Yeah, so, you must know that tennis – at least men's tennis – is totally straight, right? I mean, sure, there have been a few, but they keep it pretty quiet. By the way it's totally cool with me. But for the most part, the guys are straight. I mean really straight. There are not that many who are in hiding. Maybe a few. I guess I don't know, but I've never met them.
Well, that's not exactly true. When I was sixteen my parents sent me to this tennis camp in California which at the time I thought would be an excuse to party. Nope. It was fucking hard and I think it improved my game more than anything else had.
But I was rooming with this guy, Jack, who was an awesome player and we had this competitive thing going. You know, how many aces, how fast were our serves, how many sets in a row we won. The usual guy shit. But one Friday after a gruelling week of training and a few beers that we drank on the sly, we found ourselves back in our room and Jack...well, he just out and said, “Hey Mike, can I suck you off? I need some cock after all that work.”
I was totally floored. I had no idea he was into guys. No biggie, but you know...kind of out of left field. But I was drunk and I didn't say anything and he took it for permission, I guess. He pushed me onto my bed and dug in my jeans and hauled out my cock. The alcohol made it possible for me to think about a girl going down on me so I was able to get it up and I gotta say, it felt pretty amazing. I mean this guy knew what he was doing. A few times I looked down and watched him work, his head moving, his lips all over the place. He even licked my balls a few times which was wild. But I was most impressed with his ability to totally take me to the root. I felt his lips hit my pubes. He seemed to be crazy for my dick.
I finally came down his throat and despite myself I grabbed his head and held him down on me to make sure he got it all. Wow. It was the best fucking orgasm of my sixteen-year-old life. He sat up and I watched him swallow which kind of grossed me out. He had this big grin on his face and he said, “You feel like returning the favour?”
A little stunned, I said, “Naw man. I'm cool. Thanks, though. That was awesome.”
We went to bed and I tried not to listen as he jerked off, but eventually I fell asleep. Neither of us referred to it after that and we went back to being competitive and drinking beer and hanging out with other guys. But a bunch more times, after beer, he would crawl into my bed and I would give him a load. How could I not? I mean come on, if someone wants to give you head with no strings, how can you say no?
This went on for the whole summer and I kind of got used to it. I mean I still managed to get it on with a few girls. That was my focus, after all. I was sixteen. What do you expect? But this thing with Jack? It was different. Not just secret, which it was, but it was its own thing. It was comfortable and hot. Really hot. After a few times, he started to jerk off right in front of me, which seemed fair. I would watch him and he would look at me when he came and I would watch big spurts of cum cover his chest and stomach.
At the end of the summer we went our separate ways and I haven't seen him since. I think he retired from tennis and became a stock broker or some shit like that. Too bad. He was an awesome player. Way better than I could ever be. And truth be told, I missed his mouth for a while after that.
So it should be clear that I'm no Rafael Nadal. I'm like several thousand down the seed list, but I play a good game in the less prestigious tournaments. The 'B' circuit, I suppose. And I coach to make ends meet. It's a nice life. And because I'm basically this tennis bum, I get lots of action. Women seem to get off on the whole loner athlete thing so I get laid regularly. None of them seem to want more and in many ways that suits me just fine. I don't think I'm husband material.
So fast forward to a tournament this year. I was chilling in the bar with a nice g & t after a match when the player who had just beat me came and sat down beside me. I hadn't played him before and he was good. And young. Like twenty three to my thirty. He was one of the Aussie players that the country produces as if there's this assembly line of amazing talent. Christopher was his name. Christopher Kosta. Amazing serve. Not so consistent groundstrokes so he didn't beat me by much. But he did beat me.
“Hey, mate. No hard feelings!”
He slapped me on the back and sat down. He ordered a pint from the bartender and we toasted his victory. Nice dude. On my side there were no hard feelings. I laughed and said, “Do all you guys say 'mate'?”
He threw his head back and laughed, then turned to me and said, “Yeah, mate. It's just a thing to make everyone else think we're stupid.”
I sipped my drink and grinned at him. He had these big blue eyes and pale skin. He beard was so light I could hardly see the scruff. I thought he must get a lot of attention from women.
He looked serious for a second and asked, “You gotta girl?”
“Nah. I get laid pretty often, but no one stays around. I had a girlfriend a few years ago...but she got sick of me travelling around so much. And, truth be told, I had a hard time keeping it in my pants, if you know what I mean.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, girls kind of throw themselves at tennis players, right?”
“What about you? Anyone stick around?”
“No, mate. Same as you...”
He looked like he was going to say something else, but then he took another swig of his beer and shook his head again.
