Contest For Conquest

The thrill of the pursuit and the contest garnishes the victory. I've found that anyway, as have a few of my peers. It's a time honoured tradition; the stages of life, the rites of passage, the movement from being the young sought after lad to becoming the mature seeker.

Martin and I are now in the latter camp. We met each other back in 1999 when we were both 18. He was and is a grappler; a student back then, a coach now. An achingly attractive young jock in anyone's books when I met him. I was a pretty twink with the kind of centre parted floppy hair that was popular in the 90s. I was lean with a firm teen ass. But he was shredded. We got down to fucking pretty quickly after making each others' acquaintance. And we've been on and off fucking ever since.

As I say, Martin is a coach and in great condition. Much fitter than me. We're both at the bar most Thursday nights for the hot young college talent. We both pursue the same lads; college twinks. We've shared some of our conquests and those occasions are the best. Fucking a sweet 19year old arse while Martin gets himself served by the top half is immensely satisfying. But this one, this barely 19year old boy-god switched the tables good and proper.

His name was Nathan and he was of model good looks; sandy haired, sallow skinned, rake thin yet toned, and an incredible butt. A college boy of course. Suitably edgy and giving the impression of a tendency to navel-gaze, if only to add to his 'mystery'. He was all round delicious and me and Martin were aching for his arsehole.

Now, that would usually mean Martin got it first being the fit guy he is. And on this occasion I was pretty certain Martin would be in there before me (if I even got a shot at all).

Having courted this fit babe and gotten him back to the apartment (mine as it happened) we were looking forward to a night of sweaty indulgence with the lad.

"I want to see you fight for it first."

That was the lad's bizarre request, although the way he said it it sounded more like an order.

"what'ya mean "fight" for you?" said Martin.

"i mean I want to see you guys work your middle aged arses a bit to get a shot at this fine young piece of man-meat. I think you should be willing to do battle over such a prize. So c'mon, let's see you dads get down to it. Strip!"

Martin and I, dumbfounded though we were by this outlandish (yet thrilling for all that) scheme, readily obeyed. We both stripped off and stood there before our new twink master in all our naked glory like two gladiators preparing to fight for the emperor's favour.

Nathan stripped too, but only down to his boxers. He wasn't going to even give us a preview of his goods before the contest. We both looked longingly at those red-checked jocks, imagining the stinky, sweaty boy package they contained. Then we got on the floor and face each other across the rug.

We were both rock hard now, though not of course primarily for each other. It was a laugh and we were already well on drinks-wise, but it wasn't entirely without a real sense of contest; whoever made the other cry mercy would win first (and possibly only) access to the treasure of this beautiful boy's junk'n'pucker. I looked across at Martin in all his ripped magnificence and doubted I'd last five seconds. We engaged.

As it turned out, Martin had had a bit more vodka than me and that was to his disadvantage. We grappled, rolled and slapped as the lad towered over us watching us sweat and scrap for his favour. Martin slipped and lost balance for a moment and I managed wrap my legs around his head. He was done. I squeezed.

"aggghhhh! Fuck you!!!..... okay mercy, mercy!!" cried Martin.

I released his him, red and sweaty from my hold. I had won! And against the odds.

Still on my knees, Nathan approached me and pulled down the boxers to reveal his immaculately smooth, tight young ass. Here before me was my prize. I dove into that exquisite boyhole with my tongue, while Martin fumed on the floor beside me. I shifted myself to further block him, and shoved out my own arse, offering him something of a consolidation prize. He grumbled, but accepted and was soon rimming me like in the good ol' days.

We shot our seed before the lad, accepted the hot frothy mess of his on our faces, and lay finally down all panting, all satisfied, and all friends- new and old.