Confessions of a Gay Rugby Player (Charlie Harding Presents) (3 page)

Chad's inner Boy Scout takes over. Seeing that my need is desperate, he wastes no time in taking my hand and pulling me over towards a dark corner. As soon as the darkness envelops us, he leans in and kisses me. His lips are rough, chapped, manly, and he tongues deep into my willing mouth. I reach around and grab his ass with both hands, grinding my cock against his. Chad has an incredible ass: round, hard, and, I imagine, perfect for fucking. In a flash, his hands are down to my crotch, as he unzips my fly and reaches in to grab my rapidly engorging cock.

I break our kiss and blurt out, "Hell, Chad, at least buy a boy a drink!” He says nothing in the dark. "But, don't stop."

Like I said, my need is desperate and my protestations are only for appearance. When in Rome and all that kind of thing! Right?

One good turn deserves another, so my hands reach down to unbuckle and unzip him. “Let me see what's so dangerous that you need to keep it locked away.” I pull out his cock, taking note of its size and the fact that it’s nicely shaved. We stand there, kissing and yanking each other’s cocks in the dark. The feel of shaved balls is really something. His mouth tastes of whiskey, and I quite like it. I also love a well-groomed cock and nut sack. There is nothing worse than nut stubble.

Chad lets go of my hard cock, takes the hat from his head and pops it onto mine. For a split second, I wonder what he is going to do, and then I realize, as he heads down onto his knees. His broad tongue is all over my cock, licking from the base of my shaft up to the tip. My eyes close as my senses focus on the pleasure that fills my body. He reaches in to pull my balls out to join my cock. His tongue expertly works on my shaft and balls. Chad takes one of my balls into his mouth and very gently rolls his tongue over it, then repeats this with the other, all the while tugging on my hard meat. In my fantasies, I always figured that cowboys would be born cocksuckers. The way I see it, the more masculine you are on the outside, the more likely you are to be a total submissive on the inside. This cowboy sure didn’t disprove my worldview. After making my balls suitably wet and tingly, he moves back to my shaft. I seize the moment, grab the long blonde hair on his head and stuff my cock deep into his throat. He takes my unsubtle hint and gets to work, like the true, born cocksucker he is.

Maybe it’s all the porn we watch these days, but what man does not enjoy holding the back of a cocksucker’s head as he gets busy? It just feels so right. Nobody can see us in the dark, but I still ham it up. Any wrong moves, and a sharp tug of his hair puts him right. Let’s look good for the fantasy audience. "Just like riding a horse, isn't it?" Which is quite appropriate when getting blown by a cowboy.

What a way with words I have. Maybe, I'm a poet after all?

My cowboy cocksucker varies the suction he applies, changing the pressure and the pleasure he gives me. I’m feeling very horny and very aggressive. After four hard days of testosterone-fuelled sport, I'm in desperate need of man sex. I pull on his hair and take control of this blowjob. My upper lip curls as the pent-up belligerence takes over, and I start to throat fuck him very hard. Deep long thrusts into his mouth; I want to feel his lips all over my shaft.
I want, I need, I must.
Right now, I'm so horny that I'd love to fuck him right here and now in the shadows, but that might not be the cleverest of moves. This blowjob will have to do.

Chad struggles to keep up and synchronize his breathing with my thrusts as my balls slap against his chin. When my cock hits the back of his throat, I feel him gag. That only encourages me to face fuck him harder.
God, I need to come.
He has earned a split second to compose himself, as I nearly pull out of his mouth before stuffing it deep into his throat again. His hands have long since moved from my balls to my ass. I can feel a finger at my asshole.
Thatta boy, Chad.
Even as he struggles to stay on my bucking bronco cock and is hanging on for dear life, he is able think about giving me the most pleasure he can. His fingers dig into my hard buns.
Hold on tight, boyo!
Those cowboy skills are coming into good use. I’m impressed, and I don’t spare him one bit. He must have sucked a fair bit of cock back in Texas. Of course, he's a cowboy. All the lonely nights out on the plains with the other boys....

Brokeback Mountain
comes to mind.
Yeehaw baby!
Why do we always think in clichés about the Yanks?