We sat at the bar for a while and he had a bunch of beer and I had an equal number of g & t's. Cool dude. Interesting mind. We were both staying at the same hotel so when the bar closed we got up and staggered across the street. It was one of those hotels that are spread all over the world and each one looks exactly the same as the next.
Our rooms were on the same floor and when we got off the elevator, he said, “I've got some whiskey if you want to join...?”
I thought a moment about the state of my head and then said, “Not tonight. I think I need to sleep. But thanks.”
He actually looked disappointed. He gave me a half-smile and reached out and gripped my shoulder for a second. It felt like an odd gesture but I didn't give it much thought. Then he said, “You want to catch the match of the asshole who beat me?”
I laughed and said, “Sure. That would be cool. I'll come to your room at ten.”
“Cool, man.”
He turned and went into his room a little too quickly, I thought, but I wasn't sure what the hell that meant.
--
At ten the next morning, I knocked on his door. After a minute, the door opened and he was standing there sopping wet with a towel wrapped around him. Like most tennis players, he was lean and strong. But for some reason I was kind of shocked. Like I was seeing something I wasn't supposed to be seeing.
“Give me a minute to change.”
I came in and very studiously didn't watch him put his clothes on. He seemed totally unfazed by it. I mean I was used to change rooms and showering with guys, but somehow this felt different.
We went to a couple of matches and had a nice time, quietly heckling some of the guys we knew from the circuit. Tennis players can be such assholes.
After the play was done for the day, we went out with a few other players I knew – Christopher was pretty new to the scene so he made some friends – and had a great time. We hung out until closing time again and made our way back to the hotel. I was planning to leave the next morning for the east coast and wanted to get up early, but Christopher convinced me to join him for a last drink of his famous scotch. I was getting to feel we could be friends and he was easy to hang with so I thought, why the fuck not?
I pulled myself onto his bed and he filled two glasses with really nice single malt. This guy had good taste.
He raised his glass and said, “Cheers, mate. It's been great getting to know you.”
He sounded so sincere and the joke I was going to make didn't seem right so I raised my glass and said, “Yeah, you're a cool dude. Cheers.”
He grinned at me and we both drank. Amazing whiskey. Smooth and smoky. We talked some more and he told me about his life in Australia. Shitty dad, alcoholic mom. He said he never wanted to go back there.
“You looking to settle here?”
“Nah mate. My cousin lives in Canada, so I think I might check it out.”
“Shitty country for tennis, right?”
He gave me a grin. “True, but I'll still be playing for Australia.”
Putting his glass down, he turned and looked at me again. It was the kind of look that seemed familiar. It made me think of Jack. He finally said, “So Mike...I was wondering...”
I had to stop him. “Chris, man...I don't...”
He leaned over to me, his face close to mine and said, “Do you know how fucking sexy you are? Give it a try...let's see what happens.”
His face was so close to mine that I could feel his breath, I could smell the whiskey. He eyes were big and so fucking blue. He reached up and ran his hand over my cheek really slowly. “I want your cock, Mike...I want to get in those pants...all I got to see on the court was a nice bulge and your amazing ass...I want the whole thing up close...what do you say?”
My head was spinning. It felt like that thing with Jack all over again, but this was way more intense. Chris was asking way more. My stomach was getting tight and I almost felt sick. His eyes never left mine but for some reason I could't move. I wanted to move. I imagined politely declining, getting up and going to my room. But I didn't.
Chris seemed to read whatever was going on in my head because his face moved closer and his lips touched mine. Real soft. I was frozen. I didn't respond, but I didn't move either. I was so confused by that. He pulled back and there was this grin on his face and I felt his hand slide under my shirt and move up my back. Softly, slowly. Then he leaned forward again and his lips touched mine again. This time with a little more pressure.
I almost pulled away. I almost protested. The little knot in my belly wanted to say that I wasn't into dudes. But instead my lips kind of mirrored his. Just for a moment. I pressed forward as if I was trying to see what would happen, which I guess I was. I could taste the whiskey now.
This time I pulled back. My heart was racing and it was like I had slid into another plane of reality or some fucked up shit like that. Chris was just watching me as if he knew what was going on in my head. Then he reached for my shirt and very slowly, his eyes never wavering from mine, pulled my t-shirt up and over my head. I let him.
Once he had thrown the shirt onto the floor, he said, “You doing all right?” I had no idea what to say. I was sitting there, having let a guy take my shirt off. I let him.
