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Archived Sex Stories



Gently Down the Stream

by Wrestlr

[M/M, MC, hypno]

[Synopsis: The college crew coach wants a winning team. The team
members just want to get laid. Guess what happens when a psychology
professor gets involved. Another "InFiltration" story.]

Disclaimer: There's sex, sodomy, and maybe a few other minor perversions
in this. If you don't like that sort of thing, read something else.
Everybody in the story is legal age. Parts of this story may be
autobiographical, or it might be all fiction--who can say?

This story grew out of inspiration from and conversations with a lot of
people, including Crewdude, Epaphus, A&Fhypno, and others. Ultimately,
though, I've told my own story, so naturally I'm also to blame for any

Copyright - 2002 by Wrestlr. Permission granted to archive if and only
if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read
the file. If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use
this without the express permission of (and payment to) the author. This
paragraph must be included as part of any archive.

Comments to

Wrestlr's fiction is archived at the following URLs:

* (MC and general M/M stories, plus
my home page)

* (MC and general M/M stories, mirror

* (MC stories)

* * *

Gently Down the Stream


The cox is always in charge.

That's "cox" as in "coxswain," not cock, so get your mind out of the
gutter. What happened wasn't like that. At least, not at first.

They call me Link. My last name's Lincoln, so I guess that's where it
came from. guys on the team, I guess we mostly call each other by our last
names. Every team has its own dynamics and you never can tell sometimes
how it's going to pan out.

I row on the university's varsity crew team, and the guys get into some
crazy shit sometimes. Last year, all the guys on the varsity team went out
and got their hair dyed blue, which is one of our school colors--kind of a
team unity thing, you know? So then the junior varsity team went out and
dyed their hair gold, our other school color. The frosh team, well, they
weren't gonna be outdone, so they all dyed their hair blue on the right
side and gold on the left. That may sound funny, but it's a team unity

See, when you're rowing crew, you have your back turned to the way the
boat is going. Only the cox can see where you're going, and you're trained
to follow his orders to get there. Coach sets the strategy, oversees our
training, and calls the shots, but on the water the cox speaks for the
coach. Being on the team in the sweep is all about following the cox's
orders, instantly and in unison. You can't even take a second to stop and
question it. So if the cox says, "Hey, let's go dye our hair blue," well,
we all head out together and the next day we're all sporting crayon-blue
hair. It's all or nothing--either every guy on the team commits, or none
of them do.

Anything for the team, right? Damn right.


I can't help myself.

I'm walking. Another step. Then another. Can't stop myself.
Following him--following Doc from the Psychology Department. The crew
teams following me. Varsity. Junior varsity. Freshman. Practice is
over. Following him back to the boat house and the locker room. Something
special is going to happen there.

I can't stop myself. Am I really trying? Maybe I don't really want to
try. I want to keep walking.

All I have on is my swimsuit. No shirt. No shoes. Leaves crunch under
my bare feet. Whistle on a cord around my neck, bouncing against my bare
chest with each step. Why did I only put on my swimsuit when I came out to
the lake today? So hard to think. Cock kind of hard, rolling loose and
easy in my swimsuit. No underwear. Why are the rest of the rowers wearing
just their swimsuits too? Warm day--the sun on my skin helps me relax

Walking. Following. Can't stop. The locker room. Yes. Focus. Think
of nothing else. Something special is going to happen there.


College--it's just glorified day care for most of us. guys like me on
the crew team, we're not rocket scientists. Mostly we're used to being
told what's what and not thinking too much about it. Most of the guys on
the team are just good-natured jock-heads who like pussy just because it
makes our dicks feel good, and most of us row because once upon a time
someone put us in a sweep and told us to row.

