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The Cruising Chronicles: Slam Dunk


Copyright 2018 Harry F. Rey

Published by Harry F. Rey at Smashwords



She snuggled up to me on the bleachers as the basketball game raged beneath. The screeches of Nikes on the polished wooden floor of the court and the smacks of the ball only underscored the relative silence of the crowd who’d bothered to turn up for Ole Miss’ Tuesday evening exhibition match against Georgia State.

“What are you doing?” I asked her.

“What?” Shayla responded, a little hurt. She scooched even closer. “I’m cold.”

“Girl you're from Brooklyn.”

“It’s like sixty degrees outside.” She complained, passing me the popcorn tub.

“And winter in Mississippi is really something to complain about?”

“Look Jonah I’m here, aren’t I? Now do you want to spy on Sam or not?”

I tried to keep my face stern, but it cracked into a wide smile in a matter of moments. She was right. Spying on Sam was the main, no, sole purpose of trekking out on a, let’s say chilly, February evening.

“Which one is he again?” She said chewing a mouth full of popcorn.

“There,” I pointed out as my heart smiled at the sight of his beautifully elongated body. He looked just like a regular man except stretched out another six inches. I hoped for at least eight below those white baller shorts, although something inside me expected close to ten.

“Who? The six three white dude with the brown hair?”

“Yup, that’s him.”

“OK there’s like ten of them. Can you narrow it down?”

I suddenly took in the expanse of the entire court after having only eyes for Sam for the last hour. She had a point. This might be basketball, but it was still Mississippi.

I focused back on Sam as he bolted up the court for the Rebel’s next attack. The contours of his calf muscles visible even fifty feet away. The powerful legs that every night I imagined wrapped around my body pounded the court like some majestic gazelle galloping through the savannah. I imagined myself running with him through some endless grassland; two animals with nothing but freedom in front of them.

The attack seemed to be working. He waved his long, lanky, milk white arms in the air, marking himself open. But I could only see the back of his shirt. I needed that side on view. I needed that edge of armpit, the convex of muscle, smooth skin sprinkled with brown hair and sweat that I just wanted to bury my face inside and never move away.

“That one, number fourteen.”

“White or blue?”

“White vest! Damn, ain’t you paying attention?”

I glanced over and saw her taking in mightiness that is Sam as he leapt into the air towards the ball.

“Well now I am.”

He spun around, his body in orbit around the basketball, guiding it through space and time towards the waiting goal. I felt everything inside me twitch like I’d been spanked with an electric cattle prod. The blood rushed to my dick and it gave an approving burst of energy at the sight of Sam in his utmost prime.

The way he dribbled was pure poetry. Side to side, hands like plates smacking the ball back and forth, clearing a path before the leap of faith. I’d grown up watching my cousins and boys from school playing ball through chain linked-fences as I took myself home from the library, arms wrapped around books. I’d fantasized about so many guys in every color of jersey. I knew the moves, I knew the plays, I knew what to say to the boys at the end of a pick-up game to make them feel big and important. Sam needed none of that. He game was simply effortless.

“Woohoo!” Shayla screamed, throwing herself into the air along with everyone else as Sam dunked the ball straight through the hoop. The popcorn bucket dropped to the floor like a forgotten pair of socks, and I’m forced to flick kernels away as air horns deafen muted cheers celebrating his slam dunk.

“Damn.” She yelled. “You go Sam. We love you!”

“Shh!” I yanked her coat. “Be quiet, I know him.”

She sat back down with the biggest grin on her face and said:“Well you never told me that!”

“He’s in my philosophy discussion group.” I said with a sheepish look. I really just wanted to watch the smile on Sam’s face, not hers. He high-fived the rest of his team and they smacked him approvingly on the back with a few muted woops. The Rebels were still losing, and badly, with only about five minutes to go. Yet he bathed in the adoration. Normally his face looked so long and thin, which I loved, but I think I loved it even more as he grinned with pride, face lit up like he’d just played in the NBA. I pushed out the well-trod thoughts of him picking me up into the air after a championship match. His lover, his friend, his husband.

“So do you ever talk to him?” She asked, but I was distracted because Sam had just lifted up his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. His exposed abs looked like a legend written in flesh, sculpted silky skin wrapped in brown hair that begged for it to be licked and worshiped from nipple to cock.

“What? Oh yeah, actually. Quite a lot. We’re kind of study buddies.”

“Ooh hoo!” She elbowed me in the side.

“Stop it, I don’t want him to think we’re together. I told him I’m coming to watch.”

“Man you really got it bad for this guy.”

“What can I say? I’m a Chicago nerd with a thing for the white southern gentleman.”

