There was no turning back now. His lust was too insistent, too demanding. It had to be satisfied. He was going to screw her!
Once he was all the way inside her, he didn’t hesitate. He needed no further instructions. Sheer instinct took over. He humped himself against her. He pushed his prick back and forth within the warm, wet grip of her pussy. He fucked her, with all the strength his hard young body possessed.
“Oh, lover!” Dorottya squealed. “Keep that big thing going in and out of me. Fuck me! I love it … I love the way you feel, inside my cunt! Fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard. Give me everything you’ve got!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bob gasped. “Whatever you say!” He thrust into her pussy, more forcefully, feeling its muscles contract sharply around his prickshaft.
“Ah!” she shrieked. “Just the way I like it! Oh, lover boy, get that big hard ‘love muscle’ of yours deep in my cunt! Fuck me hard!”
“Sure,” the breathless, perspiring young bodybuilder agreed. Anything to please a lady! Or a tramp!
“Ah, shit!” Dorottya squealed, abandoning any pretense to being ladylike, and behaving and talking like the slut she was. “When I try to grab hold of you, baby, you’re so muscular, so hard, I can barely dent you with my fingers! What a body! And what a cock! Ooh, it’s every bit as hard as the rest of you! Screw me! Uh, love me hard and hot, boy, make me feel every inch of that stud cock of yours going into my cunt! Fuck my pussy, fuck me rough!”
Oh, shit! Bob exulted. I’m not a virgin, not any more, am I? I’m having sex. Real sex, not just jacking off. I’m getting laid. I actually have my cock inside a woman’s pussy. I’m actually fucking her. And it feels so good! Wait’ll Urban hears about this. I can’t wait to tell him!
Chapter Four: Bodybuilder Seeks Same, for Advice
“You got raped by a cougar, huh?” Urban asked, when Bob bragged to him about his sexual adventure,
“Rape, hell! This was all consensual, right down the line. She did everything,” Bob bragged. “I’m telling you, that woman is a total whore.”
Urban smirked. “That’s not a very nice way to talk about the great love of your life.”
“Are you kidding? I’m not in love with Dorottya. I just fucked her. It was just sex.”
“Listen to you! So … now that you’ve finally dipped your wick, you’re a big man on campus all of a sudden. Is that it?”
“More or less,” Bob assured his friend, smugly.
“I guess I’m going to have to cancel the order,” Urban said.
“Huh? What’re you talking about? What order?”
“I was going to get you one of those purity rings for you to wear,” Urban said, facetiously. “You know, as a symbol of your nerdy innocence. Now I’ll have to think of something else. Maybe I can hire you a hooker, instead. That’d be more appropriate.”
Bob laughed. “No, thanks. Save your money. I can find my own dates from now on. And I don’t plan on ever paying for sex.”
“Good for you, buddy. But take my word for it—whenever you take a girl out on a date, you are paying for sex, for all practical purposes. The trick is to make sure you get your money’s worth. Don’t waste your time or money on some tight-assed, frigid bitch. I can always scrounge up some likely prospects, if you ever want to go out on a double date with me. And that way, if we get bored with the bitches, we can swap.”
“That sounds like fun. I think I’d like that.”
Urban gave his buddy a sidelong look. Now that Bob had finally lost his cherry, he was no longer bothering to make any pretense about not being gay, or at least bi-curious. Interesting!
Bob was pleased. Now that Dorottya had relieved him of his unwanted and unlamented virginity, he no longer felt lacking. He and Urban now had one more thing in common—namely, the fact that Bob was now also sexually active. Admittedly, Bob would have some catching up to do, before he could call himself anywhere near as experienced as his buddy. But he felt closer to Urban than ever.
Bob was profoundly grateful to Dorottya. She’d invited him to call him, any time. “Call,” of course, being shorthand for “Call me, and then come over to my place and fuck me.” He knew that she’d be ready and willing to have sex with him again, whenever he wanted, at a moment’s notice. She liked sex. Bob suspected that he wasn’t the only young guy she’d entertained in her bedroom. Far from it!
