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Locker Room Circlejerks

Chapter 3: Weight Room Hours

I thought about the "contest" for days. Loser licks balls. I kept building the lineup in my head at night when I was in bed: Tommy's heavy nuts, Joey's crotch with the dark bush climbing his stomach, Yates's big pale shaved balls and his heavy cock that hangs over them, and me at the end of the row with my smooth balls and my one proud little bush.

My dick wasn't going to be getting any bigger before the contest. But there was one room in that building where guys did get bigger. The whole team practically lived in the gym, and I had never once walked in, even after several pestering invites from the other dudes. I barely knew which end of a barbell to hold. 

So after practice one day, instead of clearing out with everybody else, I walked into our weight room, keeping my chin up to pretend like I wasn't nervous to try it out. 

I timed it for when everybody else had cleared out, cleats fading down the hallway toward the parking lot, so nobody would see how bad I was at it. It smelled like rubber and old sweat in there, and my footsteps echoed off racks of plates I had no idea how to use. I picked out a bar, and confidently started doing something wrong to it. I figured if I couldn't win the contest, I could at least start getting ripped, like guys are supposed to do.

What I didn't count on was who else stayed late in that building.

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I was a few reps into whatever I thought I was doing when Tommy's voice came from the doorway.

"Stop. Oh my god, stop."

He crossed the room, still in his practice shirt, sweat darkening the chest of it, and lifted the bar out of my hands like it weighed nothing.

"You're gonna fold your spine in half, freshman. And if anybody from another school sees you lifting like that, it embarrasses all of us. The whole program."

"My brother never took me to a gym," I said. It came out quieter than I wanted.

He racked the bar and showed me where my hands belonged on it, spreading my grip wider, pressing my shoulder blades flat with one big palm. On the next set he stood behind me with both hands on my hips to square them, and every rep out of the bottom pushed my butt back into him. He still smelled like practice, sweat and grass. 

"You didn't shower today," I said.

"I know," he said, "I was gonna do it after this. Sorry I probably reek."

I almost said I didn't mind it. A part of me wanted to say I liked it. But something held me back from saying anything.

I started slowing my reps down just to stay there, and my dick thickened a bit in my shorts, and I had stopped thinking about form entirely when Yates walked in with a shaker bottle, his blonde curls showing under his backwards cap. I straightened up quickly and clanged the bar back onto the rack.

"You're teaching him squats first?" Yates said loudly. "Freshmen start on bench." 

He set the bottle down and came over to fix my grip.

"I got him," Tommy said, and stepped between us to square my hips himself.

In the mirror on the wall, I saw them share a look behind me, Tommy's hands still parked on my hips, Yates a foot away with his hands on his own, and his jaw moving as he chewed a piece of gum. Neither of them moved for a second. I sensed a bit of... rivalry between them?

Yates loaded a bar on the rack across from ours and lifted facing me, his plates clanking loudly, like he wanted me to look over. I could see the muscles in his jaw clench as he kept chewing the gum. He looked like a model from my vantage point. His eyes found mine over the top of every rep. 

"Elbows in," he called between breaths. 

"His elbows are fine," Tommy said, but he nudged them in anyway. 

They traded corrections over my head, and I felt like each of them wanted me as a special project. Tommy's palm flattened my lower back while Yates told me to breathe at the bottom, neither of them saying one word to each other directly. Between sets I sat on the bench with my water and watched them both pretend not to watch each other.

"Can I ask something?" I said, looking at the ceiling. "All the stuff in the locker room. The jerking off, the dick touching and stuff. How did that even start?"

Tommy looked at Yates. Yates glanced back at him.

"It just kinda happens, I guess," Tommy said, shrugging.

 It was the first thing they had agreed on.

"Yeah. Team stuff," Yates said. "Nobody really plans it."

"Huh," I said, and got back under the bar, and both of them reached in to spot me at once.

Tommy reset my hips and shoulders on every rep of that set, his big palms shoving me square, and halfway through it I got hard under the bar again. He looked right past it, and so did Yates, and so did I. A couple stragglers passed the doorway with their bags on their shoulders, and one of them yelled that Tommy had "adopted a puppy". I felt myself blush, while neither Tommy nor Yates seemed to react at all.

They moved me to the bench after that. I lay back on it and Tommy stepped up behind my head to spot, which put his crotch right over my face, the mesh of his shorts hanging close enough that I could smell the practice still on him. Every rep, the bar came down and his bulge filled up my whole view behind it.

Yates planted himself at the foot of the bench with his arms crossed, looking at me. 

"Breathe out at the bottom," Tommy said above me.

"He knows," Yates said.