“Oh my God did he just wave at you?”

My heart began to pound and I instinctively shoved her further away. I thought I lost him for a second in a sea of white shirts and whiter skin, but then relaxed as I caught him again. His eyes, those beautiful brown eyes and the freckles under his cheek, they couldn’t be missed. It was true. That lanky arm was up in the air, waving... at me.

“Hey.” I said halfheartedly, only realizing after I’d opened my mouth he couldn't even hope to hear. But I mouthed the words and raised my hand up in an excited acknowledgement of his presence I just hoped came across as casual.

The rest of the game was a write-off for me. My head full of the imagined thoughts of what Sam and I might do together. Things were progressing quicker than I thought possible, I just didn’t know to where. We’d only met the start of the semester. I’d been struck by his beauty even then, the sharp intellect and incredible recall of entire passages of philosophical theories just added to the package, fanning the flames of my fantasy.

The day we’d met I immediately suggested we study together, I may have even mentioned mentoring since I’m a grad student and Sam’s still working towards his bachelors. To my somewhat surprise, he’d accepted with a broad smile and a firm handshake. When he met me in the library a few days later for our first session, he’d come straight from practice and had pulled a green hoodie over his jersey. That’s when I’d first been introduced to the smell of sweaty Sam, and the day my obsession had begun to grow.

It had truly taken over me however a few weeks after that. That day, he’d stood at the front of the seminar room, giving an overview on his independent study project on Kierkegaard in grey sweatpants. As Sam talked about the birth of existentialism to the class, I enjoyed my own out of body experience, tracing the bulge of his cock resting against his leg. I’d imagined myself lying underneath the locker room bench as he changed, the thick cock and balls of a midwestern college jock swinging ever closer to my face. Then, as he sat down on the slatted wood of the bench, the sweat from his ass would drip gently onto.

“Hello?” Shayla nudged me. I automatically batted her away, then noticed the bleachers around had almost emptied. The game was over, time to go, but the players were still doing a cooldown. Sam played a little one on one with a blond-haired member of the Rebels.

“Just a second.”

“Well I’m going.”

“Fine, fine.” I stood up and wiped little pieces of popcorn that had become lodged in the grooves of my jeans, caused by my still hard dick. Sam dribbled the ball down the court, but I saw him glance into the stand and our eyes met once more. With one hand he dribbled the ball, and with the other waved and winked at me, before shooting the ball straight at the hoop. It went straight inside.

I practically giggled like a school girl, but I gave him a broad smile and a quick semi salute instead, mouthing: see you in class.

“Great game, Sam!” Shayla yelled from the side. He laughed as I jumped on the girl from the bench above like Batman subduing a mouthy villain.

“Quit cockblocking!”

We headed towards the exit, still laughing with each other. The players were emptying out to the locker room too. How I wished beyond wishing to simply turn from Shayla right then and bolt towards the locker room, even just to be near him. To take in the scent of his body after a sweaty match, perhaps even steal a glance at the graze of dark hair edging under the waistband of his shorts. I started to wonder if it might be possible to come back in an hour, sneak inside somehow and go through the towels, maybe even spot a forgotten pair of Sam’s underpants he’d casually kicked aside. Maybe he wore a jockstrap? I could barely even follow Shayla out of the exit at the thought.

“Hey, Jonah.” Someone yelled behind. I snapped around. It was Sam. Across the other side of the court, and it looked like we were completely alone. “Thanks for coming, really.”

He bumped his chest twice with a fist, then reached out an arm and pointed straight at me. I stood frozen to the spot. Before I got control of my body back, he’d turned and was gone.



***



I sat in my car, the engine off but the radio on, slurping the last drops of the McDonald’s chocolate milkshake that had been finished long ago. It was nearly midnight, but I didn’t want to do anything else except sit in the car park and scroll through my apps. I needed something, or someone, to distract me, take my mind off Sam and somewhere far, far away. The reason for staying out had been somehow connected in my mind to the thought of sneaking back into the locker room and going through piles of laundry, seeking out Sam’s scent. My head told me it was not an option, but my heart, and my cock, didn’t let me go home.

This was the one big problem with living in the college town of Oxford, Mississippi. Nothing and no one to do. Apart from the students, of course, but there were a lot less horny frat boys than one might expect. Or at least I’d expected before moving down here. I could head home and jerk off, but I did that every night. No, if I couldn’t have Sam, then I needed someone I could at least pretend was him.

I kept on scrolling, kept on slurping the empty milkshake, the only thing that could even get close to cheering me up.

“Fuck.”