Still … for all the bravado he’d displayed while narrating the experience to Urban, Bob felt a certain disappointment. He’d gotten his rocks off with Dorottya—efficiently, thoroughly, and decisively. But it had been a purely physical release. He wasn’t knocking that, or underestimating its importance to him as a milestone in his life. But he had no real feelings for Dorottya as a person. His deeper emotions hadn’t been stirred.
Now Bob was curious about what sex would feel like with … well, with somebody he really liked and cared about, to put it bluntly. He was sure it would even more intense, and infinitely more satisfying.
Urban talked so casually, and indeed so flippantly, about sex that Bob could never be sure when his friend was being serious, and when he was just kidding, trying to yank Bob’s chain. But some of Urban’s offhand remarks had stuck in Bob’s memory.
Urban had admitted to having had sex with other guys. He’d talked about it as though it was no big deal.
What would that be like? Bob couldn’t help speculating. With a guy like … wow, maybe like Adolar Mezey?
He kept few secrets from Urban, but his candor did have its limits. Bob hadn’t told his friend that often, when he masturbated, his imagination conjured up fantasies about men, rather than women. He visualized male bodies, athletic and muscular, tensing, flexing, and sweating … and hard, hot cocks. He imagined guys doing things to each other … kissing, touching each other’s naked bodies … playing with each other’s pricks. Sucking … fucking—!
A male mouth, going down on another guy’s cock. A male ass, spread open and being penetrated by another man’s dick. The mental images, as vague as they were, got Bob horribly excited.
Sometimes, after soccer practice or a game, in the locker room and in the showers, he found himself getting excited by the other naked young male bodies, all around him. He imagined himself indulging in unrestrained, orgiastic behavior with Urban and his other teammates … and even with the team’s coach! He was a virile guy in his mid-thirties, named Kolos Kozma, and to Bob he was not only an older role model, a mentor, and a surrogate father figure—he was a gay porn fantasy come to life, a ‘hot daddy type,’ inspiring lustful imaginings in Bob’s all too susceptible head. Bob suspected he wasn’t the only guy on the team who entertained such erotic longings about Coach Kozma.
The coach made a point of showering with his team. It was his way of demonstrating that, off the playing field, he was just one of them—just another one of the guys. Bob liked standing under a showerhead, soaking himself in hot, steamy water, and scrubbing himself with soap from head to foot—with Coach Kozma, also nude, showering nearby. At such moments, Bob’s imagination allowed itself full play.
He pictured himself not only standing next to the coach, under adjacent showerheads, but reaching out to touch his wet naked body. Embracing him. Doing things with him. Bob wasn’t sure exactly what these “things” might entail, but he was certain he wanted to experience them.
Despite his naïveté, he did know that gay men indulged in oral and anal intercourse together.
That was the most taboo fantasy of them all. Bob thought about sucking the handsome coach’s cock … bending over and taking it up his ass. Oh, Coach, he imagined himself saying. I get so hot, thinking about you. I’ll do anything for you, anything you want! Fuck me, Coach. Please fuck my ass. I want to be your boy! I want you to make love to me. Show me, Coach. Teach me what it’s all about. Teach me what two guys can do to each other, when it comes to sex!
Such thoughts were shameful, Bob had always thought. But now he wasn’t so sure. Urban seemed to be awfully open-minded and easygoing
about the whole gay thing.
I really ought to talk to somebody about this, Bob decided.
But not to Urban. Some instinct made Bob reluctant to address this particular topic with his cynical friend.
And, Bob suddenly realized, he did have other resources. There was at least one older guy whom Bob might feel comfortable confiding in. It was a man Bob respected, liked, and—most important—trusted. There was also the fact, by no means incidental, that Bob was attracted to the guy.
He decided to try to see Adolar again. But he’d need some excuse.
Bob remembered his idea about presenting Adolar with some gift, to thank him for the interview. He ran this by Urban again.
“Maybe we can get him one of those sweatshirts they sell at the campus bookstore, with the university’s name and logo printed on it,” Bob suggested.