I row Four. I've been rowing crew for a long time, so I knew our
practices weren't going that great. Coach was still kind of new--it was
only his second year coaching here at this school. He thought his job was
to teach us discipline and complicated math stuff about the physics and
theory of crew, like the "Aerobic Power/Weight Ratio"--Po/W =
b*W^(-1/3)--and shit like that. Blah, blah, blah. What we really wanted
to do was get out on the water and row. But we still had time to pull
ourselves together as a team. We all wanted to be part of a team, y'know?
So when the coxes said we were going to try some mental training too, I was
all for it, just like the rest of the guys. Maybe I'm not a mental
powerhouse or anything, but anything for the team, right?


Walking. Slipping deeper, every step.

I remember the beginning.

They're good kids, but still just kids. Always horny--typical college boys. Near-constant boners. Not a problem, usually--their personal lives
are their business. But sometimes, some guy can't get his plumbing
unloaded. Gets so horny he loses his focus. Then it becomes my
problem--what happens to one starts happening to everybody else. Soon it's
a major discipline problem.

I started seeing the signs. Spending too much effort just making them
show up on time. Sure, some were pretty damn competent rowers. They
worked out hard. They were strong and fit as hell. But being part of the
crew wasn't their primary commitment. Bound to get worse.

I remember how it started. All us coaches get together sometimes, from
all the athletics teams. We talk about problems, discuss solutions. A lot
of us were having problems. I'm only thirty-two years old, not some
ancient guy who's lost touch with the world outside his sport, but it
seemed worse this year.

Small fuck-ups and big fuck-ups. Strokes out of synch, blades missing
the water, rowers going skying with the blade too high in the water. Can't
win a race on fuck-ups.

I expect blunders from the freshman team--they don't have a lot of
experience yet. Or maybe even the junior varsity. That's a big maybe.
But I expect better from the varsity. Varsity means cream of the crop, the
best the whole God-damned school has to offer. So half the team was
showing up late, and practices were going pretty shitty, and then this guy
in the varsity sweep caught a crab and took a sudden dive right in the
middle of the lake in front of God and everyone ... Well, God damn! I
just stopped practice to tear him a new asshole.

Hell, I was still mad the next day. Us coaches were having one of our
meetings. They had this professor-guy coming in from the Psych department.
Talking about team-building. One of the coaches heard about him. The
Psych-guy is faculty sponsor for one of the big fraternities on campus.
Hell, everyone knows that frat. A lot of best jocks belong. Star
performers. Some of the other coaches had boys who were members. None of
mine though. This was all new to me.

He talked a little about his methods and mental training. About using
mental training in addition to what we were doing with physical training.
What he said was, we maybe weren't getting it right on the mental side.
Afterward, he, and three other coaches, and me--we got to talking. He
invited us to a little mini-demonstration at the frat house. Kind of an
intense crash course.


It was after practice. The boat house has a couple of rooms in the
basement, and the coxes split us up--varsity in the locker room, junior
varsity in the equipment room, and the freshmen in the storage room. They
didn't tell us why at first. They just said to split up, and we did.

When we--the varsity team, I mean--were all in the windowless locker
room, sitting on the benches and horsing around a little, like jocks do
after practice, Coach stood up in front of us and told us we were there for
some mental training exercises. Here's what he said the plan was. He and
the coxes had talked about this the week before and decided it would be
good for us as a team. He said the exercises might seem silly at first,
but if we wanted to pull together as a team, we'd give this a serious shot.
He also told us this kind of approach might not work for some of us.

The varsity cox, Alex, stood up and put this little thing down on a
bench. It was one of those laser presentation pointers--you know, the kind
that makes this brilliant dot of red light that you can use to point out
things on a screen--and it was in this simple little frame thing with a
clamp that kept the button pressed down and kept the pointer aimed so its
dot was a steady red smear on the concrete block wall, about two-thirds of
the way up the wall. The way these pointers work, there's no way you can
miss the dot--it's really bright and noticeable.


At the seminar, it sounded so simple. Just me and a couple of the other
coaches there. Doc demonstrated the techniques for us on a couple of the
frat boys. Got them all relaxed. Gave them some suggestions. He made a
really compelling case. He talked to us a while. Got me feeling pretty
relaxed too. Maybe later I couldn't remember exactly what he said, but I
knew this could really work.