I pressed out another rep and tried not to think about what was hanging over my nose.

"So, freshman," Yates said. "You ever suck a dick?"

I nearly lost the bar. Tommy's hands hovered under it without touching it.

"What? No."

"There's one freshman every year," Yates said, chewing. "One who's down for everything. Whole team figures out who it is by like week two."

"Usually sooner," Tommy said.

I racked the bar and stayed flat on the bench, breathing hard, the steel still ringing in the hooks above me. Neither of them stepped back. Tommy stood over my head and Yates stood at my feet, and both of them looked down at me without saying anything. From my back I was eye level with Tommy's bulge, that heavy mound filling out the mesh of his shorts, close enough that his practice smell drifted down over my face with it. When I turned my head the other direction there was Yates's too, his big shaved package pressed up round and obvious behind the thin fabric. I looked at one, and I looked at the other, slowly, dragging it out, letting them both watch my eyes do it. My own dick was tenting my shorts by then. I didn't cover it.

Yates's dick flinched under his shorts. One visible jump against the fabric. He kept chewing his gum.

"I could probably learn it faster than I learned squats," I said.

Tommy laughed. Yates didn't.

"You'd choke," Yates said, quieter now, staring down at me.

"He said that about the bench too," Tommy said, and the two of them locked eyes over my body for a second.

Tommy pulled me up off the bench by one wrist and threw a towel at my chest.

"Contest at next practice," he said. "Don't embarrass me there too."

"Don't embarrass us," Yates said, and picked his shaker bottle back up.

I understood the implication now. It wasn't about winning the contest. It was about how I performed afterward.

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I got home that night, got through dinner without saying anything weird, and locked my bedroom door.

I pulled up porn out of pure habit, the same girl-bent-over-a-couch stuff I always watched, and I realized in seconds what my eyes were actually doing. They were on the guy. His forearms, his grip on her hips, the flex in his thighs when he bottomed out. I kept wondering if he smelled like Tommy had smelled at the squat rack, a whole practice sesh's worth of male sweat.

I turned my phone off and dropped it next to me.

I lay back on my bed in the dark and finally admitted it, alone, with nobody around to clown me for it. I wanted them. The dudes, not the random excuses that made it normal when eleven other guys were in the room. I wanted Tommy and Yates, specifically, on me, touching my body, with the door shut. 

Every "no homo" rationalization I had been running in my head since the first game imploded at once, and honestly it was a relief.

I pictured Tommy bending me over that bench and actually fucking me, his hands squaring my hips with every stroke. I pictured Yates standing at my face, chewing his gum with his arms crossed, feeding me his big, shaved, pale-pink dick while the two of them talked about me over my head. I touched myself while I imagined them saying, "he's good at this," and "he's our special boy," and "he's fine, I got him."

My dick was releasing gobs of pre-cum already against my stomach.

I grabbed a tennis ball off my floor, lay back down, and wedged it under me, right up against my hole. It was better than nothing. I pressed back onto it and rolled my hips in slow circles, the fuzz dragging across my skin as the pressure added some of the feeling I was fantasizing about. In my head, it was the fat head of Tommy's dick pressing at me, asking to come in. My free hand found my nipple and pinched it, something I had never done before, and a wire of pleasure shot from my chest straight down into my dick. A whimper came out of me, which was also new.

There was a pencil case on the stand next to my bed, one of those round, plastic tubes, and I grabbed it without thinking it through and pushed it into my mouth. My mouth stretched wide around it, already hurting my jaw, while my lips sealed on the end of the cylinder, drool running down against my cheeks, and in my head Yates gripped the back of my skull and said there was "one freshman every year".

That did it. I squirted hard onto my chest and stomach, several long, warm pulses coating me, the first one reaching my neck, my hips bucking up off the ball and slamming back down onto it.

I kept the case in my mouth.

I dragged my palm through my own load, wrapped my wet fist back around myself, and stroked straight through the oversensitive part, breathing hard through my nose around the plastic while I attempted the rare double orgasm with no break in between. I ground down onto the ball and pinched my nipple until it stung, picturing both of them above me at once, and the second climax built faster than it ever had before. 

When it hit, it hit with the same force as the first, my legs straightening out flat, my toes curling, a long moan humming into the pencil case. Less cum this round, same earthquake in my body. It dribbled hot over my knuckles and pooled in my bush.

And that emptied me out completely. I lay there with cum cooling on my stomach, the ball still parked under one butt cheek, my jaw aching around the pencil case.

Sleep started to take me, and the case slipped loose out of my mouth, rolling until it fell off my bed and hit the floor. 

I closed my eyes as I heard my pencils and things scatter everywhere across my room.