Naval Academy Wrestler

I didn't know. All I could say for certain was that I was going to find out. He was coming over in just a few hours.

I know it's weird, but I sort of got butterflies in my stomach, as if Greg's visit tonight was some sort of big date. I started to think about what I'd wear and what sort of food I should prepare.

At about 6:15 my doorbell finally rang. As I soon discovered, it was Greg.

He was wearing his USNA "PT" (physical training) uniform, which consisted of dark blue mesh nylon shorts beneath a white t-shirt with navy blue piping on the sleeves and collar. The shirt had the Naval Academy crest above his left pectoral muscle. His hair was matted down, beads of sweat had collected on his face, and his shirt was soaked with perspiration. It clung so tightly to his torso that I could see not only the nubs of his nipples but also the outlines of his muscles.

He was breathing heavily as I let him in. He leaned forward a bit and grabbed his knees, as if standing up straight required too much effort. "Sorry," he apologized, still panting as he turned up his head to make eye contact. "I wanted to see how fast I could get here."

"How long did it take?" I asked him.

He stood up straight again, wiping his forearm across his forehead. "I timed it," he said, breathing heavily. "Just under three miles in eighteen and a half minutes."

"That's fast," I said. He untucked his t-shirt and absentmindedly lifted it up to finish wiping the sweat from his face. My eyes darted down to take in the view of his exposed torso. His muscles were pumped and gleaming with perspiration. His treasure trail, matted down and darkened by the sweat, punctuated his abs and pointed straight toward the bulge in his shorts. Was he wearing anything underneath? I wasn't certain.

He reached behind his back and winced a bit.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I think I pulled a muscle," he said, retrieving from the back of his shorts an envelope that he'd tucked into the waistband. He sheepishly handed it to me. "Here are the tickets," he announced. "Sorry they're all sweaty."

I could feel not only the dampness of his perspiration but also the warmth of his body heat. My cock twitched in my jeans, making me aware of the effect he was having on me.

That's when Greg grabbed his hips, closed his eyes, and twisted his torso, first to the left and then to the right. He winced each time.

"Dude," I said, "you're in pain."

"It happens," he answered matter-of-factly.

"How long can you stay?" I asked. "I can get dinner going if you want me to."

"Unless you're hungry," he said, "I can wait a bit." He paused and then gave me a hopeful smile. "How long do want me to stay? I'm free for the rest of the weekend and definitely not in any rush to get back to that prison."

I could feel my own smile broaden. Was he really suggesting he spend the night? There was only one way to find out. "You're welcome to spend the rest of the weekend, Greg. My wife's not getting home until late tomorrow night."

"That's awesome," he said. "I was hoping you'd say that. I took pass and don't have to go back until dinner tomorrow."

I gestured toward the couch. "Have a seat," I said.

He hesitated, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and puling it away from his skin. The sweat-soaked fabric had been stuck to his torso. He looked at me sheepishly. "You sure? I don't want to ruin your sofa."

"I could get you a fresh shirt and shorts," I said. "If you want," I added, "you're welcome to take a shower."

That's when he started to shimmy it up his torso. I couldn't help but stare. He was giving me a good show, revealing first his abs and then his pecs. He raised his arms as he pulled the shirt over his heard, treating me to a view of his armpits. With his shirt now removed and stretched over his head, he flexed both biceps. He turned his head to sniff his right pit.

We were only standing a few feet apart. When he turned his head and made eye contact, I could see the subtle variations of color in his eyes-a complicated but attractive mixture of brown, green, and grey. "Do me a favor?" he asked, no doubt remembering the night before and knowing that I'd accept his invitation as a command. "Take a sniff," he said. "Do I need to wash off?"

With his arm still raised, he stepped toward me. My back against the wall, I didn't have much choice - and I didn't want one. Even so, It took me a long second to lean forward. I wanted so badly to plant my face in his pit but fought the urge. I could feel my cock expanding in my jeans. I didn't know what game he was playing. Should I act as if I didn't want to smell his sweat? The truth was the opposite. I knew that his pheromones would not only make my head spin, they'd also make my dick leak.