No one for miles. As a last resort I could drive to Memphis, head to a bar or find a backroom somewhere, but with classes early the next day and given the hour, it was a bit desperate for something that I knew wouldn’t be even close to satisfying. Things weren’t looking up, and it was five to midnight.

“OK.” I said out loud. “Five more minutes, then I’m getting a cheeseburger and going home to bed.”

The cell phone vibrated as my heart leapt into my mouth, then sank to the engine when I saw it was Shayla.

Had fun tonight! Good luck with your white boy ;)

I swiped it away without another thought. I couldn’t be bothered with her anymore. My mind had one thing on it and talking to her would do nothing for that.

Suddenly the phone vibrated again. A message, this time from an app I could use.

Hey

The profile was basic, no information except that he was one mile away, and online. The picture I found intriguing, however. A bare back in black shorts, holding a basketball to his side. Clearly it had been taken during some casual game then cropped just enough to show the outline of strong back muscles and softness of the bare white skin.

Hi. Nice pic. I wrote. It didn’t take him a second to reply.

Thanks. I can host. Free now?

I guess this is what I wanted. Better, in fact, than I might have hoped. If he was a basketballer, maybe he’d wear the kit for me. Then I could really indulge my Sam fantasy. Suddenly I felt excited. I turned the engine back on and buckled my belt.

“Fuck it. Might as well.”

Sure. Send your address. By the way, are you a basketballer?

No reply. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty. My heart dropped once more, and I started to resign myself to the fact I’d probably just scared off a hot jock, full of cum and ready to take away all my angst and energy.

Yeah. 1800 Jackson Ave, W.

I saved the address in the GPS and started to mentally prepare myself to graft Sam’s thin, chiseled face onto the body of whomever this guy would be. I was just about to pull out of the deserted car park when the cell phone on my lap buzzed once more. I checked it and my mouth fell open. It was Sam.

Hey man, thanks again for coming tonight. No one ever comes to those dumb exhibition games! Anyway just wondering if you’re up. I’m only getting to my philosophy paper now, wanted to shoot a few q’s about Hume your way?

That’s a surprise. I shook any wondering out of my mind, thought. Clearly it was a coincidence. At least he was messaging me though. This was another first. Suddenly I felt bad for arranging a hook up. It oddly felt like cheating on him. I stroked my chin as the engine rolled, wondering how to best frame the message. Of course, I didn’t want to just give away my help. If he wanted it, I wanted to make an opportunity of my own.

Hey bud. No problem, you played amazing tonight. Sure I can help. I’m actually out in the car so I could always swing by now if you like? I always prefer to work at night. :)

I spent an entire minute thinking about adding that smiley emoji.

Sure! I’m such a night owl myself too. Now is great.

No smiley back, but an invitation to come around to his place in the middle of the night. Just to work on a philosophy paper? I thought about it for a moment, suddenly becoming more concerned, more entrapped in excited wonder. We weren't even reading Hume at the moment.

What’s your address? I wrote. The answer came in a second.

I think I just sent it ;)

Everyone inside that McDonalds heard the wheels of my car screech into life and zoom onto the road like a bat out of hell; or a horny guy on his way to be with the man of his dreams.




***



“Hey.” I said.

“Hey man.” Sam greeted me at the door with a wide smile and nothing but a pair of grey sweats. Most likely the same ones he’d worn to class that day. I snuck inside the hallway of the dimly lit one bed apartment as if one wrong move would expose this as some scam or joke. I sucked in every essence of his body I could get.

“Sorry about the heat.” He said. I instantly registered the warmth inside and felt myself burning up. “This place only does super hot or super cold.”

“That’s alright.” I smiled back at him. Neither of us seemed quite sure how to move things on. This wasn’t some ordinary hook up where one party or the other could just move forward to the business end of things without much chat. It felt like the awkward end of a first date, one that we hadn’t actually had.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure.” I said, taking off my coat. “Something cold, I think.”

I followed him into the narrow kitchen, watching those back muscles flex as his shoulders rolled to an athlete’s stride. The nervousness was strange by its absence. I realized I’d actually been nervous for weeks, an all-encompassing Sam-induced anxiety had stalked my walking moments, until now. I just wanted to cut to the good part already.

“Man I didn't even have time to shower after the game. I've got so much to do for class it's crazy. So, eh, sorry if I smell a bit.” He said with a half-lipped grin, filling up two glass tumblers with ice and cold water from the fridge.

“Hey no worries. I probably stink of my friend Shayla's cheap perfume and Mickie D’s.”

“Dude I'd kill for a burger now.”