My breathing gets heavy, and my balls feel like they are tightening up, the tell tale signs that I'm about to come. I’d love to see my cock shooting all over his face, but the dark corner we’re in doesn’t allow me to view my own erotic encounter. Instead, I opt to give him a mouthful of my spunk. One hand grips his hair tightly, cocking his head to one side, my free hand grabbing the base of my shaft. I stuff my cock into his mouth as deeply as I can, and as deeply as he can take it, before I erupt. My body is throbbing with pure aggression and need. With one last almighty thrust into his throat, I start spurting spunk into his mouth—shot after shot into his mouth, and down his throat. Chad gags, but I don’t release my grip on him. I can feel him coming to terms with it, and he purrs with delight on my cock as he succumbs to the pleasure of being a come whore. My hand squeezes the base of my shaft to get every drop out of it, and I pat his head to let him know I’m done.

Wow, I really, really needed that. For some reason, I decided years ago that I would abstain from sex before a big tournament. Let the aggression build up, and then take out my rage on the opposition. So now, my balls are filled to the brim with come that needs to be deposited into hot holes.

As Chad slowly stands up, I pop his white hat back onto his head and put my spit-covered cock back into my shorts. He leans in, tilts his head and gives me one last, lingering kiss. I can taste my sweet load in his mouth. “In Texas, that’s how we ride ‘em.” I make a mental note that I really do need to holiday in Texas. With that, my lovely cowboy sorts himself out and strolls out from the dark into the light. A nice hook-up, but I still have another man on my mind, and I still have so much more seed I need to plant.

The hunt is back on, and I head upstairs with Tonio in my thoughts. That man is going to be mine before this night is done. He must be somewhere in the mass of half naked men on the dance floor, since my search of the mezzanine levels turns up empty. I go downstairs to wriggle my way onto it and see Sean locked together with a hot, black guy from San Fran. If you can't beat ‘em, fuck ‘em! Good on him. He has always had a thing for black guys. Says he loves the taste of their skin.

Moving about the dance floor in a dance-walk-gyrate, I bump into a few hook-ups and lads I know from previous tournaments. We do “hello” dances together and share a couple of laughs. After a few beers, everyone is lacking subtlety in their conquests. We eye each other up like prize cattle at the Mullingar Fair. Who has a hot ass worth riding?

Cormac, our captain, is dancing on one of the raised platforms overlooking the dance floor. The man is a legend—six foot six and over two hundred and fifty pounds. The man is the fecking Hulk, only ginger, hairier, meaner, and a total power bottom. How did we ever let a bottom be a forward? Oh yes, he scares the fuck out of us. Like I said. Legend.

He drags me up to join him. I’ve no choice in the matter, and so up I go. My hands are in the air, and the music takes over my body, though I still scan the club for Tonio. There he is, looking right back at me. I smile a beckoning smile.

Must look sexy, must look sexy
. Do I look sexy, or do I look like I'm having a stroke?

I make myself taut to show off my bruised abs and thick pecs, making sure to keep eye contact with him.
That’s it. Check me out, dude.
This bizarre mating ritual will be the death of me.

Seems that I am not the only one trying to bag Tonio. Another guy is making moves on him. A guy in London colors squeezes up next to him and gives him the ‘lets fuck’ dance. Time to make my move, or my opportunity might be lost. I jump down from the podium and start to dance my way over to Tonio, doing a gay moonwalk of sorts. He can’t be more than ten meters away when Stefan intercepts me.

Stefan is an old ride of mine from the Copenhagen team. He is incredibly hot and, like most Europeans, he is a horny, twisted fuck. He is so hot that he gave me crabs
twice
. A man has to be hot to go back for that kind of thing. But variety is the spice of life, and I want me some hot Latin ass tonight. Stefan grabs me and very sexily rubs up against me, his hands on my ass and his hard cock against mine. Fuck! He really is a hot fuck, but do I want crabs a third time? No. I'm on a mission, but his hot Nordic features and an ass that cannot get enough cock sorely tempt me. He wraps his arm around my waist and shouts over the music, but it’s so loud that I can barely hear him. I give him a friendly smile and shrug and point to my ears. He nods knowingly and just gives me a full on kiss. Not kissing him back would be rude, so we explore each other’s mouths with the skill of old lovers. I eventually pull myself away from him, though, and give him a playful slap before I carry on my way. Stefan doesn’t seem to mind. Surely, he knows we’ll meet up again.