I held my breath until I felt the wetness against the tip of my nose. That's when I almost lost control, inhaling a bit too deeply to sustain the pretense that I expected to be grossed out. I wanted to smell him. Fuck, I needed to. Maybe it was just the effect of his pheromones or maybe there was something associational about his aroma. He smelled like a locker room full of buff, naked teammates, some sweaty and others merely damp and vaguely soapy after having showered. His scent was noticeable but noticeably fresh, with only a subtle hint of musk. "It's not just from the run," he almost whispered. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my ear. It sent tingles down my spine. "I didn't get a chance to shower after wrestling practice."

I tried to respond in a way that was honest but also noncommittal. "You smell fine," I said, "but if you'd feel more comfortable after a quick shower you're welcome to take one."

He stepped back a bit, dropped his arm, and once again winced in genuine pain.

"Jeez, Greg, are you okay?" There was real concern in my voice.

"It's my shoulder muscles. An old injury. They still get knotted up sometimes."

"Can I help somehow?" I asked.

He looked away and hesitated for a moment, as if gathering up his confidence. Then he looked me in the eye, tilting his head a bit while smiling and squinting, as if he needed to charm me in advance of asking a huge favor.

"You any good at back massages?" he asked. "Whenever this happens, that's what the team trainer does," he explained. "The muscles are all connected. Once he works out all the knots, I'm good to go."

"Is the floor okay?" I pointed to the rug in front of the sofa. Greg smiled. "Perfect," he said.

He surprised me when he shucked off his nylon shorts. Now he was down to nothing except for his tighty whities. They clung to his full, muscular ass just perfectly. He laid face down with his arms extended along his sides. I straddled him at the waist and got on my hands and knees above him. "Where should I start?" I asked. Since the knots were concentrated in his right shoulder blade, he told me to start with the left one. I'd see what the right one should feel like after I'd successfully relieved the tension.

Honestly, I was just happy to get my hands on him and make contact with the warmth of his flesh. As my hands raked over the length of his back, Greg's soft sighs told me that he was enjoying the contact, too. After his left shoulder blade, I avoided the right one, concentrating instead on the techniques I knew would please him. I ran my hands up along his spine. I dipped my hands into the dampness of his pits, feeling the scratch of the hair there and then furtively inhaling his scent. I worked down each of his arms, reveling in the pliant bulk of his muscles. I pressed my thumbs into the base of his spine, drawing little circles while admiring the surprisingly thick "devil's patch" of hair that fanned up above the waistband of his briefs from between his butt cheeks.

I got brazen and let my thumbs wander south, pushing down by a couple of inches the elastic of his BVDs and exposing the tops of his firm, full, and muscular buttocks. I could feel my cock throbbing in my jeans as I circled my thumbs around the tops of his ass cheeks. Greg sighed appreciatively as I used the tips of my fingers to press into his muscles there. Meanwhile, I just appreciated the view. I had only revealed the top quarter of his backside, but I could see enough to know that Greg was even hotter than I thought. At least in my eyes, that is. The cute little patch of hair at the base of his spine thickened as it trailed down into the cleavage of his ass cheeks, which themselves featured a nice frosting of brown fur. I got really daring and allowed my fingers one swipe down the length of his ass crack. I sniffed them - quickly, silently, yet almost reverently. This sweaty stud was mine.

As much as I wanted to do so, I couldn't allow my fingers to massage his ass forever. I turned my attention toward the base of his neck and worked my fingers up through his hair to massage his scalp. I even reached around to his face, smoothing out the muscles of his forehead and eyebrows. He was practically purring, and of course my cock was still throbbing. I could feel it rubbing and leaking against the loose fabric of my blue jeans. I could hardly believe that my hands had the honor to serve, please, and soothe the hot, muscular, masculine young body of a United States Naval Academy wrestler.

"Ready for your shoulder blade?" I asked him. He mumbled something unintelligible, indicating his assent. "Tell me if I'm hurting you," I said.

He winced again as my fingers dug into the muscles around his right shoulder blade. The muscles here were definitely tight. I worked the tips of my fingers in little circles, coaxing out the stress. I could feel his muscles relax as his groans turned into moans.

"How you feeling, buddy?" I asked.

"Amazing," he sighed.

I decided to up the ante: "Now that I've got your back, why not flip over so I can massage your front?"

He hesitated. "The thing is," he said, chuckling, "I'm kind of stiff there, too."

It was clear what he was implying. "Really?" I asked, playing along.

"Really," he admitted.