As if in response, he pulled his own t-shirt off. I was looking at his chest again, but it seemed as if for the first time. All that blonde, trimmed hair. His firm, well defined tennis muscles. Flat, taut stomach. I had never looked at any guy like the way I was looking at him. He grabbed my hand and pulled it to the middle of his chest. He felt very warm. I could feel him breathing.
He moved my hand so I could feel the contours of his chest. I felt his nipples under my hand which were hard. He let go of my hand and said, “Tell me what's going on, Mike.”
I looked into those eyes again and said, “I have no idea.”
But then I realized my hand was still moving, still exploring. I couldn't stop myself as it moved down to his taut stomach, over his navel and back up to his chest. I slowed as I went over his nipple and he seemed to shiver. “Yeah, Mike. That feels amazing.”
I looked back at his face and his mouth was open a little and there was this flush on his cheeks. My hand moved further up to his shoulder, to his neck and then to his chin, his face. I ran my hand up and around his forehead and back down the other side. The feel of his blonde scruff felt almost like a surprise. My fingers traced his lips and he opened his mouth and sucked two of my fingers in. I was amazed at the wet warmth of his mouth on my fingers, his tongue caressing my fingertips. It was a feeling I didn't know how to think about.
I pulled my fingers out of his mouth and found myself leaning forward so our faces were close again. There was some kind of reckoning in me, and then my face just kept moving forward until our lips met for a third time. But this time I was the one moving, I was the one opening my mouth and the shock of him responding made me open my mouth more. I wanted more. I had no idea why, but I did.
I turned my head slightly as my lips moved over his and then I felt the tip of his tongue touch mine very gently and the shock of it made me snake my tongue into his mouth, over his tongue, his teeth. I could taste the whiskey more, I could taste him. Him.
I realized my hand was running up his strong back to his neck and I pulled him closer to me so that I could go deeper, I could kiss him and my tongue went deeper and I realized I wanted to pull his face closer to mine even more. A kind of moan came out of me into his mouth and I felt his hand on the back of my neck and he returned the pressure so our mouths were connected and our lips moving smoothly against each other.
But then he started to kiss my neck a bunch, then down my chest and when he started to suck one of my nipple, my whole body started to buzz and I had to gasp. He bit the nipple gently, then moved to the other one, sucking and licking it at the same time. I felt his hand slide down across my belly and his fingers slid into my jeans. But they were tight, so he undid the button and pulled them open.
The end of my cock was poking out of the waistband of my briefs and he chuckled. “Nice cock, mate. Really nice cock. Just what I hoped.”
He pulled my briefs down and took my cock in his hand, giving it a few strokes. It was so intense I had to throw my head back again, gasping. Then I felt his lips on the side of my cock, moving up and down, then sliding down to my balls. He literally sucked them in, rolling them around his mouth, getting them all wet. He looked up at me and gave me his little grin. “Your balls are fucking suckable, mate. And you taste...well, check it out.” He moved up and kissed me and he was right. I could taste myself: swampy, sweaty.
Then he moved back and without hesitation, swallowed my cock in one go. All the way to the root. That really reminded me of Jack. Maybe this is what guys do when they suck cock, I realized. He held my cock by the base and pushed his face deep, then pulled off with suction, then back again. It blew my fucking mind. I was worried I would cum way too fast, so I managed to choke, “Slow the fuck down, Chris...I'm really close.”
He pulled off me, laughing, and said, “You make that sound like a bad thing. But you're right. No one get to cum just yet.”
He moved up and we kissed a bunch more. Finally, I pulled back and looked into his pale eyes again which didn't waver from mine. He finally said, “Mike...take my pants off.”
I felt suddenly scared but when he pushed himself back and extended his legs, I realized I wanted to. I wanted to take his pants off. I wanted to know what it would feel like to undress a man, and to really know what was in those pants. Not the generic locker room knowledge of guys getting changed and seeing each other's cocks for a second. But really knowing what a cock is like. Feeling it. And yes, to my fucking astonishment...tasting it. What the fuck was going on?
I slowly, awkwardly, undid his jeans and tucked my fingers in the waist and pulled. Chris moved with me and they slid down and I pulled them off. I could smell him. His guy smell. A little cologne, a little sweat. It was familiar and completely foreign. His underwear was pure white and the fabric thin so not only could I see the outline of his hard cock, but a blurred image of the length, the bulge of his balls, and even the little wet spot where he was leaking into them.
“Do you want to see my cock, Mike? Do you want it?”
I looked up and into those eyes again. “Yeah. I do.”
“Then have it. It's all yours.”
My mind was racing but not so much from confusion as from a feeling like a damn had burst and energy was flowing through my whole body that had never flowed before. I moved forward and instead of taking his briefs off, I leaned down and ran my lips over the surface, feeling the heat, the hardness. Smelling this amazing smell that almost made me dizzy.