The secret is mental discipline. Turn off the distractions. Make them
want to be a team more than anything else. Simple, huh? The secret is in
the team dynamics. Control the head--discipline the head--and the body
will follow. So simple. If I could control the coxes, the crews would
follow. First, he had to teach me control, then I could lead the coxes.
So simple.

All I had to do was convince the coxes mental training was a good idea.
I didn't know Alex, the varsity cox, had already been seeing the professor.
I didn't know the professor had already told him what to say. I didn't
know it was a set-up.

I told the coxes to meet me in my office after practice. We were going
to brainstorm for ways to make the teams pull together. The way the guy
from the Psych department explained it, I knew just how to guide the
conversation. Needed to make them think it was their idea. Then I'd make
sure we all came to the conclusion I--we--wanted them to.

I was in the service once. Marines. I was telling the coxes about how
Marine Corp training is all about discipline and bonding with the guys in
your unit. In boot camp, you break down all the barriers, everything
they've been taught about what to think and how to behave. You build them
back from scratch. Build up a soldier's mentality. Turn those guys into
men who live for one thing--fighting machines. They'll march all day in
unison, follow orders without question. They're weapons, waiting to be
aimed and fired.

The varsity cox, Alex, said it first. He's a mouthy little guy. That's
an advantage for a cox. They're supposed to be loud so the team can hear
them, and feisty enough to keep those big guys in line. What Alex said was
what the other two were thinking: "Shit, that's what we need to do. Give
those guys a soldier's mentality and turn them into soldiers that row."

Hooked. Doc had shown his techniques to me. He used his techniques to
made sure I memorized it all. He had shone this little laser pointer light
on the wall in front of us coaches. He asked us to just watch it while he
talked. That's when he explained all. Now it was happening just like he
had said. All I had to do was reel them in.

Told the coxes that I could show them a few techniques I'd learned, but
I needed their full commitment. No holding back. No turning back. They
gave me that commitment. I knew they would. See, the coxes are
well-trained too. They're in control of the sweep and the eight rowers on
the water, and I'm in control of the coxes. They just want to be part of
the team too.

So I took out the laser pointer Doc had given me. I shone the little
red dot on the wall. Started trying to recite Doc's spiel the way he said
it. It was easy to remember, real easy. Just let it flow. Worked with
the coxes to get them relaxed. Saw it starting to work. Their eyelids
getting heavy. So relaxed. So focused. Reciting the words. The more I
talked, the more it seemed I was relaxing too, and that made it easier to

Sleepy. So sleepy. Hard to keep my eyes open. Coxes already starting
to close theirs. Had to keep the spiel going. So relaxed and sleepy.

That's when Alex, the varsity cox got up. Looked like he could hardly
keep his eyes open but he walked to the door. Opened it. Doc came in.
Everything was okay. Doc told Alex to sit down and close his eyes. He
told me to sit down and close my eyes too. So I did. Okay to sink into
sleep. Doc took over.


The cox used the laser pointer to shine this little red dot on the wall.
It's an intense speck of light, and the little stand kept it steady,
unwavering. With the locker room lights turned off right after that, that
light was piercing. It was like all we could see.

My buddy Jake--he rows Three--was sitting beside me and he poked me in
the ribs, making an "Ooow-ooooo" scary ghost sound, which made a couple of
the guys laugh.

Alex, the cox, ignored all that. He told us, "Look into the light.
Focus all your attention on the light. Try not to look away from it."

It was hard not to, because it was really intense in the semi-darkness.
One by one, the guys settled down and paid attention like he said.

"Okay," Alex continued, "now just sit there, maybe with your hands in
your laps or resting beside you on the bench. Relax. In a moment I'll be
leading you through a visualization exercise that will help you get in
touch with the subconscious part of your mind, and I'll be asking your
subconscious to respond appropriately to what I say to it. I'd like to
remind you through this whole exercise that your unconscious can watch and
understand what I'm saying in a way that's just right for you.

