Kent sat entranced before the television. He usually didn’t watch college football, and was never very interested in it. But this season, he became an absolute fan of the sport. This was because, of course, Tristan was playing; and more than that, he was fast become a celebrity player.

No one could believe the vast improvement of the Riverside team. Tough training had certainly paid of, but their ultimate weapon was still the 350-pound quarterback who could hack and slash his way through any defence. “Massive” “A man mountain” “the Riverside giant” were just some of the epithets which the college newspapers and radio broadcasts gave Tristan, who had, almost overnight, become one of the most watched players—and certainly one of the biggest players—in the state. The commentator joked that Riverside had hired a Mr Olympia to be on their team. The other team had a 320 pounder themselves, but he was merely a weak mound of jiggling fats compared to Tristan’s lean, hard body of pure muscle mass and strength. Tristan mowed through four-men line defences as easily as if he were running through laundry hanging out to dry, sweeping aside the other players with massive arms bigger than their thighs. It was almost pathetic seeing those players, all big guys themselves, seeming like little children compared to Tristan’s monstrous bulk, made even more imposing by the shoulder pads and helmet he wore.

One of the highlights was when Tristan bolted across the field, with five burly opponents hanging on to him. Seemingly oblivious to them he braced for the touchdown. His muscle bulged with every effort On seeing his unbelievable performance, the commentator couldn’t help himself from blurting out loud, “That guy is a fucking monster!”

Kent smiled to himself as he heard the crowds chanting Tristan’s name. He hoped this would boost Tristan’s self-confidence, which had been taking a beating lately. If anything, he seemed unhappy at his rapidly increasing size and strength. Kent sighed wistfully as he looked forward to Tristan coming back, all sweaty and pumped from the game—good enough to eat!

+++

After the game came the usual rounds of back-slapping and congratulations. The team had decided to go out for some fun. Someone with a fake ID would get the drinks and they would hide out in someone’s room and finish it. The team den was a mess though, with equipment, dirty shoes and jerseys everywhere. It had to be tidied. Danny and Darren, the inseperable dynamic duo, helpfully volunteered to clean it up, while the others went on to get the party started.

“No worries, Coach,” Danny flashed his megawatt grin, “We’ll get this place in shipshape in no time!”

“Yeah, don’t worry about us!” said Darren.

Coach Mace merely grunted. He was pleased with the team’s performance, but limited the expression of his emotions to a terse, “At least you guys didn’t play like the motherfuckin’ sissies you usually are.” He left to his office.

The rest of the team poured out of the den. “Hey, Tris! Wonderboy!” they shouted at Tristan, “Hurry up, let’s go, man!”

Tristan was packing his sportsbag. He didn’t feel like going out to party, actually, since he promised Kent he would be back early. He waved them on, “I’ll help these two guys pack up!”

“Suit yourself!” they said, “Catch ya later!”

The three young men got to work quickly. Tristan proved especially useful—he lifted the heaviest things with no effort at all, routinely picking up with a single hand what Danny and Darren couldn’t even make to budge an inch together. The two lively youngsters also found Tristan useful as a sort of mobile ladder to stack things on higher shelves—each guy, no lightweight at about 200 pounds each, sat himself comfortably on Tristan’s huge shoulders, “with extra room for my girlfriend too”, according to Darren.

It was hard work, and it was stuffy in the den, and the three soon tored off their jerseys, working topless. Sweat gleamed off their young, hard muscles, pumped with the exertions. Looking at Danny and Darren’s hunky bodies made Tristan think of Kent.

“Hey big guy, let us down! Time for a break!” called out Danny. Tristan stooped down and let the two guys off. “Here you go.”

They sat down together, leaning against the wall. Tristan sat in between Danny and Darren. It was a well-earned rest. “Stop elbowing us out, you monster!” teased Danny. “I can’t help it!” protested Tristan. Tristan’s lat flared out so much, and his arms were so large, they were propped up nearly 45 degrees from his body. “Fucking muscle mutant!” laughed Danny. He played-punched Tristan’s eight-pack. “Oww! Did you swallow fucking rocks or something??” he cried in pain.

“Hey, I have an idea. Let’s have a party of our own right here!” Darren ransacked through a pile of trash in the corner of the room, and magically produced a crate of beer, and even a large bottle of vodka.

“How the hell—“ asked Tristan, incredulous.

