During the three years I spent at University some of my most enjoyable time was spent playing for the College rugby football team. Rugby is a tough, physical contact sport requiring courage, fitness and specific talents. It's no wonder that after a game there's a good deal of horseplay in the changing-rooms and a lot of badinage and boasting about sexual conquests. The showers and changing-rooms are not places for the shy or the faint-hearted and a lot of virile manhood is put on display. You quickly get to know who has what, who is especially well-hung (like Phil) and who is a bit shy about standing naked in front of others. The team comprised players from all three or four years of the students and looking back on it all after thirty years I suppose I must have teamed up with about forty different players and it still amazes me that I got to know four them - intimately!
The captain of the team in my first year was a guy named Thierry and he was respected by everyone. Not only was he an outstanding wing-forward but with his round baby-face, bright blue eyes, mischievous smile and perfect manners he charmed everyone. When he was talking to you he made you seem special, giving you his whole attention and listening carefully to what you had to say. No wonder team spirit in that first year was so strong! He never talked tough but he was a human dynamo on the pitch and his speciality was seizing on a breakdown when our opponents got the ball, kicking it up field and outracing the defence to touch down for a try. This technique helped us to convert what would have been several narrow defeats into wins. He wasn't shy about displaying his manhood in the showers afterwards, but he didn't take part in either the boasting or the teasing. He was nearly three years older than me; his mother was french and his English father worked at the UK embassy in Paris, but he had been brought up in England and sent to an expensive public school, which in England means a fee-paying, private boarding school catering for boys aged between 13 and 18. He used to fly back to Paris for his university vacations, which seemed exotic (like his name) to most of us, who usually caught a train from the railway station to our homes, often hundreds of miles away. Having a non-English mother myself (mine was Danish) promoted a bond between us, which was cemented by my not taking part in the virility culture either. Not that either of us had anything to be embarrassed about, you understand - we just didn't like the boasting. "Wankers" was - and still is - a term of scorn applied to young men whose impulse to seduce every girl in sight is deemed to be weak, whereas I suppose every man-jack in those changing-rooms continued to wank when other excitements were not on hand, though they would have denied it, if asked directly. In my three years with the team I only ever heard one of them refer directly to wanking, when he told a friend (in my hearing) that he'd had a wank the night before and hoped it would not affect his performance on the pitch. I remember that he said "The harder I try not to do it, the more I want to and last night I just couldn't stop!"
In the macho world of rugby, Thierry was a major talent and later went on to play for one of England's most prestigious London clubs. He was always good-tempered and conversational, but the most remarkable things about him were his vitality and the fact that he just oozed sexuality! Was it because of his boarding school education; or because he just fancied me; or because nature had given me a longer cock than average that he seemed to take a special interest in me? I remember him on one occasion staying behind to talk with me in the communal bathroom after a practice session, long after the others had departed. I was lying in a small, tub-shaped bath and, having had his own bath, he positioned himself so that my dick was fully in his view. So much he did give it his undivided attention that I turned over so that he could not see my swelling erection and he talked for what seemed hours as the water got colder and colder. I did not dare to sit up to turn on more hot or get out of the bath. Eventually other students came into the bath-house and I seized a moment to stand up and grab my towel to cover my erection before he could get a good look at it, but the truth is that I should love to have had a good look at his, only in private. He had a wonderful body and after my experiences with Steve, Ollie and Phil, I badly wanted to know what it was that drove him on to be so vigorous, so unbelievably sexy.
After that scene in the bath-house he lost few opportunities to talk with me and he always tried to sit next to me on the coach to away games. When the rugby season came to an end in March we transferred our playing activity to the game of squash - which involved just the two of us and in which I was marginally the better player. There was a significant moment when racing for a drop-shot I had played he crashed into me in his attempt to reach it and we both fell to the floor. We ended up in a tangle of limbs and he left his arm, which he had flung round me as we fell, in place for much longer than was necessary before we picked ourselves up. His face was flushed as he looked into my eyes and said "Urlen, you know, I'd like to …." But he felt unable to complete the sentence, and though I knew what he wanted to say, I couldn't complete it for him either. Much as I loved his attentions, I was too much in awe of him for that.