"Then I guess I need to ease the tension," I responded.

Up to this point, I'd been crouched over him, balancing my weight between my knees and my ass, which pressed down on the lower half of his buttocks. I lifted up to give him room to maneuver. "Flip," I commanded.

"You're sure?" he asked.

I decided to cut the pretense. It was clear what we were talking about. To take the edge off, I said it with a laugh: "It's not like I haven't seen it before."

"I owe you an apology," he said. This surprised me. I was the one feeling guilty. He got drunk, after all, and I was the one who took advantage of the situation. To this day, when I look back on it I can't help but think that I perpetuated some sort of sexual assault. Even though I'd do it all over again and the memory still makes me hard, It doesn't make me proud.

What he said next, at least, made me feel relieved: "I kind of trapped you. I did it on purpose."

He was still face down. Turned on by his body but curious about what he'd say next, I resumed the massaging of his back. On the most basic level, it was just so damn good to touch him. On a higher level, it satisfied me to satisfy him by giving him pleasure. He was such a stud - one I felt lucky just to see, let alone touch. As I admired the incredible V-shape of his back and worked my fingers from his waist, past his lats, and up into the dampness of his armpits, I contemplated what to say. I decided on the obvious questions: "Did what? Trapped me how?"

"I was only pretending to be asleep," he said. "Honestly, I wasn't even really all that drunk."

"But you couldn't even hit the bars with my cousin," I countered. "They practically carried you into the guest room."

"That's what I mean," he whispered. I could hear real guilt in his voice. "I wasn't drunk. I was pretending." My hands had moved from his sides to his shoulders. I let his words hang in the air as I worked his muscles.

"Why?" I asked.

"Maybe I was just imagining it," he said, "but as soon as I walked in the door I saw how you were looking at me."

Greg was being overly modest. "You weren't imagining it," I assured him. "The truth is, it was pretty much lust at first sight. But I felt like such a pervert. You're my cousin's friend, ten years younger than me. And you're a guy. I never thought I had a chance. I never thought I even deserved one."

In a flash he twisted beneath me, landing on his back. He took me by surprise, although in hindsight I should have expected as much from a college wrestler. Greg was nimble, quick, and as my eyes confirmed, a true specimen of masculinity and muscularity. He laced his fingers behind his head and smiled up at me.

"What do you think of your chances now?"

I paused for a long second to allow my eyes the chance to take him all in. His body was so goddamn big and muscular, the perfect compromise between beefy and ripped. I could barely control my eyes, loving everything I saw and trying to see everything all at once: His heavy brow, his square jaw, his bulging biceps, the sweaty curls of his pits, his armor-plated pecs, his hair-fringed nipples, his six-pack abs bisected by a treasure trail pointing straight toward...

For a brief moment time stood still. But I didn't need to pinch myself. Instead, I felt my cock throb inside my jeans and pump out another dollop of precum. As my eyes traced the path of his happy trail I saw first his navel and then the waistband of his BVDs. Less than an inch lower, I could see Greg's hard cock sticking out of his fly.

For just a second my mouth went dry. I couldn't swallow and I couldn't speak. All I could do was stare and marvel. Greg's dick looked magnificent. Although the base of his shaft was obscured beneath the white cotton of his underwear, the top half was highlighted by it. Like the body of its owner, Greg's cock was big and broad, vascular and muscular. A big vein - pulsing beneath the taut, tight skin of his shaft - pointed up to his wide helmet and the glistening dollop of precum emerging from his piss slit.

I licked my lips.

I glanced up to make eye contact with Greg. He was smiling. "Don't hold back," he whispered. "I'm up for anything."

I leaned down to kiss him on the lips. At first it was just a gentle peck; then it became a smooch. Then his lips parted and I felt our tongues make contact, pressing and sliding in the wet heat of his mouth. I felt Greg's big muscular arms wrap around my back to pull me in closer. I felt the scratch of his whiskers against my lips and my chin. I felt his fingers gripping my scalp, pushing my tongue deeper into his mouth. We were making out, wantonly and feverishly as reserve and reluctance melted in the presence of passion and indulgence. There was now no uncertainty and certainly no holding back.