“Shh! You never know when you need it! Come on guys! Down the hatch!” Darren snapped open a beer and gulped it down. Before they knew it they were surrounded by empty beer cans.

“The vod-shka,” Darren smiled drunkenly. He wasn’t very good at holding his drink. “I know… I’ve got an idea—“

“Shit, no…” groaned Tristan. “Not another idea!”

“Truth or dare… huh? How about that? You take a swig of this if it’s your turn!” Both Danny and Tristan groaned, but they knew there was no way to dissaude Darren once he had fixated on an idea.

They played a few rounds, each time getting more and more drunk.

“Why did you break up with that Harvard chick, Danny?” asked Tristan. The questions were getting personal. As per the rules, Danny took a large gulp of vodka. “She didn’t suck dick, man! I told her, you’re so brainy, surely you can gimme some head, can’t ya? Huh?”

The alcohol made everything seem funny. Darren did the chicken dance naked. Tristan showed them how to crush an unopened beer can with one hand. Very soon, everyone was completely drunk. Darren and Danny each slumped onto Tristan, resting their heads in his lap. “These thighs are bigger than my fucking chest,” murmured Darren, running his hands over Tristan’s enormously muscular thighs, “I dunno how you can even fucking walk with tree trunks like these.” Tristan ran his hands through their hair—Danny had dark brown hair, while Darren had flame red hair, something which went well with his crazy character.

“I wanna ask you guys…” Tristan grinned. He had thought of a hard question. “Everyone always sees you two together. Are you two, like… you know, have you two… ever had sex with each other?”

“Fuck,” said Danny, “Pass me the vodka, man. I need it.” He put it to his lips and began gulping.

“Hey!” Tristan pulled it away, “Don’t try and get out of this by drinking yourself to death! Come on, truth!”

Danny grinned. Then he burped very loudly right into Tristan’s face. “The truth is… the truth is, you big fucking muscleboy—Darren and I… that fucking red-headed moron—we’ve been screwing each other since we were thirteen. Sucking each other’s dicks like an infant sucks his mother’s breast.”

“Fuck! Gross!” Tristan was amazed. “No way!”

Darren looked up at Tristan. “You’ve got to believe that brown-haired faggot. Guess why we took so long in the showers just now?” He beamed. “God, Danny’s ass is sooo tight.” Darren grabbed his crotch and rubbed it, moaning suggestively. Tristan began blushing. The team had always suspected, and there were rumors that Darren’s fraternal hugs with Danny weren’t so innocent. The thought of these two hots studs fucking each other in the hot shower was turning him on. He imagined Darren grabbing Danny’s firm bubble butt, ramming it with his large hairy cock—red hair down there too, probably. Danny, his blue-eyed, All-American boy-face scrunched up in a ball-busting orgasm splattering the shower walls… Tristan shifted uncomfortably. “Get off me for a moment,” he told the two guys in his lap. He could feel the blood rushing to his dick, and the last thing he wanted was for Danny and Darren to have their heads shoved away by a giant swollen dick!

“So what will it be, punk? Truth or dare?” Darren put his arms around Tristan’s thick neck, and leaned close to his ear. Tristan jumped slightly as Darren unexpectedly gave his earlobe a quick lick. “We’ve got good ones coming for you either way.”

“Er… truth…” Tristan hazarded.

“Right-o…” smirked Darren. “You screwing your roommate? That hot little swimmer stud, Kent? He has the cutest little butt that ever dipped into the pool.”

“Wha-a-at?” stammered Tristan. His face turned completely red. “Kent?”

“Oh, you’re so cute when you blush! So are you? We’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Not the normal way a guy should look at his roommate huh?”

“I… uh…” Tristan found himsef in a tough spot. He didn’t mind coming out to Darren and Danny, but he didn’t know if Kent was ready yet. His instincts were to protect Kent. “I can’t answer that.”

“You can’t do that. You’ve got to!” said Danny. “Rules!”

“I… just can’t…” Tristan looked down. “Please don’t.”

Danny protested. “You can’t—“ But Darren stopped him. “Fine. Dare then?”

“Okay,” Tristan was now even more afraid of the dare Darren might think of. Darren grinned, lewdly. “Get your dick out. We’re gonna suck you dry, muscleboy.” And he slid his hand down Tristan’s trousers. •