Chapter 11 Stamina #2
Evan smiled. “In case you haven’t noticed, Matt, everyone watches you.
Every guy wants to be you. You’re every girl’s—and gay guy’s—dream.
You’re hot as hell, probably going to be MCU’s next soccer star, and you draw people into your orbit naturally.
You genuinely seem to care about them. That’s what you do best.”
Matt blushed. The most important thing he’d heard was that Evan considered him hot.
Evan stood abruptly. “We’re done here, right?” he asked. “You’re good with William? You’re good with SGA?”
Matt smiled. “Yeah. Thanks.” He did feel better. He and William still needed to talk, but it would be a different conversation from the one he had imagined. He was grateful to Evan for that.
Matt stood as well, wondering what to do with his wine glass. He’d barely drunk any wine. It was probably time to return to campus. He dreaded facing Coach.
“I hope you’re not leaving,” Evan said. “We’ve got unfinished business, you know.”
“We do?”
Evan grinned. “A handshake. I could tell you it’s in the rules, and you wouldn’t know whether I was lying or not.”
“I do always try to follow the rules,” Matt said.
A few minutes later they were in the master bedroom, on the bed, naked.
Their clothes littered the floor like cicada husks, fabric shells of their nymph selves, molted to make way for their adult versions.
The molting had been a chaotic, frantic affair, each pawing at the other.
As if they hadn’t already seen each other naked at Matt’s interview.
There had been little kissing either.
Matt and Evan, both splendid specimens of the male of the species, were eager to mate. The air was thick with the tang of testosterone and musk. This was exactly the type of artless rutting William hated.
Matt was fascinated by the shape of Evan’s erect cock. It curved back towards his belly like Cupid’s bow. Matt imagined what it would be like holding that joystick while he pounded Evan’s ass, missionary position. Evan’s washboard abs would look lovely framed by his bent, spread legs.
Their bodies were tangled, two bucks and no doe, each trying to mount the other, ‘til Evan called timeout.
Evan was on his back, pinned by Matt, who beamed in triumph.
“My bottoming days are over,” Evan said, panting.
“You were prepared to bottom if I’d picked you after my interview.” Matt countered. He struggled to hold Evan down.
Evan grunted. “You may not have noticed, but I wasn’t trying hard to get picked.”
He hooked a leg around Matt’s, twisted, and managed to flip their positions.
Now Evan was on top. “Did I tell you that I have two older brothers who were on the wrestling team?”
Evan’s eyebrows danced playfully. He bent down and kissed Matt’s lips. “Now be a good boy and let me in,” he whispered.
Matt raised his legs as if surrendering his hole.
He wrapped his legs around Evan’s lithe torso and crossed his ankles.
He felt Evan’s hard cock blindly pecking near his sphincter, seeking entrance.
He considered how good it would feel to have that bow inside him, strumming in and out of him, playing his ass as if it were a Stradivarius, percussing against his prostate, causing him to hit the high notes.
But this thing between them had become a competition, and Matt could not bear to lose. He reached up, grasped Evan’s shoulders in a bear hug, and gyrated, pulling Evan into a roll.
Matt had intended they roll only 180 degrees, ending with his being on top again.
Evan, though, threw himself into the roll, giving them enough momentum for a complete 360 degree turn, which would have put him back on top—if they hadn’t run out of bed first.
They tumbled over the edge of the bed and landed on the floor, a laughing, horny heap of flesh.
Evan caught his breath, his chest heaving. “This. isn’t. working. Let’s settle. this with a friendly. wager.”
“I’m listening,” Matt said.
“We’ll sixty-nine. First one of us to cum loses and must bottom the next time we hook up.”
“Next time?” Matt asked.
“The Handshake Rule. Remember?”
Matt vaguely remembered hearing that rule previously. He had never sixty-nined, had never even had a cock in his mouth, but always accepted a challenge. How hard could it be?
“Deal,” Matt said, extending his hand.
