The aches and pains in my body and head were instantly swept away by a raging sea of hormones. My sexuality had always been a bit of a question mark to me – and others – but now, staring at that shining, soap and water-streaked muscleman in the transparent shower stall, at his dripping, hanging horse-cock, all the awkward questions were finally answered. I wanted that fellow man like a toilet seat wants ass.
Lester ran the pink bar of soap in between his quad-bunched legs, under and around his heavy balls, his cock jumping, foam rising up and surging around his groin, as well as the edges of my mouth. And as I stared and drooled, I desperately tried to strategise some sort of game plan, some kind of seduction scenario that would put me where that soap was.
But I drew a complete mental blank, my usually rational mind running on empty thanks to a lack of blood. I couldn’t even get playback on one of the 1001 episodes of “Nelson Does Lester” that I’d spooled through my fevered imagination as I’d jacked gallons over the past two years.
My hand drifted down to my shorts, and I touched my yard-marker, gaping at the hunk running the bar of suds back and forth on his thick, veiny, night-shaded dong. I licked my lips, almost tasting the meat. I ran my free hand up into my T-shirt, over my heaving, hairless chest, and caught a flared nipple between my trembling fingers, rolled it. I groaned, my face and body burning, the steam from my ears and the shower billowing, the well-built man lathering his well-built genitals blistering my eye and other balls.
I moved my hand back and forth on my clothed cock, shifting into a familiar stroking motion; and accidentally knocked the door even further open. It creaked, I croaked. And Lester swung his head away from the spray and looked at the tall, goofy, redheaded guy with the blazing blue eyes staring at him from the doorway. His ears were evidently just as sharp as his elbows.
He grinned, waved me in.
My mouth clanged open and my hands dropped to my sides. I stayed rooted to the spot.
He rinsed himself off and opened the stall door and stepped out of the tub, gesturing at me again.
Someone – must’ve been me – finally broke through the shyness barrier and pushed the door all the way open, took a step inside the steambox. Then another, my feet moving all on their own.
‘Wanna use the shower?’ the ebony god asked, grabbing up a fresh white towel and rubbing his face with it.
‘Huh?’ I replied, lurching forward like Frankendork.
I was fully inside the humid chamber, 2/10ths of a first down away from the towelling stud. I ratcheted my zombie gaze down from his smooth, muscle-humped chest, his prominent, coal-black nipples, his ribbed stomach, all the way down to his oh-so-impressive cut cock and pubed balls. Time stood still, like my heart.
Lester glanced up at my bowed head from behind his towel, pearly-whites flashing. Then he flung the towel over a cinderblock shoulder and casually closed the gap between us, saying, ‘Guess you got a pretty bad bruise where I hit you, huh? Let’s see.’
He yanked my T-shirt out of my shorts, and before I could drop the ball and flee for the sidelines, I was trapped in the garment, helping the African-American Adonis pull it up over my head.
‘Hey, that’s not too bad,’ he said, poking at the small, cherry-red splotch under my right nipple.
‘That’s a birthmark,’ I mumbled through the stretched cotton. I pulled the T-shirt right over my head, revealing the large, purple blotch high up on my left pec that my arm had been hiding.
‘Ouch,’ Lester commented. ‘Does it hurt bad?’ He poked it.
Was there pain? Probably. But all that registered in my tingling body was the sweet kiss of the guy’s soft fingertip against my heated skin. I dropped my shirt on the black and white tile, my short, red hair standing up on my head like the even shorter hairs were standing up on my neck, and balls.
Lester’s fingertip traced the blue borders of the Oregon-shaped bruise, tracing fire in my loins every millimetre of the way, my body ablaze with sensitivity. Until he brushed rigid nipple, and my knees buckled. He played the tip of his finger over my erect, pink nipple, charging it even more erect, a thoughtful expression on his face.
‘You probably got a bruise when you hit the ground, too, huh?’ he said.
‘Wanna see?’ I rasped, head and mouth full of cotton.
He nodded, pulling his finger away from my puny chest which was a pale imitation of his broad chest. The things on the ends of my arms – hands, you’d call them – found the elastic waistband on my shorts and pushed down, kept pushing down. Until my outer and inner shorts were around my knees and my rock-hard cock bounced up and into the open, every pulsing, precocious, pink inch of it.
Lester looked at my twitching cock, my twitching face, then grasped my narrow shoulders and turned me around. ‘Ouch again,’ I heard him say. Before feeling his glorious fingers against my skin, gently touching the bruised tailbone that he’d planted in the turf so hard.
‘Sorry about that, man. Maybe I should offer you more than a beer to make up for things, huh?’ His fingers rubbed just above my crack, slid down into my butt cleavage.
I gasped. And then his warm, strong hands were on my clenched buttocks, rubbing, squeezing. ‘Geez!’ I groaned, leaning back into the guy, the jelly content in my legs soaring to 99.9 per cent.
Lester gripped and kneaded my trembling butt cheeks, his wet mouth on my neck, kissing and licking my brimming skin. I felt his cock against my ass, rising up and filling my crack, his tongue swirling in behind my ear. He gently pumped his hips, driving his hard prick further in between my cheeks, his wet tongue in my ear setting my head to buzzing. And then his hands were on my chest, cupping and squeezing my pecs, long fingers pinching and rolling my needful nipples. I burned with a wicked, tingling sensation, floating on Cloud Ten.
Lester spun me around and clasped me in his strong arms, our hard cocks grinding together. Then he pressed his mouth against my mouth, his thick lips moving against my lips, the blowtorch heat from our naked bodies melding us together.
He pulled his mouth back, thoughtfully gauging my reaction. I couldn’t manage any words, though, the fiery first kiss, the super-sensual sensation of another guy’s pulsating prick against my prick, rendering me speechless. But when he licked at my quivering lips with a cotton candy pink tongue, I spoke volumes to the guy by grabbing on to his head and mashing my mouth into his.
I was flaming full-out homosexual for the very first time in my life, overcome with joy, a man actually in my arms, against my lips and cock. I jammed my tongue into his mouth and we swirled our slippery mouth organs together, surging with erotic energy.
‘How ’bout that shower?’ he eventually asked, after I’d chased his tongue back into his mouth. He grinned at me, slowly sliding his shaft up and down against my shaft. I bobbed my dizzy head.
And I just about lost my head, jumped right out of my skin, when the big guy closed his big mitt over my throbbing cock and towed me over to the shower stall. My whole body pulsed, the heartbeat in my hand-wrapped dick going like a rabbit.