After he had taken his final exams at the end of the summer term but still didn't have the result, he prepared to return to his parents in Paris, moving out of College and taking a room in a hotel for a couple of nights. He knew, of course, where my room in College was and I was asleep in my bed when I awoke to discover a hand pushing under the bedclothes and resting lightly on my chest. His hand! My excitement was enormous, but so was my sense of danger. What would my mates say of me if they were to discover that I allowed him to seduce me? As Thierry's fingers edged their way down to my waist and were only inches from my hard-on, I placed my hand over his and stopped him. I wish now that I had whispered to him to take off all his clothes and jump into bed with me. I really did want to embrace him, but I didn't think of it at the time. When he realised that I would not let his probing hand reach my cock he said "Lets go for a walk!" He had brought with him a bottle of rum (another exotic and forbidden touch) and his breath smelt of it as he knelt on the floor by my bed, whispering in my ear.
I had no hesitation in agreeing so I put on the light and hunted for some clothing to disguise my raging hard-on. (In my confusion I never looked to see if he had one too …) Quickly I found some bathing trunks but to my dismay I had outgrown them and they now fitted so tightly over my crotch that I was forced to compress my stiff prick under the garment so that it lay flat against my stomach. It was not the best way to feel comfortable but at least it hid my obvious excitement!
We left by a back door and walked out into the silent road. The street lights shone on the damp pavements as we made our way towards the nearby park and he took several swigs of rum before passing the bottle to me to try. It tasted good - and I was enormously excited. When we got to the park we sat on a bench made wet by the rain and talked about what he hoped to do with his life after leaving University. It was an emotional moment for him, spending his last hours with me in this way, and he put his arms round me and kissed me. It felt quite natural, though I had never been kissed like that before, and I responded warmly. I think that my resolve in not letting him "do" me in my bed had made him decide not to try again. Anyway the night was damp and my dick was absurdly compressed in those over-tight swimming trunks. When eventually we returned to my room, he kissed me goodbye and told me with great sincerity that he felt that he had really loved me. And I believed him. But I knew that we would meet at least once again because the next day he was playing a last game - not rugby but soccer - for the final Year College students against a University lecturers team. This was a "fun" match which everyone turned up to watch.
I remember that the students won that match and that Thierry made an amazing run from near our goal-line to the other end of the pitch and that half-way down he lost one of his boots in a tackle. He continued at speed with one boot on and the other way back up the pitch. When the players trooped off to the changing rooms at the end of the game I felt that an important chapter of my life had come to an end and I was just turning to go back to my room when I was hailed from behind. Thierry had not yet changed and was dripping with perspiration but had left the team briefly to say he had seen me on the touchline and would I come to his hotel at about 6.00 pm that evening as he was flying to Paris the next day? Would I! I hurriedly asked where it was he told me. It was about 4.00 pm and the sky was clouding over.
I looked up the nearest Tube station to his hotel, phoned my friend Peter, who was one of the 1st Year players in the rugby team and whom I had promised to meet after the match, and set off. When I got to the hotel he was there, waiting for me in the foyer and as we went up the broad, carpeted steps of the luxurious hotel each step was an anticipation of the excitement to cum. If we had not been in public I would have grasped his hand. When we reached his room he locked the door behind us, took me in his arms and embraced me, pressing his firm, athletic body against mine. Over his shoulder I could see his bed, neatly made up and his suitcases open but mainly packed. I felt shy as his hand gently touched the bulge in my trousers but this was what I had come for and it was not long before we were undressing and jumping into bed. Oh God - at last! We kept our pants on and there was a moment of hesitation as to which side of the bed each of us would lie on, but when there is such an urge, these things are quickly settled. He put his arms round me and kissed me again and again, then placed his hands on my chest and traced a cross from one hard nipple to the other and then down from the middle towards my pelvis. I responded by touching the elastic of his pants and running my finger along the inside of the band. Soon we had each kicked our pants down to the end to the bed (all of this under the covers) and the delicious moment, so much anticipated, had arrived! He put his fist round my throbbing dick, gently pulled my foreskin down and fondled the swollen glans. I think he was surprised to find it all slippery with pre-cum for when I put my own hand on his rigid pole I found that it was dry. But it was magnificent - wonderfully stiff, hard and thick. We wanted to see each other so we rolled the bed clothes back and there it was in all its glory! It was about 6 inches in length but it had the best-looking head I had ever seen. He was not cut but his foreskin was shorter than mine and the size of his erection meant that the skin peeled back naturally and was held in place by the pronounced ridge at the base of his helmet. And this helmet was quite something - blunt and broad, whereas mine was slimmer and more pointed.