"Now, as you keep your eyes on the light, its particular shape, and feel
the sensations in your fingers, your unconscious notices other things like
the sensations in your toes, the sensations in your right ear and in your
left, and also in between--the feelings of neurons firing in new ways that
will help you learn, really learn, because your unconscious is the
storehouse of everything you've ever experienced. So while maybe you allow
your mind to wander, your unconscious knows exactly what is going on out
here. Your unconscious stores all of your memories, your experiences, your
training, in one place deep inside, the place where your identity lies, the
place where you can change, the place where you can focus on the
camaraderie that comes from being part of a team, part of a larger whole.
And as you explore that place now, your unconscious is paying attention out
here and presenting you deep inside that place with new experiences.

"So as your unconscious helps you experience that deep inner space in a
new way, you can notice the color deep inside the dot of light, becoming
more vivid, the sounds from outside can become more blurry, less distinct,
and the sensations in your fingers can continue to become more noticeable,
as your unconscious stays right out here, watching at all the right levels,
to help you experience new things and go deeper still now into that deep
inner space, into that place where your unconscious can continue to present
you with new experiences, new ways to find new ideas, new states and
possibilities. Perhaps you may find that your unconscious can help you go
deeper still, only as quickly as it continues to watch and learn, really
learn, how to help you notice all the wonderful things you are experiencing

"And as you experience that place inside, the place where you store all
your training, more fully experiencing the colors and sensations, so much
more fully, your unconscious is regulating your body and paying attention
to your safety. Your unconscious can notice as perhaps your breath slows
and becomes deeper as you go deeper still. Your unconscious monitors your
heart rate, continuing to keep you functioning perfectly now, and you can
just continue to experience that deep inner space, so much more fully and
vividly as your unconscious notices the fingers on your hands, and as it
does your unconscious can, only as quickly and as far as is perfectly safe
and comfortable for you, begin to lift those fingers and bring them
together. That's it. Let your hands clasp themselves together."


The team training sessions went just like Doc said they would. Just
like the cox training sessions. After the first couple of times, they all
started looking forward to it. Me too. It was so relaxing. Helped us
focus on what we needed to. It was good for the teams. Team-building. It
was working.

Pretty soon, like now, we started carrying that peaceful, focused
feeling into our workouts and into our practice sessions on the lake.
Staying so focused throughout. So intense. So focused. Following
instructions. Following.


I didn't really get what was going on, but I followed along anyway.
First Alex was telling us to put our hands together, like they were stuck
together, then he was telling us to try to pull them apart. Okay. So I
tried. It was hard--harder than I thought--but I managed. It was like
some magic trick: maybe you don't know how it works, but it works anyway.

On my right, from the corner of my eye, I saw Russell had his hands
clamped together. He was trying, but he couldn't seem to get them apart.
Oh, well--Coach had said this wouldn't work for everybody. On my left,
Jake managed to pull his hands apart, though it seemed even harder for him
than for me.

Alex was telling the ones who couldn't get their hands apart that it was
okay, and he was proud of how well they'd done. I guess that was the way
it was supposed to have worked out and I was one of the ones it didn't work
for instead? Alex was telling the rest that they could stop trying to
separate their hands and could just sit there quietly for the moment.

Alex said, "I know a couple of you almost couldn't pull your hands
apart. I know you finally managed to separate your hands, but it was hard
to do so, wasn't it? Yes, so hard. So very, very hard. Your hands were
clasped together, tighter and tighter, tighter and tighter, so tightly

Was he talking to Jake and me? I couldn't figure out what he was trying
to tell us.

Alex kept on, "And the more you listened to my voice, the more you keep
your eyes on the light, the more your subconscious took charge and the
tighter your hands clasped, just like they're trying to do. Clasping
together, tight, tighter still, and the tighter they clasp, the more you
focus only on the light and only on my voice. Listening harder. Clasping
tighter. That's it. Let them clasp tightly together."

