Bromosexual

I’m on my knees in front of him, planted right between his thighs which are tightly wrapped by his white baseball knickers with the blue piping. On either side of me are his sturdy calves dressed up to the top in his baseball socks, cleats planted on the floor. I look up the tower of muscle that is Stefan Baker, and his dominant eyes stare down upon me, waiting, expectant, hungry.

The tip of his huge, hard dick is inches from my lips.

My tongue comes out to touch the tip.

Stefan gasps, squints at me as if in pain, then waits for my next bold move.

I run my tongue over every millimeter of his fat dickhead. It drives him crazy. I feel the tension in his thighs as they flex tightly with anticipation, desperate for me to wrap my lips around his girth. I know he wants it badly. I can see it in his squinted eyes.

“C’mon …” he breathes, in agony.

I love having this much control over Stefan, even if it’s all just a fantasy in my head. Outside of the dream, I drop onto my bed, take out my cock, and stroke it hard and fast. The feeling of my uniform on my body is intensifying the mood exponentially.

“C’mon …”

I open my mouth—maybe in fantasy and in real life—and take the first inch of his cock past my wet, needy lips. Stefan groans, his mouth wide and his heart pumping. I take another inch. He throws his head back with a moan, his legs still firmly planted on either side of me.

Positioned right here between Stefan Baker’s two legendary, massive, muscular thighs, I realize full well that one wrong step, and he can crush me between them like a pancake.

I almost want him to.

“Don’t stop, bro,” he begs me.

I’ve barely begun.

I descend farther down his veiny, thick, throbbing dick. I’ve barely taken half of it and he’s filling my whole mouth.

This detail, I happen to know, isn’t fantasy. I’ve been in many a locker room with Stefan Baker, and though I didn’t know why, I couldn’t help but sneak peeks all the time whenever he changed. I wrote it off as classic admiration. I admired him, I liked him, and I wanted to model myself after him.

Not that there was much I could do in the he-totally-fills-his-jockstrap-to-bursting-proportions department short of stuffing a sock in my jock.

He’s big. Bigger than mine. Bigger than anyone else I saw on the team. But honestly, it wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t. The way Stefan carried himself alone—the confidence he exuded—was the real reason I found him so attractive. I wished I could stand up as straight as him, boast proudly like he did, and smile so strikingly.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” dream Stefan keeps begging.

And dream Ryan keeps sucking, twisting his mouth, up and down, in and out, working his lips and tongue on Stefan’s meat.

Knock, knock.

My eyes flap open. I stop jerking. The fantasy is gone in an instant, despite my hard cock still flinching with my every heavy heartbeat. I thought I heard knocking. Surely I didn’t imagine it.

It comes again: Knock, knock.

There’s a small click followed by my front door creaking open, and then I hear a voice: “Hello? Ryan?”

Stefan Baker’s voice—his real voice.

09

STEFAN

I really didn’t want to just invite myself inside, but seeing as I was just here earlier today, surely Ryan can’t be too tied up with anything. And his front door is unlocked, so he ought to be here.

“Hello?” I call out again, standing in his foyer, my hand still resting on the doorknob of his front door. “Ryan? You there?”

Applause and laughter erupt to my right. I turn my face to the TV, distracted by the sound. It’s a game show or something, from the looks of it.

Then a door slams to my left.

I snap my head that way. It was his bedroom door.

“Ryan?” I step inside a little more, letting the front door shut, then slowly come down the hallway. “That you?”

When I’m by his door, I hear shuffling and grunting on the other side.

I know this might be a bit irrational, but the first thought I have is: some criminal broke in and he’s strangling Ryan to death. That’s literally what it sounds like.

What the fuck do I think this is? Clue? Was it Ms. White in the bedroom with the rope?

I may never know why I was so bold today, but I put a hand to the doorknob and give it a turn, letting myself into his bedroom. I’ve seen him naked. We’ve changed in front of each other tons of times. There’s nothing that won’t shock me.

“Ryan—?” I call out as I gently push the door open.

Ryan freezes by his bed.

He’s naked.

Except for a pair of socks with blue stirrups … and a jockstrap, which my eyes go straight to.