Jeff & Mike


By Cleety

I promise I'll get into how me and Jeff first met in a minute. Before that, though, I have to tell you one more thing about senior year of college.

I loved it when the other jock boys would find me alone, like, maybe, walking home from art class through the muggy campus, the quarterback flippin' his football or some shit, the wrestling champ lifting the hem of his t-shirt to dry the sweet dew of his after-practice shower off his chest, or the soccer player kneeling down, pulling the shin guards and socks off his pumped twitching calves to walk home through the cool grass barefoot. And they'd spot me and say "Mikey, wait up!" And when they were sure nobody else was listening, they would beg me to take some hot beefcake pics of them. You know, to put up on websites like FTJ, or RateMyFuckin'Bod.

Like, my best bud Chris wanted me to take some glam shots so he could mail them into a network to apply for one of those stupid-ass reality shows featuring gorgeous airheads with hot bodies. They flew him out to LA but he didn't make it on - not because he wasn't hot, with his blue eyes and raven-black curly hair, and body honed and tanned from years of tennis and swimming. I think it was 'cuz he was too smart, not an ill-spoken doofus like the other guys on the show. He was on scholarship and all… Anyway, taking his pics was fun. We had a blast shooting roll after roll, even though he only needed one 8x10 to send to the network. I've still got those proofs, if you want to see them…

Anyway Chris told me he wanted to pay me for the shoot, and I said no way. Then, pulling his wife-beater back on, he said "I insist" and I said "Fuck off" and he said "Dude, you want to be a professional photographer, start acting like one" and I said "Dude, you want to be a straight guy, starting acting like one!" And we both laughed our asses off…and he jumps on me and tries to smother me with his armpit, the ultimate humiliation in jock-boy world, and we ended the photo session by rolling around on the floor wrestling and laughing, trying to get the other to eat his pits. And I gotta say, that wiry fuck nailed me that time - slamming my head into the carpet with his upper arm across my throat, both our foreheads scarlet-red and pounding with blood -- "Eat it, faggot! You WISH you were as straight as me! Eat my fuckin' straight man-pit you weak gay-ass faggot!" he screamed, then broke out in hysterical laughter.

"You're gonna make me cum, dude, I'm serious!" I laughed, gasping for breath. "You're fuckin' RIGHT you're gonna cum, queer, when your best friend's rank sweaty muscle-pit is smothering your faggot face" He roared at me til his face turned red, jamming his wet arm pit over my mouth and nose -- and as I was enveloped in his spicy, salty skin-juice, I shot buckets of spunk into my shorts, which, after all, I had had no time to remove.

Hearing the repeated splattering of load after load of shooting cum hitting the inside of my shorts, Chris finally turns his head around to watch in amazement. He's still got me pinned, but thank God he lets up a little - I could at least breathe again. But with the wet boy-scent from his pits still all over my face -- I literally couldn't stop cumming! I lay there on the floor of my dorm room, legs bucking for a good ten seconds, each buck accompanied by another hose-down to the inside of my already sopping shorts. When I finally stopped, Chris, very quietly, "Holy shit - did I make you cum like that??" He makes me open my shorts so he could check out how much I came. As soon as I pulled down the zipper, of course, the smell of about a quart of semen hit us. The inside of my shorts were so sticky and gooey and drenched with warm white fluid, it looked like somebody had dumped a tureen full of cream-of-wheat down my trousers.

"I -- I don't always cum that much…" I said, sheepishly. "Only when a dude REALLY rocks me."

"You're that hot for me, Mikey -?" he asks, incredulous and deadly serious. I nod slowly, shrug. A huge grin splits his face and he starts whooping with laughter and punching my shoulder, like it's absolutely hilarious that I'm so fuckin' hot for him.

And I was. Of all my college friends, he was not the biggest; not the strongest; but easily the sexiest. Especially by senior year - he'd grown up into a louche, lanky stud with rock-hard, defined muscles and a completely obscene long, pretty cock. Like my brother Joe before him, Chris had the biggest schlong in school our senior year. Every chick knew how big it was because Chris fucked them all, in series. Every guy knew because Chris would stand naked in the frathouse showers, both fists flailing his engorged penis like a broadsword, whooping and hollering "I've got the biggest fuckin' dick in the state of Florida!" He quit the tennis team and started a band, with himself as leather-trousered lead singer, of course. He had long, curly black hair that he parted down the middle so it fell on either side of his face, and dark skin - with a perpetual 5:00 shadow on his cleft, dimpled chin.

He always wore leather bracelets on his throbbing veiny forearms, of which his right (his raquet arm) was so over-developed it was freaky. He loved to show off his tennis arm by idly bending his arm up to stroke the tuft of hair peeking over the top of his tight V-neck t-shirt. I used to love borrowing his t-shirts, which were too tight on me, because they smelled of patchouli and cloves. His lazy Irish eyes always took in an entire room at once, like he was perpetually scanning for available sexual prospects. He ALWAYS caught me in the act of checking him out, the fucker, and every time he did he would cock one eyebrow or wink and purse his lips or some goddamn thing. He teased me mercilessly, too. Like at this one drunken party we went to, things got real steamy and everyone paired up with their girlfriends in some dark corner. I ended up plunked in this big arm-chair, and Chris scooches himself down the arm of the chair, squeezing his lanky, tight-as-a-drum hairy body down next to mine and cuddling his head next to mine. I try to push him off but he's amazingly strong for such a comparatively lean guy, strong enough to force me to move over so he can squeeze right into the chair next to me. Then he swings his legs up over my lap and lets them dangle over me.

Then Chris starts brushing his abs through his t-shirt, yelling out into the general orgy this trashy party has become, "Poor Mikie - doesn't have another faggot to cuddle with. Any other faggots in the house?" and all the jocks would yell back, their pussy-muffled voices coming from all over the house, "Me!" "I am!" "Yo, faggot, SIR!" and laughing like hell. Then all their girlfriends started whooping like it was a goddamn game show or something. From somewhere far upstairs, Jared's shout: "Chris would you fuckin' shut up, I want to ditch my pitch into this cunt and get some sleep!" Charmingly, and somewhat accurately, referring to his girlfriend Heather.

So Chris yells back - "OK! I'll let him kiss me, so he doesn't feel left out." And while he's laughing I turn to him and say, real quiet, so only he can hear:

"Damn right, Chris - I'll fucking kiss you so soft and sweet and deep, that if you closed your eyes you'd swear you were eating pussy."

He swoops his softy, pouty lips to, like, a quarter-inch from mine, and grabs my face between both his hands, and looks me eye to eye and says: "I know you like me best, Mike; I know I make you hard as rock."

"I'm hard as a rock right now, Chris," I croak.

"I know, I can feel it grinding against my ass. I love that I bone you so much. What'll you give me if I let you kiss me…? I bet I could make you cum like *! That!" He softly snaps his fingers in my face. And then, natch, I go all rigid beneath him, and start panting for breath, trying to disguise the fact that he just made me cum without EVEN kissing me! But soon he hears the familiar sound of sperm jetting against denim, and Niagra Falls spills out of my shorts onto my bare knees. Chris starts fuckin' laughing his head off. "I fuckin' OWN you, dude! Ha ha!!"

I guess you could say I still have a crush on him. Hey, if you ever read this, Chris, shout out to you my man, wherever the hell you are. I've shot SO many fuckin' loads over the years at those pics I took senior year…! •

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