I saw Jake's hand moving a little in the corner of my eye. I could feel
it starting to happen to me too.

"Focusing harder," Alex was saying. "Listening harder. Hands coming
together. Clasping, clasping so much tighter than ever before."

My hands were sliding back together.


Walking back toward the locker room. Every step relaxing me more.
Every step. Can't stop.

Whistle bouncing against my bare chest, every step. Silver whistle on a
blue cord around my neck--I wear it when I'm coaching. The coxes wear them
too, in case they need to get the team's attention, but theirs have gold
cords. It's a symbol. It means the coxes are in control of the team, and
I'm in control of them all.

Something about the locker room. Something special. We've become a
good team. Stayed focused. Had a damn good practice. Doc says there's a
reward for us when we get to the locker rooms.


I was kind of nervous, because I wanted this to work. I wanted this to
work because I wanted to be part of the team.

I didn't need to worry. Everything was better once I let go, let myself
slip down. The special training was working, all right. Every time, after
practice, when we'd gather in the locker room, when the cox turned out the
overhead lights and all we could see was the red spot from the laser
pointer--man!--when he started the induction, it was like I was being
sucked right into it. Fucking irresistible.


I didn't know what Doc had in store at first. Not until he had his
hooks in me, in all of us. Slowly coaxing us into it. Too deep to say no.
I didn't think about how much the coxes and the teams seemed to enjoy it.
Or how much I enjoyed it too. After a while, when the other stuff started
happening, they were really getting into it. They're just kids. I think
maybe they enjoyed that part even more than rowing practice itself.


We were coming back from practice. I guess this been going on for
several weeks now, the team training.

It was part of our routine now. We'd work out--either strength training
or erg training, on alternate days--then we'd hit the sweeps for some
practice time on the water. After that, we'd head back to the locker room
and shower. Then we'd all sit around in the locker room, and the cox would
walk us through the relaxation exercise. Sometimes it was Coach or Doc,
but usually it was Alex, our cox.

Last week, it was a little different.

We were jogging back to the locker room, with the coxes leading the way
and the rest of us following in numerical order, just like usual, from
Stroke seats down to Bows. As we got nearly to the door of the locker
area, Alex turned and stopped us with a sharp blast from his whistle.
Thrrr-EEEEEEEET! Man, that sure got our attention!

"Listen up," he shouted. "New routine. When I call your number, I want
you to drop and give me some pushups before you go in and hit the showers.
Today, the quota is twenty. Got that? Strokes! Hit the ground and give
me twenty. Now!"

And the Strokes, the guys who rowed in the first seat of each
team--varsity, JV, and frosh--up there in front by the coxes, immediately
dropped onto the floor and started pumping out pushups quickly while Alex
counted them from 20 down to 1. Then they climbed to their feet and headed
on into the locker room.

"Next up--Twos! Hit the ground and give me twenty. Now!"

There was something going on. The Strokes seemed different, a little
more subdued than before. I told myself that they were probably just tired
from their workouts.

The Twos got up, and they were moving kind of differently too. Slower.
Steadier. Like their minds were somewhere else.

"Threes! Hit the ground and give me twenty. Now!"

My buddy Jake rows at the Three seat, so he immediately hit the floor
with the junior varsity and the freshman Threes and started pumping out
push-ups to the cox's count. I didn't have much time to think about it,
because the moment the Threes were done, Alex shouted, "Okay, Fours! Hit
the ground and give me twenty. Now!"

Without thinking, I went down with the other two Fours.

"Twenty!" Alex called out as we pumped out our first pushup.


He was setting a quick pace.


Wait--what was I feel--?


No time to think--just do it.