“Evan shook Matt’s hand. Then he scrambled to his feet. “I’ve got an idea,” he said, running out of the room.
Matt heard Evan’s feet pounding down the stairs, wondered what he was doing. Matt’s mind flashed to a vision of William and Colton aged eighteen, each the other’s first love. Had they frantically torn off their clothes? Wrestled naked on a bed?
Matt now knew that William and Colton had met in their junior year of high school.
By the time they were seniors, they had planned to go to OU together, be roommates, be out in that safe space.
William had already been accepted into OU’s theatre program.
Colton had planned to study English literature.
That’s what the ring had signified: love, commitment, a future together.
Then Colton’s family had intervened. Old money (by Oklahoma standards), they had plans for Colton, carefully laid plans for him in the state legislature, maybe later the Governor’s mansion. Plans that did not include another penis in the picture.
The Langley family had deep roots in the fCOC. They had sentenced Colton to four years at MCU, much as Matt’s family had done to him. Unlike Matt, Colton had buckled under the pressure, becoming a crusading homophobe.
And William had had a front row seat to witness Colton’s transformation. William, who had no ties to the fCOC, had followed Colton to MCU. Now he was stranded there, mocked and attacked by the man he had once loved—still wearing his ring.
Evan bounded back into the room, carrying a kitchen timer. “To help your stamina,” he explained. “I’m setting this for six minutes. Try not to cum before it rings.”
Matt felt his face reddening. No guy wanted to be reminded of his sexual shortcomings. But he sensed that Evan was trying to help him improve, not humiliate him. Surely, he could last six minutes!
Evan set the timer on a nightstand, beside the two unfinished glasses of wine.
Both of them scrambled onto the bed, assumed their starter positions.
“Ready! Set! Go!” Evan shouted.
The timer ticked loudly.
Evan took Matt’s cock into his mouth, went to work on it like a pro.
Meanwhile, Matt stumbled at the starting gate. Evan’s cock was so stiff, it kept springing out of Matt’s mouth and slapping back against Evan’s belly.
Tick, tick, tick.
Matt adjusted the angle of his head and managed to corral Evan’s cock inside his mouth.
“Watch the teeth!” Evan coached, having freed his mouth momentarily. “Curl your lips over your teeth.”
Matt curled his lips and wrestled that curvy dick back into his mouth, holding his head at the right angle to keep the damn thing from popping out. He pushed down, sucking the thing into him. His tongue explored the intruder, noting the veined ridges, unable to wrap itself around the circumference.
Matt’s own cock experienced no such problems. It slid into Evan’s mouth easily, was met by a tongue and lips that welcomed it eagerly, expertly. Downstroke into a warm, slick hole. Upstroke out, but feeling the delicious friction of lips and tongue trying to hold him in.
Fingers caressing his balls.
The aural feedback of soft moans from Evan as though he lived only to be face fucked by Matt.
Tick, tick, tick.
Evan’s cockhead brushed against the roof of Matt’s mouth, pushing deeper. Matt gagged, spat the thing out, frustrated at his own ineptitude. Here he was, his head cradled near Evan’s thighs, inhaling his soft musk, eager to swallow his load, and he hadn’t so much as tasted pre-cum!
Matt tried again. He forgot about the competition and focused on Evan’s cockhead, popping it in and out of his mouth slowly. He was rewarded with trickles of salty pre-cum.
The timer shrieked. Six minutes were up.
Matt had improved his previous time by thirty percent. That was good enough for today. Nor did he care anymore about losing the bet.
He spread his legs wider and arched his hips for more thrust. He pushed into the downstroke, felt the base of his cock bump Evan’s lips, felt his balls brush against the bridge of Evan’s nose.
He felt his cock pulsing, hardening. His thoughts compressed into the singularity of downstroke, upstroke. He managed one last, furious downstroke and then shot into Evan’s mouth.
Evan swallowed, drank more, but could not catch it all. Cum oozed down his chin.