I felt Chris's hand in my hair, caressing. Such a simple movement, but it felt achingly intimate in a way that no woman I had been with felt like. It was the sameness. What was both shocking and exciting was the sameness. Guy and guy. Beard scratching beard. Cock and cock. And my cock was harder than it had ever been, and I realized that the whole time I had been slowly massaging my cock on the sheets, grinding myself down. I guess I had been aware that I had a fucking hard-on, but now that I acknowledge it some kind of truth really hit me.
I was more turned on for a guy – for anyone – than I ever thought was possible. I stopped and looked at Chris's bulging underwear. And I started to pull them off. I slid them over his glistening cock, his big, hairy balls, down those strong thighs and smooth calves and then he was there, naked. Hard. I looked up to his face. He just looked back at me. And it was as if his cock was looking at me as well. It was rigid and I could see it pulsing with his heartbeat. It was big. Long. I know guys get off on measurements, but I said to myself, who the fuck cares? It was...beautiful.
It was cut and the head was shiny with precum which drooled from the end. Without thought or plan, I leaned down and ran my nose from the bottom to the head, inhaling his guy smells. Sweat, precum, pheromones, musk, sex. I stuck my tongue in the cleft of the head and it tasted salty and a little sweet. I kissed the head, sucking the precum in. I took the whole head in my mouth and ran my tongue over its surface. I heard Chris moan and he caressed my head a little more forcefully.
He growled, “Suck my cock, Mike. Suck it. See what it's like to suck cock.”
His voice acted like magic or something, because I realized that's exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted that piece down my throat. I pushed my head down until the tip reached the back of my mouth and into my throat. I knew from what women had told me that they had to take it slow, so I did. I paused and let myself get used to my mouth being filled with cock. It was almost pulsing and I could taste the juices that ran from it.
I heard Chris's voice again. “Mike...I want to fuck your face. Can I do that? I want to do the work...”
I obviously couldn't respond with a mouthful so I made a sound that I hoped was assent. I felt his hands on either side of my face and then his dick began to move back, then forward. He wasn't rough and I realized he didn't want to choke me, he just wanted to do the work. He wanted to use my mouth for his own pleasure and I was totally fucking into it.
His hips began to move and he held my head steady. I could feel the whole length of him against my tongue. I could feel the underside and all the smoothness and the ridges, the veins, the cleft, the head, the salty/sweet liquid drizzling out. The taste was shocking and was making me a little crazy.
I reached down as he fucked my mouth and I started to jerk myself in time with the movement of his dick in my mouth.
We seemed to come to a nice rhythm together and I was getting more used to the having this pole in my mouth, and the feeling I was going to gag had left and I was amazed at how turned on I was. I had never imagined feeling so hot for this, so hot for taking cock.
Over and over he fucked my face and he went faster and faster. My jaw was getting sore and my back hurt and it was as if he knew this because he finally said,
“Mike...I'm going to cum. Do you want my cum? I can pull out...but maybe you want my cum?”
I still couldn't answer but my answer was to not move. He was clearly beyond saying anything else. His grip on my head got harder and he thrust even deeper and I did gag a few times, but managed to hold steady. My cock was aching and I wanted to cum more than I had ever wanted to be before. Chris managed to choke, “I'm fucking going to blow...take it, Mike. Take my fucking cum.”
And he fucked a little harder and then my mouth was full of cum, as if it all came out in one blast. Thick, pungent, a little bitter, a little salty. It made my whole mouth tingle and I had to swallow. I just had to. I wanted his fucking cum. I would think about why later.
Just as his dick calmed down, mine exploded all over the bed in big sloppy ropes that rocketed out, painting the sheet. I felt like my balls were completely emptying, as if my whole body was emptying. I pulled off Chris's cock and gasped and fell backward, my cock still spewing onto my stomach.
I lay there, choking. My body was on fire. My head was empty. I swallowed the last of Chris's cum, amazed at the taste and amazed that I wanted to swallow it. I suddenly saw Chris above me and he was grinning like a little kid. “You were amazing, mate! Fucking amazing!” He leaned down and gave me a bunch of kisses: on my lips, my cheeks, my forehead, my neck. Then he said again, “Fucking amazing! For your first time...that was awesome. Is that what you Yanks say? Awesome? It was awesome!”
He looked at the mess I had made on the bed. “And you came like a champ!”
It was all true and as I lay there, his face close to mine, his eyes so blue, I thought to myself: what was happening to me? But I pulled his face closer and kissed him anyway.