Tugging sensation--back of my mind-


Like falling--or sinking-


Yeah, sinking-




Relaxing--felt really-


--really good-




--like the training-










--floating down-


--so focused-




I didn't pause. My body was already moving, on auto-pilot, jumping to
its feet as Alex called out, "Next up--Fives!" And my body headed on into
the locker room, flanked by the other two Fours, shedding clothes as we
went--shorts, sneakers, socks, shorts, then jockstraps--until we were all
naked. Everything in my head felt funny, distracted and fuzzy, but also
right, like this was the way things were supposed to feel. I felt really
good, really happy. It felt good to just follow the way things were
supposed to happen. It was like I was just a passenger in my own body, and
some other part of me was in charge right now and knew exactly what to do.
This new routine made me feel great, all over.

The Threes, including Jake, were standing there waiting for us. They
were already naked, their expressions looking both blank and blissful.
They were feeling what I was: we were a team. When I saw Jake, grinning at
me absently, something in the back of my head whispered partner, and I
walked up to him, and we ginned at each other, and we put our arms around
each other's shoulders, because we were not only teammates but also good
friends, and I never felt more bonded to him than that moment. I loved the
way our arms felt around each other, body alongside body. The other Threes
and Fours were pairing off too, and we all walked into the showers


I wear this silver whistle on a blue cord. It means I control the

I just stand there and watch Alex bark all the rowers through pushups.
We've been doing this for a week now. Our new routine. Doc stands there
beside Alex. His hand strokes the back of Alex's head like a new puppy as
Alex counts down the last trio of rowers.

Alex looks at us--the other coxes and me. He says, "Okay, hand 'em
over." He's holding out his hand. I understand. We--the junior varsity
cox, the freshman cox, and I--we all pull off our whistles. We hand them
to Alex. In the back of my mind, I know I'm handing him more than just my
whistle--I'm giving him all it represents. He is completely in charge.

Doc reaches for the cords to the coxes' whistles. He pulls them slowly
out of Alex's grip. I just watch him do it. I feel myself relaxing even
more. "Hand it over, Alex," he says. Alex's face is blank. He pulls off
his own whistle. Hands it to Doc. Doc is in control.

Doc says, "Hit the ground and give me twenty. Now!"

And it seems like such a great idea. All I want to do was crank out
some pushups. I'm on the ground beside the others. Muscles working in
time with Doc's count. It just feels so perfect. My head is going all
blurry. I can't think of anything else. That's okay, though, because I
didn't need to analyze. All I need to do are the pushups.

At the end, I stand up. The focused feeling fills me now. Just like
when Doc and I would have our private conversations in my office.

The locker room is a shambles of strewn clothes. Alex--handsome, blond Alex--he's standing beside me. Naked. Smiling. Waiting for me. I peel
off my shorts. I am the coach, and he is the varsity cox--together we
control the teams. We are partners. I put my arm around his shoulders.
His arm circles my waist. We walk together into the showers.


There are twelve shower heads, six along each wall, and twenty-six men already jockeying for a place under them when the coxes and Coach walk in.
Close quarters. Bodies touching bodies, washing each other in pairs. Jake
and I are under one of the showers, letting the spray douse our skin. I
have a bar of soap in my hand, and I begin working it over his chest and
arm. Others squeeze us out from under the water but that is okay. I
spread the lather across Jake's torso, marveling at how warm and alive his
skin feels.

I bathe him all over. This strange thrill keeps going through me when I
soap up his balls and his uncircumcised cock. I peel back the foreskin and
lather the head, making him gasp. He grins at me, so I know it's all
right. I pull him to me, and he sags into my arms, his back nestling
against my chest. I am taller than he, so I can look down over his
shoulder as my hand lathers his cock. As his cock begins to harden and
stretch. As my hand drops the soap and wraps around his meat. As my hand
begins to stoke it, slow and easy, slow and easy.

Jake sighs, grinding his body against mine, and I become aware of my
hard-on too. He winds his hand around between us, reaching for my cock
too. Coach and Alex, over there, are jacking each other off too. A lot of
the other guys are watching us. Everyone is getting hard. Alex and Coach
are setting the pace. Setting the example they want us to emulate. They
lead the team. Jake and I, the rest of us, we follow along.


