Author: Landon Dixon

Matt dove onto the bed closest to the door. “This one’s mine, buddy-boy!” he yelped.
I stacked my bag of hockey equipment on top of his and said, “Whatever.” Matt and I had roomed together for the entire tournament, but this would be the last time; we’d snagged third place in the hockey tourney in the afternoon and were flying back to the States the following morning – and from there we’d disperse to our various college teams in the northern US.

Tonight, therefore, was my last chance to put the moves on the fast-skating, hard-checking puck hunk – to deke around his macho defenses and slide the rubber into his reverse fivehole, bulge his twine, so to speak.

He stretched out, folded his arms behind his head, and looked at me. “So, dude, what shall we do tonight?” He glanced at his watch. “It’s only … holy shit, it’s only four o’clock! We got tons of time to party before curfew.”

I dragged a chair in front of the TV, grabbed the shoebox-sized remote off the top of the set, and plunked my ass down in front of the thirteen-inch screen. “You still haven’t adjusted your timepiece to Swedish time, like I told you to do the first day we got here, brainiac. It’s six hours later than the States – ten o’clock.”

He hopped off his bed, belly-flopped onto mine. “You serious? I knew I kept you around for a reason,” he laughed, then sat up and slapped me on the shoulder. “Okay, dude, commence pointing and clicking. We’ll watch some TV before lights-out.”

I looked at him for a moment, looked at his big hand where it lingered all warm and hard on my shoulder, warming and hardening my own appendages. Matt is my age – eighteen – but that’s where the physical similarities end. I’m tall and lean and dark-haired, with pale skin and blue eyes – a finesse-type player. Matt, on the other hand, is short and thick and strong, with golden-brown skin, blonde hair, and hazel eyes – a banger and a grinder, but a talented stickhandler nonetheless.

And after countless shower rooms, dressing rooms, training rooms, and hotel rooms during the course of the two-week hockey event held all over Sweden, I felt like I knew every nook and cranny of the hunky guy, and could anticipate every move he was going to make – both on and off the ice.

“You just want to watch TV?” I asked, staring at him hopefully, trying to transmit a lusty message from my brain to his.

He glanced at my beaming eyes and said, “‘Course, dude. What else?” The differing European electrical system had obviously screwed up my All-American vibe. He snatched the remote out of my hand and powered on the TV.

“Okay,” I shrugged. “Guess I might as well get comfortable, then.” I stripped off my shirt and shoes, leaving only a loose pair of knee-length shorts between him and my wicked, curved blade. “It’s hot in here, huh?”   

“Mmmm,” he mumbled, impatiently waiting for a picture to materialize. When it finally did, he started briskly flipping channels, showing off the lightning-quick reflexes that had netted him five goals and three fighting majors during the tournament.

“Doesn’t look like there’s much on,” I remarked, edging my chair closer to where he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, it is hot in here, dude,” he replied belatedly, and shucked off his duds till he was wearing nothing more than the tight, white briefs that he slept in.

I ogled his smooth, buff body. His thighs were thick and muscular, like mine, from endless hours of skating, and his pipes were bulging with muscle, as well. His abs were chiseled, his hairless pecs two rounded mounds that were bigger than some girl’s tits, and his nipples were large and brown and succulent-looking. My open mouth almost watered my chin as I eye-fucked the sculpted stud.

“This piece of crap only gets four channels,” he complained. “What say we check out some of the in-house adult offerings, eh dude?”

I reeled my eyeballs back in from the pleasant lump in his Jockeys and said, “Sure, whatever.”
He spent the next five minutes trying to figure out how to access the triple X channels, and then, when he finally did, he tuned into one previewing a no-holds-barred man-on-man movie. Yes! I thought, grateful that the Swedish people were so open-minded. Two studs, one black, one white, were frantically frenching each other like their tongues were on fire. And when the camera panned back from their pretty faces, we could see that they were standing in the middle of a boxing ring, and the gloves, like all of their clothing, were off.

They were both well-built dudes, and they both had a hold of each other’s long, thick, gorgeous cocks.

