Saturday, fight day, I woke erect, my room wreaking of cum, my jocks saturated with it. Tim filled my dreams all night. He was on me, sweaty and strong, controlling me. I couldn't tell if he was wrestling or fucking me but it was hot.
So much for abstention. I had read athletes shouldn't wank around competition time. The advice was to stay on edge, and angry, and use that to win. I resisted the intense urge to jerk off before sleep but Tim dominated my dreams. It was my fault though, I kept his dirty gym socks, the ones he placed in my gym bag. I used one as my cum rag and the other was by my pillow.
I needed to piss but I was still rock hard. My black jocks were bulging like never before. Was that me in the mirror? The gym was paying off, my 6ft 2 physique was well-muscled now, and my six-pack was coming on as well. More than anything else my cock was huge. Had excitement over Tim stretched it an inch or two?
Call it vanity, but I pulled my cock out over my trunks and stood there flexing my biceps and bouncing my pecs. At that moment I felt omnipotent, I could take Tim, have him, own him.
How could I take him though? I figured my height was an advantage, if I got behind him with a rear-naked choke, he would struggle below me. I could force him down, take his back, body scissors him too, and choke him into submission.
Tim would be stunned, he couldn't handle defeat, he would have to submit or it would be nap time for him. Once he submitted I would give him a taste of his own medicine, and subject him to a lengthy ordeal of physical and sexual submission.
I pictured him under me, on the ground after I had choked and body scissors him. My legs spreading his apart, his face still choked into my bicep. Would I make him jerk off or would I fuck his ass or both?
One thing was clear to me, I was feeling cocky, and this was going to be rough for Tim. Like any athlete waiting to compete, I felt nervous and excited. Preparation involved push-ups, squats, and a dumbell session. Followed by a protein-packed breakfast.
Tim messaged to say he was on his way over. It was time to set the room up. Fortunately, I rented the basement, it had a large sitting room and it led to a back garden. My flatmate went home at weekends, so it would be just the two of us!
I had two navy Adidas gym mats, soft enough to grapple on, I pulled the furniture away, clearing a perfect fight space. Plenty of water, food, gym gear, and condoms. Maybe I would fuck him bare though, and make him take the real thing!
Somehow I had managed to get my cock down, everything was ready, I went upstairs to watch out the window. Outside was beautiful, no one had disturbed the night's snow blanket. It was really quiet until I heard him stepping on the snow. No mistaking that physique from any vantage point. Tim was in his navy hoodie, big, wide, and hulk-like wearing his white rugby shorts, his thighs bulging with each step. He knew that display of leg power would freak me out. It did, I was hard again, my heart racing, a sense of fear too.
The bell sounded. I had to cover up with my grey track bottoms. I opened the door and he swallowed me with his stare. A look that was beautiful, youthful, rough, and masterful. He grinned: 'hope you're ready for me? I want a bit of a challenge?'
Words left me, I mumbled and welcomed him in. He sat opposite me and spread his legs wide. No matter how many times I had studied his legs, I never failed to be impressed. Perfection: thick, incredibly muscular, aesthetically beautiful, and covered with enough hair to state his manliness. No matter how hard you train it's impossible to match a lad with good leg genetics. Everything flows from strong legs even the production of testosterone. Tim had super perfect genetics and even before he ever trained, his quads, hamstrings, adductors, and calves were statuesque.
We made some friendly small talk but there was a nervous energy between us, part pre-fight nerves but mostly sexual excitement. I'm not sure if he noticed but he had his hands in his shorts and he was adjusting his package constantly. He reminded me of a jock version of some trackie lad with his hands down his joggers to state his manhood.
Tim wanted to see the mats. He was quick to tell me that's where he would throw me, dominate me, and own me. I suggested we needed safety rules. He grinned 'I figured you would, I don't need them because I'm not going to be at your mercy but I'm not some bully who's here to smash up my mate. So I agree on no striking, no choking out, no pounding or kicking or low blows. Remember one thing though this will be long and rough for you so last chance to back out now.
His words sent me into a kind of sexual high. I felt ecstatic at the idea of a long rough session with Tim. I was almost giddy with excitement and thrilled he had described me as his mate.
The truth was I liked Tim, he was funny, intelligent, good at woodwork and art, generous, and loved sports, Xbox, and the gym. We had a lot in common. But I loved his darker side too, his lust for physical mastery.
He was quick to strip off. The hoodie first, it hit me just how sturdy he was, how wide and thick his shoulders and back looked. His chest was solid and deep, his abs knotted with definition, his belly flat and firm, his arms bulging with vascularity. Every breath seemed to expand and glorify his physique. His white trainers were off next, somehow his Adidas white socks emphasized the strength of his feet.