All around us, guys are hard, happy, horsing around in the crowded
confines. No one seems worried about showing hard cock in the showers.
Russell's hairy chest and thick meat. Zach's long, lanky limbs and sleek
erection, and his partner Rod's sweet, sweet dick with the red head. Link
and Jake's beautiful body and the spike jutting out of his crotch now.
Something about them fascinates me. The bodies and the dicks. I just keep
looking, wondering what they'd feel like to touch. And taste. That
doesn't freak me out either. Not anymore. Seems perfectly natural.

And fun too. That's the most important part--it's fun to look at my
teams, to feel the slide of their wet skin against mine in the showers.
Holy fuck, I am ever horny!

I remember something Doc said once, how guys their age, the sex drive is
the strongest force in their psyches. The solution was so simple. He was
so right. Take control of the sex drive, and you take control of them.
Control how they express their sex drive, and you control their behavior.
Bring it into the team, and it becomes the glue that bonds them. They're
horny young men.

Horny. Damn, I am so fucking horny.

Alex. More beautiful than ever. I start smearing soap across his
shoulders and back. Most of the guys are hard, horsing around. Just guys being guys. Some are paired off and soaping each other up. Some are
laughing and cutting up and playing grab-ass or something. There is
tension in the air. Everything is potential, waiting for release, waiting
for something to happen.

I can't keep his hands off Alex's body. We're grinning at each other,
really into each other.

I'm hard. So hard. When Alex drops to his knees, some kind of electric
change went through me, through all the guys--I can feel it. They're all
looking at us--Alex and me, their cox and Coach. We lead. They will

Tingling in my cock, barely registering through this beautiful relaxed
and foggy feeling in my head. I look down. Alex kneeing in front of me,
his face buried in me crotch. Blow job! Yeah! He's giving me a blow job!

This "of course" feeling goes through my head. I can't believe how
obvious it was, and I hadn't thought of it before. I look around, and
there is the junior varsity cox over there, on his knees, worshipping
Zach's meat with his mouth, while his partner Rod stands right beside him,
stroking Zach's chest while he waits for his turn. And over there is the
freshman cox, with one of his crew flat against the tile shower wall and
squirming as he blows him. Alex and I lead. The other coxes follow us.
The crews will follow.

There's a ring of varsity crew around Alex and me, watching Alex suck my
thick cock like a pro. Watching Alex's hand roam all over my chest.
Watching my head fall back. I feel his tongue and throat massaging my
cock, and I'm so hard, so fucking hard. I need this blowjob so bad. I'm
moaning. This blissful feeling flows through my body.

"Oh, man," one of the crew groans. Some of the guys are stroking
themselves but mostly they are spellbound by the rhythm of my cock
disappearing and reappearing from the cox's mouth. Panting breath.
Running showers. No other sounds but the smack of blow jobs and guys jacking and moaning softly.

I look down and watch Alex work on my cock. Part of me can't believe
what I was seeing. Another, more in-control part says it's perfectly
natural. Horny guys need blow jobs. I can't look away.

I pull out of Alex's mouth, hand pumping at my cock frantically. I hear
this strangled cry from my throat, and my legs nearly buckle, and I shoot
my load all over Alex's shoulder and neck. Somebody whoops, and then we're
all yelling, and somebody congratulates me with a slap on the shoulder.o
I'm smiling. Alex, still kneeling and looking up at me now, so beautiful,
is smiling too. I'm feeling very drowsy, very relaxed and limp and
peaceful and vacant. Something in my head knows this is what happens after
a really great cum. That sleepy feeling guys get after they shoot.

I kneel beside Alex. One of the crew takes my place in front of Alex.
He smiles and his mouth takes the man's rod in. Around us, the other guys are watching, jacking off, and I don't care. There in front of me is
Russell, poking his stiff poker at my face, and it disappears into my
mouth. Russell sighs contentedly. My hand glides across Russell's hairy
chest, teasing his fur, tweaking his nipples, as my head bobs along the
length of Russell's schlong. My other hand works along the long shaft of
it, the part I can't fit into my throat.