“Maybe we can get one after.” I said with a cheeky grin, but then suddenly feared I'd said too much, perhaps scaring him away. He looked at me from the fridge with eyes wide open and handed me a cup without a word. I drank the water down deep as I felt myself shrink under his gaze, falling back into some kind of cocoon only he could open. He smiled and finished his water as I leaned against the countertop; a deer caught in headlights or a point-guard off his mark.

Only when he stepped towards me did I understand there was more to his smile than met the eye. There was something behind it, something in his mouth. With barely a warning he lowered himself all the way down to my neck and I felt the shock freeze of his cold tongue against my hot skin. He was licking an ice cube along the ride of my neck causing a shivering eruption of burning hot desire.

I’d had enough of games for one night. Lifting my face to his, I met his chilly wet tongue in a passionate kiss while my hands finally held the toned, hairy abs of a body I’d desired to touch for so long. They swerved all around him like I was afraid he might just disappear, that all this could be some wonderful fantasy. I grabbed and prodded and pulled the skin. It felt soft like butter, better than any dream I could have had.

We kissed as long as could be with him bending down in the awkward way he was. As our mouths edged apart, cold and wet, I realized I barely came up to Sam’s nipple, resting against the counter as I did. With a playful smile, I took the tumbler of water, sucked some down and found my own ice cube.

Resting a hand on the smooth small of his back and pulling him closer, I flicked the ice cube against his taught brown nipples which peaked hard in response. Sam groaned like I imagined he would, his thick baller hands working their way under my t-shirt as he looked down on me from above. My chilled wet lips dragged the ice cube all across his broad chest, taking in the unclipped but neat hair that rippled across his body like perfectly cut grass on a pristine lawn. I wanted nothing more to roll around in it, now and always.

I sank ever lower towards the floor, dragging the cube down the ridged contours of his abs. The salty sweat still on his body coming alive from my liquid kisses. Sam’s masculine scent made my whole self ache for him. As I flick the hairs of his navel, I can feel the meatiness of his cock prick through the sweats, pushing against my chest, asking to be unwrapped. I want to get into it so much, but am conscious of needing to take in every single second I have with him.

I lick back up the way, the ice cube practically melted in my mouth, towards his arm pits which fascinate me. He moves with my movements, lifting both his arms up behind his head and letting out a long, slow groan as I reach up to sink my lips into the musty hair. I pull him closer to me, nuzzling my face in the crevice of his powerful arms and broad shoulders. The weight of his cock against me steadily increases, its presence is there, and it’s demanding attention.

“Suck my dick.” He whispers suddenly. I catch the edge of his eyes in what seems to be encroaching darkness. I feel myself, my presence, edge away from reality. I’m overwhelmed by him. His body, his taste, his interaction with me. I only want to live in his reality, I only want to exist to serve him.

I drop to my knees and pull down the grey sweats with me. He keeps his hands resting behind his head in that jockish style of expecting to be serviced. Sam is left in a pair of sweat soaked white boxer shorts, his meaty cock visible through the damp material. I take in the aroma of it. Metallic yet fresh, deep and dank but subtly different from his pits. Like the scent of his cock has garnered the odors of all those men he rubbed up against on the basketball court. It makes my head spin and I give an audibly loud sniff, rubbing my face against the thick promise of dick and the sweaty cloth that keeps me from it.

Suddenly I feel a hand on the back of my head, gently touching my tightly wound but closely cropped hair. I lift my hands around the back of his well-muscled legs, suddenly taking in the contrast of my black skin against his bright white body. Sam seems to notice it too and pulls my face in closer as his hand drags down his underpants with a burst of sexually charged energy.

Hot, pink skin slaps against my face. The immenseness of his cock his unbelievable. It seems even out of proportion to his already epic height. It’s as if the member of a God is smacking me in the cheek, not a man. I don’t even attempt to take it all at once, instead I bite and nibble the length of the shaft, running my still cool tongue against his hot skin. I run my lips to the shaft and the spurt of tame black hair, then gorge on the heavy but smooth-skinned low-hanging balls so begging to release their load.

As he moans and guides my head around his junk, I get to work on taking the thing down my throat. Licking and flicking the piss slit of the glowing cut head, then working its fullness into my mouth. I can already taste the tangy stench of pre-cum leaking from him. I thought Sam was already hard, but with the head now fully inside my mouth, he’s only getting stiffer.

He takes an entire hand of his and wraps it around his shaft, and still I’m not close to getting to his fingers. I have a lot of cock to get inside me, but I know I won’t be satisfied till I feel pubes tickling my top lip and balls against my chin.

Sam works my head like he’s threading a pipe through a hole in a brick wall. He feeds me his cock, slowly edging back his hand while guiding, no, pulling me forward. The roundness of his head rubs against the back of my throat which fills with saliva. I can feel it spill over the sides of my mouth already, his presence displacing whatever it comes up against. I don’t know how long it will be before I start to choke.