I put my hand round it and as I did so he did a surprising thing : he leaned back and put both his hands behind his head so that his arms were akimbo on the pillows. It was an invitation for me to play with him unfettered by any attention he might want to pay to my own cock and I needed no second invitation. The skin beneath that superb helmet moved with a silky ease and I gently moved my hand up and down. My rhythm must have been wrong because he brought one of his hands from behind his head and closed it over the hand I had wrapped round his cock and urged it to faster action. I therefore increased the pace of my stroking and as I did so he again put his hand behind his head. I looked up into his face : his eyes were closed and he was smiling in utter bliss. "So this is what it has all been about" I thought, "he just loves being "done"!
He did indeed. His breathing came faster but he made no sound, no moans and suddenly I felt his whole body quiver, that superb dick lifted a little as if it had a mind of its own and he thrust his hips forwards while I continued to jack him. Then there shot from the great helmet head a jet of spunk which landed on his chest, followed by another which was even longer, then another three or four spurts of diminishing volume and length. I was entranced! I kept my hand on his rod while I rolled over to give him a kiss on the lips, then took my hand off his deflating tool and rubbed his cum all over his chest and stomach. During all of this his arms remained on the pillow and he wore that ecstatic smile!
I thought naturally that he would now want to jerk me off but I had two further discoveries to make. Firstly, such had been my excitement in seeing Thierry's wonderful body and orgasm that I felt "satisfied" even though I had not cum. And - even more surprisingly - Thierry now said that he went "flat" after an orgasm and just wanted to lie there, happy and exhausted.
As I needed to get back for the evening meal I had booked with Peter, I had to leave - and a sorrowful parting it was. Although I was to hear of him again, I only saw him once more, four or five years later, when we met as spectators at a rugby international. He was famous as a player then, married with two young children. He was with his wife and he said to me with that mischievous, seductive grin of his that the main thing in life was to make a woman love you. And I'm sure his wife did just that!
However my story is not finished and I do not know to this day whether I should be ashamed of it or not. I had been out of my bed for much of the previous night and was feeling tired, but there had been some intense excitement during the last twenty four hours and I had not actually had an orgasm. So when Peter and I were in my room drinking beer at about 11.00 o'clock, we were soon talking about his girlfriend and about sex in general, though I told him nothing about my afternoon experiences. One thing led to another and it soon became clear that both of us were very excited! And to cut a long story short, he was soon in my bed and I was making the "sign of the cross" on him which had so excited me when Thierry had done it to me six hours earlier. I loved the touch of his hand on my cock and my own hand was soon stroking his, which was smaller than Thierry's and softer. I couldn't tell whether he was circumcised or not because his glans was fully exposed but there was a fold of skin under the head. Once again, no pre-cum (though I was dripping with it) and as I urgently stroked him, so, as he approached his climax, he groaned and said "Cumming, cumming, cumming, cumming, CUM" and with that last excited cry he rolled his body towards mine, trapping my hand which was wrapped round his swollen cock. With the flesh of our abdomens pressed tightly together it meant that I could not continue to stroke him, but I felt his slippery cum spread warmly between us. This was the last of my surprises for that action-filled day : when I masturbate I like to continue stroking until the spasms are spent, whereas he wanted to stop as soon as he had fired his first shot.
The next day I went back home for the summer holidays, savouring these two very different experiences and it was several months before I had my next sexual encounter with the fourth – and last - member of the rugby team.
Send private anonymous feedback to the author (to post a public comment instead).