Across the showers, one of the other guys was crying out as he shoots,
and then Russell was moaning, "Oh, fuck--gonna--gonna cum! Fuck! Fuck!"
And then his whole body is trembling and even though his dick is buried in
my throat I know he's squirting out his load. A salty, bitter taste.

Russell grins, looking all content and peaceful, and kind of blank at
the same time. He steps back. Then the ring of men is jostling, moving,
and another guy finds himself pushed directly in front of me.


With all three crews crowded into the showers at the same time, there is
lots of jostling of body against body. Usually guys go out of their ways
to not touch each other in the showers, but there are lots of accidental
touches of skin on skin, and that seems perfectly normal.

It seems like a good idea, so I start soaping up Jake's back for him.
He turns around, and I start soaping his chest, and he lathers mine. I'm
feeling playful, so I make a little mound of soap bubbles over each of his
nipples--soap tits--and he traces this curly tribal shape in suds across my
muscular chest. We're grinning--this is fun! A handful of soap in his
hair, and suddenly it is all spikes sticking up everywhere. A swipe of
foam on my chin, and suddenly I have a Fu Manchu beard. Rinse and start
over again.

All around us, guys are soaping their partners. Some are having fun
like we were; others are just getting the job done. Either way, it's
teammates pulling together.

Jake grins and points over my shoulder. I turn around and, when a
couple of guys move out of the way, I see ... Alex giving the Coach a
blow-job! Right there in the showers, where everyone can see! Alex with
his hand curled between them to play with Coach's ass too. sucking him off
like they don't care who watches.

And the guys are watching, all right. We're all staring at them. I'm
grinning, not really thinking or judging--I guess after doing those pushups
I still feel kind of zoned out. I feel Jake press himself up behind me,
his arm running along my ribs and down the ridges of my stomach, running
down into my crotch. Everything feels kind of abstract. My cock is
hard--when had that happened? Jake's hand wraps around it like an old friend. I watch as it begins to stroke me. I sigh and settle back against
his chest. His own hard-on pokes against my hip. I reach back and grip
it. The position makes it awkward but I start stroking at it in time with
his strokes on mine: slow and easy, slow and easy.

Somebody off to my left groans, and I feel something hot splat against
my thigh. I look over. It's my buddy Zach from the junior varsity team,
shooting his load and hitting my leg. I grin at him, and he grins back,
panting, clasping my shoulder for a second in a brotherly gesture before he
kneels and devotes his attention to sucking off his partner.

Over there, Coach is groaning and gasping, about to cum. Over there, a
couple of other guys are moaning and crying out, like their orgasms feel
almost too good for them to stand.

Behind me, Luke gives this low grunt, then another. I feel his hand
clamp around my cock as he body bucks behind me. I feel his cum scald my
back and hand.

Next thing I know, I'm feeling that familiar tightening in my balls, and
my dick is catching fire. Luke's strokes feel so good I never want him to
stop. My orgasm bursts over me, and I ride the crest of pure pleasure.
Through squinted eyelids, I see my cum arc out and hit the leg of the guy,
Josh from the freshman team, a foot in front of me, but I don't care, and
he doesn't either. He's getting blown by Rod from the junior varsity. Rod
is jacking himself off. Josh shudders and cums, and a second later Rod is
shooting off too.

I settle back into Luke's arms as I ride down from the peak of my
pleasure, and he holds me close, the comforting gesture of comrades. Then
we push our way under the spray of one of shower heads to rinse, as all
around us more and more of our teammates are crying out and cumming. Happy
and grinning at each other, grinning at our other teammates and them
grinning back. Luke and I head out of the showers, past Doc who is
watching all of this and grinning smugly, and we're heading out to dry off
and get ready for the after-practice mental training session.

This is going to be our best season ever!


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