“Holy shit!” Matt yelled, laughing his head off. “Anything goes around these parts, huh?”
“Viking power …” I murmured, my eyes glued to the red-hot tube. The black guy kissed and licked the white guy’s neck, then dropped to his knees on the canvas and began to work-over his buddy’s rock-hard cock with his loving hands. He stroked dick and bounced balls while the white man jumped and groaned, muttered something Scandinavian yet universal.

“You don’t wanna watch this, do you?” someone asked from far away.
“Huh? I, um …” The hard-bodied ebony god jabbed out his ultra-pink tongue and sucker-punched the bloated head of the ivory god’s cock.

“Hey, dude, don’t tell me you’re into this stuff?” a vaguely familiar voice said.

The kneeling black beauty caught his muscular friend’s swollen dickhead in his hungry mouth and started sucking, popping the handsome, purple cock-top in and out of his crimson mouth, lightly clipping it with his dazzling white teeth. He stroked the gasping guy’s giant rod, swirling his dark hand up and down the huge, pink hard-on, while he sucked and bit and tongue-slapped the clean-cut hood.

My languid thoughts slowly drifted back into focus. “What? No … I-I’ve never even seen junk like this before,” I stammered, lying big time. My hard-drive at college was littered with more gay porn clips than the floor of Jeff Stryker’s barber’s shop. “I’m, um, just … you know, curious.”
“Well, I am into this stuff,” Matt stated frankly.

I watched the hunk on his knees suck the other hunk’s nine-inch ring-post into his mouth, and then bob his shaved head up and down on it, get a good cock-sucking rhythm going, his cheeks billowing in and out like after a hard workout, his thick lips gliding easily back and forth on the glistening cock. And then I finally clued into what Matt had said, and jerked my head around to stare into his warm, sparkling eyes. “You’re into …” I began excitedly, then let my jaw hang open and my words fade away as I watched him stand up, pull down his briefs, and grab his awesome cock in his fist and start pumping.

“Yeah, I like dudes,” he explained nonchalantly, expertly tugging his hardened meat. “Always have. Don’t you?” He sat back down on the bed, and while he polished his long, wooden stick with one hand, he reached out and covered my thick shaft with his other hand. “Feels to me like you do,” he said, grinning.

He leaned in and kissed me on the trembling, tingling lips. “I’ve noticed how you’ve been watching me,” he breathed into my mouth, before replacing his words with his tongue – parting my puffy lips with his slippery, pink spear and banging it up against my tongue. He rubbed my throbbing schlong while he erotically explored the damp interior of my agape mouth with his searching sex tool.

I could hardly believe what was happening! My own game plan was out the window now – he had connected first with a beautiful pass – but that didn’t hardly matter. I grabbed his head and mashed my lips against his, frenched the hockey-crazed stud ferociously. Our joyful tongues danced together, slapped briskly against one another like two opposing stick blades at face-off. We frenched and frenched and frenched, painted each other’s red, full-bodied lips with hot saliva, and then Matt slid his hand into my shorts and made skin-to-skin contact with my raging hard-on. His hot touch sent sexual shockwaves rippling through my body, my head spinning off into orbit. I was actually swapping spit and swiping tongue with my fellow puckhead while he fondled my dick! It was sporting heaven!

He pulled back, tugged his hand out of my shorts, and said, “Stand up.”
I stood, and he gripped the sides of my shorts and pulled them down to my ankles. My seven-inch pecker pronged out and stood at rigid attention like the national anthem was being played.
“Now sit down and take it like a man,” he said.

I sat, and he got on his knees in between my legs and grabbed my straining prick and started stroking. “Fuck, yeah,” I groaned, as he pumped my engorged dong with his big, sure hand. I held onto the bed and stared fiercely at him, at his handiwork, at the TV image of one guy giving another guy a truly blistering bj.

He followed my eyes over to the television and said, “Time to get real, baby,” then lowered his head until his pouty lips kissed the tip of my pulsating cock.
“Suck me, Matt,” I moaned. “Suck me.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, dude,” he said, then stuck out his tongue and licked my super-sensitive hood.

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