His buddy frowned. “Why would Mezey want to wear a shirt from a school he never attended?”
“Well, they’re nice shirts … and a guy can never have too many workout clothes.”
“Keep thinking,” Urban advised, dismissively. “You’ll have to come up with something better than that.”
A bit annoyed by Urban’s lack of enthusiasm, Bob was piqued. He decided to go through with his plan, and, furthermore, he’d leave Urban out of it. Urban would miss out on his chance to meet the pro bodybuilding star. That’s teach him to be such a smug, know-it-all asshole!
That very day, after he was done with his classes for the day, Bob made the purchase. Then he headed for The Construction Site.
“Ah—is Mr. Mezey here?” he asked the burly young number who was manning the front desk.
“Yeah, he’s in his office. Down the hall, that way.”
“Thanks.”
The guy hadn’t asked whether Bob had an appointment. Apparently, Adolar kept himself accessible.
His office, Bob discovered, was adjacent to the men’s locker room. Adolar thought of this space as his “real” office, and it was where he spent most of his time at work.
It was a retreat of sorts. The furniture—desk, chairs, bookcase, filing cabinets—was uniformly old and battered. And Adolar felt free to keep this work space of his as untidy as he pleased—which meant it was quite cluttered at the best of times. He had some favorite photos of himself, posing with other bodybuilders, on the walls.
That afternoon, Adolar was seated behind his desk, looking over some paperwork, when he heard a light knock on the closed door.
“If that’s a bill collector, there’s no one in here,” he said, gruffly. “Otherwise, come in.”
The door opened, and Bob stepped in. Instantly, Adolar was in a better mood.
“Oh, Bob,” he said. “It’s you. It’s great to see you again! How’s it going?”
“Okay. Do you have a minute, Adolar?”
Adolar glanced at his wristwatch.
“I have an appointment in about an hour,” he replied. “Until then, I’m all yours. You know I always have time for somebody like you, Bob,” he added, with a warmth which perhaps betrayed more emotion than he intended it to. “Come in.”
“Thanks. Can I close the door?”
“Of course. Now, sit down. This sounds serious. Is it?”
“Well … I don’t know how serious it is, Adolar. But it’s kind of important to me. First, though … here’s a little something, just to thank you for giving me that interview. It’s gotten a lot of positive feedback.”
Adolar opened the shopping bag which Bob handed him. “Why, Bob! This is great. You shouldn’t have—but I’m glad you did,” he confessed, smiling. “I love surprises. My size. And you know my tastes. I’m always in my sweats, when I can get away with it. Thank you. Now … whatever it is you’ve got on your mind. Spill it.”
Bob hesitated. “Well, my soccer coach, Coach Kozma—he’s a great guy, I have a lot of respect for him. He’s always told us guys on the team that if we ever have a problem, we can come to him. And what we tell him won’t ever leave the room. Unless it’s something that’s against the law, or a really serious infringement of school policy.”
“Good for him. So—have you confided in him?”
“Not about this, because there are some things I don’t feel comfortable discussing, not even with him. But you, on the other hand, Adolar—you’re a man of the world.”
“Well, I’ve been called worst things,” Adolar joked, in an attempt to lighten the mood and keep his visitor at ease. “Now, relax, if you can. This can’t be all that dire, can it? Tell me what’s bothering you, and we’ll put our heads together and find some way to deal with it, the two of us. You can count on me.”
Bob took a deep breath. “Okay. The first thing I want to know is … is what they say true? That having sex can take the edge off a guy’s game? You know, can it effect his athletic performance?”
Adolar fought to maintain a straight face. Bob had taken him by surprise. Adolar hadn’t known exactly what his attractive young admirer wanted to confide in him about, although he’d suspected it might have something to do with sex. But he certainly hadn’t been prepared for this!
“That’s a myth, Bob. But I do know what you’re referring to. Some coaches, especially on pro teams, do try to enforce policies like that, to help keep their players in line. And you know they always have their own set of rules which they’d like their guys to follow. Smoking, excessive drinking, too much junk food, late nights and not enough sleep—all those things can hurt your playing.”
