DP. I know you did. You OK now?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I answered. I did an inventory of my body. The worst was the headache from the beers and I’d done most of that damage myself.
“I’m gonna fuck you again now. Then we’ll shower and leave. I paid for the hotel room. You OK with that?”
“Yeah, I’m OK with that,” I answered. And I was. “Those two guys. Jack and Hook.”
“You want them together again, don’t you?”
“OK, I’ll arrange it. Coach said to keep you happy.”
* * * *
I was sitting on Steve’s lap, facing the TV set in the apartment living room, and rising and falling on his cock, while he held me with hands on my waist. My eyes were glued to the DVD that was running.
“What in the hell . . . ?”
“It’s called sounding,” Steve answered. “Fucking a guy’s piss slit with steel rods they call wands. Gotta be careful, but I understand the feeling is incredible. Really brings up the cum.”
“Fascinating,” I whispered, not being able to take my eyes away from the two guys on the screen. They were sitting yoga style, facing each other, their legs encircling each other’s waists. One of the guys was holding the cocks together with one hand, as the other leaned back, supported by his fists buried in the carpet beside his rump. His face was pointed at the ceiling, he was making soft mewing sounds, and he had the look of ecstasy on his face.
The guy holding their erect cocks together with one hand, was using the other to alternately slowly spin metal rods that he’d buried in the piss slit of each of their cocks. The cock of the guy who was looking dreamy had foamy precum coming out around the sides of the rod buried in his cock.
The ecstasy on the guy’s face had me mesmerized. I’d give anything to be as aroused and satisfied as that.
“You want that. You want to be sounded, don’t you?” Steve asked.
My lips felt dry and I licked them. “Yeah, yeah, I want that,” I answered in a whisper, not being able to take my eyes away from it. Frightened, yet drawn by it, aroused by it, at the same time.
Steve sighed. “Well, I know a guy, and Coach said to keep you happy.”