Looks like Tonio has gone. He’s not where I saw him last on the dance floor. I’m pissed off that I may have missed out on him. Fuckety fuck! Time for another beer, which I eventually get from the busy bar. It’s five deep with customers, and everyone wants to be served already as of yesterday. My teammate, Cahal, gives me a slap on the back, as I contemplate whether I missed my chance with Tonio after all.

“Conor, ye bollix, some hot guy from the San Fran team was asking after you.” My eyes light up when I hear this.

“Who was it?” I hope for the answer I want to hear.

“His name was John. I think he’s their captain.” I remember now that I said I would catch up with the San Fran captain after our game. We’d promised to share a few beers after the tournament.

“I’ll go find him.” With that, I leave Cahal and head over to the lounge area.

Neither Tonio nor John is anywhere to be seen. Damn it. Oh well, there is always Stefan, I guess. I turn around to leave the lounge room, and there’s my Latin hottie just next to the doorway. I must have walked right past him in my search. Tonio looks so sexy, but he’s with the London guy he danced with earlier. I fix my eyes on him and tilt my head. My look says, “What the fuck are you doing talking to him, when I am over here?”

The eye contact lasts a few seconds, and I think he gets the message. Oh yes! He makes his excuses to the London guy and waltzes over. Like the cat that got the cream. Or to be more precise, like the flanker who took me down, after I was a total bollix to him all game. We immediately embrace and share a 'knowing' laugh. He had damned well nearly cut me in half with a tackle this morning. The laugh we share is in recognition of the mutual respect we share as competitors.

“Hey man, be gentle. You nearly broke my ribs today.” There's nothing like a bit of flattery to get into a man's pants. Embracing him gives me a chance to really feel how broad and powerful his muscles are. He smells hot, a mix of man musk and sweat. At this moment, I thank my lucky stars for being in a gay rugby competition. Life is really damned good.

“You got up. That’s what counts,” and he pats my ribs reassuringly. “You don’t seem broken.”

“No, I think I’ll survive. You guys had a pretty good tournament.” Tonio’s team had gone on to win the senior cup after beating us. Respect is due, though my motives are entirely dishonorable. "You played very well against us this morning."

"That was a tough game, man. You Irish sure know a few tricks. I think that's the first time I've had my balls grabbed on a rugby field."

"Poor you. You've really been missing out."

"You reckon?"

"I sure do. You haven't lived until you have been groped during a game."

"I'm going to have to take your word for it."

"We can do a re-enactment if you want." We’re both silent as we size up each other and what I just said.

Eventually, Tonio breaks the silence. "I'm sure we could work something out. You could show me a lot of things, I'm guessing."

My smile says it all. I could just say to him I want to fuck him, tell him I want to take him back to my hotel, strip him naked and pound him like a Christian brother does his students: relentlessly and remorselessly. However, I settle for “let’s dance” instead.

We head down onto the dance floor, which is now heaving with sweating men, and we let the music fill us with euphoria and take our minds off the bumps and bruises that cover our bodies. It’s getting incredibly hot in here, and it’s not long before I take my shirt off and tuck it into my shorts. Tonio gets the idea straight away and does the same with his tank top. His hairy chest is fucking hot, manly, and muscular. I'm going to fuck him so hard. Tonio sees the fresh bruises on my ribs and gives them a gentle rub, mouthing the words “sorry” to me. My cock throbs to his touch. I smile back my encouragement, and we keep dancing. Our bodies are soon covered in sweat, and we need to take a break for some fresh air. We make a beeline for the outdoor terrace and find a spot to sit on the floor amongst the other couples flirting and groping each other in the dark of the night.

“Wow, it’s pretty hot in there,” I say, as I wipe the sweat from my brow.

“It’s pretty hot out here too,” Tonio replies with a cheeky grin.