“What about sex? Can that be bad for a weightlifter? A bodybuilder?
“Too much sex, like too much of anything—I suppose that could have an adverse effect on any athlete.” But, even as he said that, Adolar felt like a hypocrite. Personally, he’d never experienced too much sex in his life. He wasn’t even sure that such a thing as too much sex was possible, except in theory! “On the other hand,” he went on, smoothly. “An argument could be made for the exact opposite. Namely, if a man has a satisfactory sex life, that might keep him relaxed, and able to focus his attention on other things. Such as sports.” Adolar paused, waiting for Bob to say something. When the boy remained silent, he prompted him. “Are you having sex, Bob?”
“Yeah.” Mumbling the monosyllable, Bob actually blushed a little. Adolar found this endearing.
“Are we talking about masturbation?”
“No, not really. Everybody masturbates—don’t they, Adolar?”
Evidently Bob wasn’t quite as innocent as Adolar had assumed he was. “Yes,” Adolar replied.
“Do you ever jerk off?”
Now it was Adolar’s turn to be a bit flustered, at the directness of the question. He decided Bob deserved an honest answer.
“Occasionally,” he replied. “I’m married, remember? My wife takes care of most of my needs. But even I … sometimes I enjoy masturbating. Either alone … or in front of a sex partner.”
“In front of a sex partner?” Bob echoed him. “You mean—you jerk off in front of your wife?” He looked and sounded incredulous.
“In front of her, among—” Adolar almost blurted out, among others; but he checked himself in time. “And it’s not as though she—” He was about to say, it’s not as though she doesn’t like to play with herself in front of me, to tease me and to turn me on! But, once again, he realized that this might be more information than Bob really needed to know. “You see, Bob,” he finally declared. “Masturbation—including what’s called ‘mutual masturbation’—can be a form of foreplay. Or an alternative to other sex acts. Come now, Bob,” Adolar went on, briskly. “This is me you’re talking to. I’d like to think I’m your friend. You know you can tell me anything. What’s really bothering you?”
Haltingly, Bob told Adolar about his conversations with Urban, and his encounter with Dorottya. There were times when embarrassment rendered him tongue-tied for a moment; and then Adolar had to prompt him, encouraging him to go on with his story. With questions, Adolar probed, gently and discreetly, getting Bob to pro
vide him with all the details of his first sexual experience. Adolar couldn’t help himself. He found the strapping young lad’s narrative extremely stimulating. But, of course, he couldn’t let Bob suspect as much!
Instead, Adolar forced himself to stay firmly within his role of mentor, advisor, and friend. At least for the time being!
So … some slut got her claws into him! Adolar thought. Well, with any luck, my chance will come. And soon, I hope!
“Well, Bob, I have to tell you, I’m kind of disappointed,” Adolar said, humorously. “I was expecting some truly sordid revelation. But nothing you’ve told me is all that shocking. It isn’t even particularly unusual. There’s a long-standing tradition of older women initiating younger men into the mysteries of sex.” And of older men doing the same, he thought—with a flicker of envy and resentment directed toward this woman, Dorottya, whoever she was. The slut had gotten to Bob first. She’d beaten Adolar to it! Adolar hated her. He wanted to kill her! “And in this case,” he forced himself to continue, “no real harm seems to have done. You lost your cherry,” he added, a bit crudely. “Do you regret it?”
“Hell, no,” Bob insisted. “It’s just that—”
“What?”
“I got my rocks off, for sure. That part of it—the physical part, you know, coming?”
“Oh, I know,” Adolar said, drily. “I may be a little older than you, but I still know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“That part of it was exciting. I can’t deny it. But otherwise … the whole thing was … well, it was really kind of disappointing. A let down.”
“I’ll let you in on a big secret, Bob. The very first time anybody has sex—it’s usually disappointing. It doesn’t seem quite like what it’s cracked up to be. Afterward, of course—when you gain more experience, with other partners—then, trust me, things will start to look up.”
Bisexual Bodybuilders Vol 1 Page 6