More and more he works in, gradually drawing me closer. I think I’m half way down his shaft, but without a clue how I’ll take it all in. It’s not like being fucked, there’s no getting used to ten thick inches of cock being stuffed inside your mouth.

“Come on. Take it all, Jonah.”

He says my name. My hand flicks to my own, far less impressive dick straining against its cage of jeans. I haven’t felt it so hard in so long. And he said it with firmness, a command. I must take it all. There is no choice. I feel like I’m on show or being judged. I’m at an interview for the job I’ve wanted all my life. I could even be standing in front of the University review board, defending my masters thesis. I’m showing what I can do, that I can obey, that I can please him in the way he needs, the way I want. I shall not, I must not falter.

I breath in deeply through my nostrils and throw myself against his body, swallowing the rest of the cock as it smacks against the back of my throat. I want to choke, I want to gag but I force myself not to. My mind relaxes and remembers what it’s doing. His epic groan like a broad-winged eagle soaring over the Rockies tells me I’m doing it right, just as the smell of his pubes fills me up and the hair tickles my face.

Now I’ve shown I can take it, Sam doesn’t wait longer. He begins to thrust his dick harder and faster down my throat. I’m a hole for his cock, the receptacle I always wanted to be.

He takes a methodical approach like the trained athlete he is. The stench of unwashed sweat and the sour taste of my saliva and his pre-ejaculate swirl and spill in my mouth. He pulls himself out, then guides it back in again, like he’s going up and down a water chute on repeat. Sam’s heavy sac slaps under my neck and I feel its wetness from the overflow of liquid from my mouth.

As he works my head to the rhythm of his cock I grasp his shaft with a hand that only just makes it round the whole thing. I add movement, friction and pressure to this blow job, taking a little bit of control back, giving myself both a break and an opportunity to swirl my tongue across his mast and sail. My other hand works up to the smooth curve of his ass cheek, bringing him closer into me as he had done before. To my surprise, he shifts himself a little, edging the deep ravine of a lightly haired crack to the tip of my fingers.

To make himself absolutely clear, he takes my hand that’s squeezing his ass and puts it in contact with the hot stench of his hole. I pull his cock out entirely from my mouth, sucking down a gulp of air and spit onto my fingers. I switch hands, now getting the chance to edge some fingers lubed in spit into his waiting hole.

Working his cock with a now dry hand gives me extra girth to play with. I tickle the tip of his cock with my tongue while simultaneously jerking the shaft with a loose grip that I know is putting him on edge. Meanwhile I trace the rim of his ass hole with my wet middle finger. It’s tight, but I can feel it gently opening, welcoming me inside. I work it past the muscle wall and inside Sam. The basketballer grips the back of my head even harder, pulling my mouth in and moaning through gritted teeth. I edge my finger in further, I give him more of what he begs for.

The pace of my sucking picks up and soon I’m jabbing an entire finger in and out of Sam’s hole. He’s taking it with ease, but I can feel it’s bringing him utter ecstasy. I add another finger around the edge and then in to his powerful and ever louder cries. He’s a man on the edge of a slam dunk; dribbling the ball up and down the court, just waiting for the perfect alignment to take him over the precipice and smack that thing in the back of the net.

I can feel it coming. Everything becomes a rush. I’m working only the top half of his dick with my mouth as my hand is shaking the bottom half, whacking against the muscle wall of his lower abdomen and causing his balls to bounce around like they’re aflame. I’ve got two fingers nestled deep inside him. I’m playing Sam as perfectly as he plays a basketball.

He explodes without warning. A hot shot of sticky cum suddenly fills the back of my throat and only after the first shot does he let out a long, throaty call as if howling to the moon. I slow my fingers down and can feel his prostate contracting. I’m forced to swallow because more and more of his seed is shooting into me, and I’m guzzling it all up without dribbling a single drop. The hand against the back of my head does not draw away like so many before, it stays. At first I understand it’s there to keep me from removing my mouth before he’s emptied his load inside, but then his finger and his thumb softly rub my hair, touching it with a new found intimacy, the kind I’ve been waiting for all my life.



***



Harry F. Rey is an author and lover of gay themed stories with a powerful punch. New M/M sci-fi and contemporary romance novels coming in July 2018 from NineStar Press and Deep Desires Press.


For more works and the latest releases from Harry F. Rey, visit:


https://harryfredrey.wixsite.com/harryfrey


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@Harry_F_Rey



© Harry F. Rey 2018 All Rights Reserved



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