He shifted his weight beneath me, turning me on my side as his big hand pushed my shirt up my chest and over my head. The next thing I knew his lips left mine to kiss and lick my upper chest. As he started sucking my nipple I tilted my head first to nibble his cauliflower ear and then to taste the salty skin of his neck. I felt his hand wander south to my crotch, where he pawed my hard cock through the fabric of my jeans. Panting, I reached down to unbutton and unzip. A second later his hand pushed beneath the waistband of my boxers. I felt his big warm paw encircle my cock with its grip.

I swiveled my head in order to regain contact with his lips. We kissed, deeply, and then I withdrew. As I stared into his eyes I could feel his hot breath as I brushed my hand down his torso to make contact with his erection, still protruding from the fly of his sweat-soaked BVDs.

I marveled at how lucky I was. It had been years since I'd been with a guy, and I'd never been with a guy quite as hot as Greg, the Naval Academy wrestler. It was hot last night to get to enjoy his naked body, to suck his cock and swallow his cum. But tonight was shaping up to be even better. Greg was wide awake. He wasn't pretending to be passed out. And as I felt the tug of his hand against my cock and looked at the lust in his eyes, it hit me: Greg was as turned on by me as I was by him.

I gave him another quick kiss, grabbed him by the hand, and as I stood pulled him off the floor and up on his feet. I swiftly kicked off my jeans and boxers, standing naked in front of him. I saw him reach to push down his BVDs but stopped him by grabbing onto his dick, which still stuck out from the fly. Holding his cock, I smiled broadly and used my free hand to grab the back of his neck and bring him in for a kiss.

I thought he looked incredibly sexy with his cock sticking out of the fly. I also wanted to signal to him that I was going to be in the driver's seat for a while. "I'll peel these off you when I'm ready, okay?"

He smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.

I glanced over my shoulder toward the hallway. "Let's move this to the guest room," I said.

I maintained a gentle grip on his cock as we walked out of the living room toward the bed where I sucked him off the night before.

When we arrived at the foot of the bed, I reluctantly released his dick to place my hands on his shoulders. They were big and broad. I could feel the firmness of his muscles as well as the warmth and the slight dampness of his skin. I spun us around so that his back was to the bed. Then I gently pushed him down so that he was sitting on the edge.

Greg was now eye level with my hard cock. It twitched and bobbed just inches from his face. I saw him lick his lips. I laced my fingers through his hair and tilted his head upward to regain eye contact. "We're going to have a lot of fun doing a lot of things over the next 24 hours," I told him. "Anything you want to do, we'll do. Anything you want to try, we'll try. But first," I continued, "you're going to let me have my way with you."

He was still looking up at me with those puppy dog eyes. He licked his lips again.

"That's right," I whispered. "It's your turn to do the sucking."

He didn't need to be asked twice. He dove right in - a bit too eagerly, in fact. He tried to swallow my cock all in one go, triggering his gag reflex. Coughing, he backed off abruptly.

"Easy, tiger," I said, tousling his hair. "It takes some getting used to." His inexperience was evident, but also kind of endearing. I tilted his head upwards again and stared into his eyes. "Tell me the truth. Have you sucked a dick before?"

He hesitated. He knew the answer, obviously, but wasn't sure if it was the right one. It was very clear he wanted to please me. I understood this fact, and it pleased me very much.

"Tell the truth," I whispered.

"Only once," he admitted, looking up at me. He looked so sexy sitting on the edge of the bed. His cock, still hard, continued to protrude from the fly of his tighty whities.

"Who was he?" I asked.

He broke eye contact, but not to gaze at my throbbing cock. He was now hanging his head, eyes focused on my bare feet. He glanced back up at me. "My high school coach," he confessed.

Suddenly I felt protective. "Did he pressure you? Force you?"

He shook his head. "It was sort of the other way around," he said. "He was hot. He was like you: really manly, really confident." It kind of surprised me that he saw me as confident. That wasn't always how I saw myself. "I wanted him a lot more than he wanted me. He's married, but at the end of my senior year, I caught him in a moment of weakness."

"How?" I asked.

"It's a long story," he said, "but he was drunk."

"So he let you suck him off?"

"He was out of it," he clarified. "He didn't have much of a choice. I don't know if he would have let me. I still feel guilty about it. I wanted to suck him off. I sucked him, but I couldn't keep his dick hard."

I did my best to process what he had just said. It struck me that he and I had a lot in common - but that's not what he needed to hear at the moment.