BateBook: All Male Fiction: The Other Football

By: Tommyhawk1

I was with a classmate in the front yard of the frat house, the two of us doing one of our practice exercises. Our footballs (soccer balls that is) were stationary between our feet, and he and I were hopping, alternating our feet on the top of the football, and trying not to move it in the process. It's a very necessary practice in controlling the ball, but of course, Cody and his buddies thought it was hilarious when they came running out of the house tossing their American football back and forth.

Cody was big, blond-haired, and was wearing some of his old high-school American football clothes, the jersey and pants without padding, perfect for a friendly game of football with the guys. Not that he needed the padding; he had muscles enough to fill out that jersey all by himself.

"Hey, Perry!" he called out. "What is this shit?"

"Just practicing football," I said. I was used to Cody.

"You look like a couple of marionettes dancing on strings," he chortled. His buddies laughed.

"You think it's easy, you come try it," I challenged.

"Nah, my sport is football," he said.

"This is football," I pointed out.

We weren't talking at cross-purposes here; it was more like a running gag. His sport was American football, and I played what was called "football" everywhere in the world except North America. I was born in the USA, but had grown up with my mother's family in Italy, so a football - okay, I'll call it "soccer" from here on out - had been under my feet almost from the day I was born. When I had first met Cody and he asked me, naturally enough, what my sport was - it was a sports fraternity after all - I had absent-mindedly said, "Football."

"Great, me too!" he said. "What position do you play?"

"I'm a halfback," I said, still not spotting my error in terminology.

"Me, too!" he said. "Left or right?"

"Left or right what?" I asked.

"Halfback!" he said. "Do you usually play left or right?"

"Center, usually," I said, mystified.

"Center?" Now he was puzzled.

I'll spare you the rest, but it gradually dawned on me. "Oh!" I said when I realized. "You're talking about American football! I was talking about regular football!" I think you can see how saying this to an American football player was a mistake. A bit of his all-American pride got injured, though you can see I was innocent of intending to offend him.

"I play regular football!" he declared.

"You play American-style football," I pointed out. "I play what you call soccer, but the rest of the world calls it football."

"Well, you're in America, so you'll have to call it soccer!" he announced.

I don't want you to think we were becoming blood enemies with all of this, we were actually laughing and having fun at this point; we liked each other right off.

"I don't have to do any such thing!" I said. "I grew up calling it football. I'll just call what you do American football."

"And I'll call what you play shit!" he said.

"It's pronounced soccer," I mock-clarified. "Can't you even get that right?"

"Shit soccer!" he declared. "A sissy game... real men play football."

"That they do!" I affirmed. "I'm just glad that you can admit it."

This went on for quite a long time more, both of us scoring pretty good points in the conversation and becoming friends in the process, and it had continued more-or-less right through to the present day.

When in our sophomore year, the seniors of the frat house had graduated and moved out and it was time to upgrade our accommodations. Cody and I ended up sharing one of the newly-available bigger rooms, which was only natural; we were pals by then. Except for this little mock disagreement on what the game of "football" was!

"Hey, Perry, can we play here?" one of the other guys asked.

"Sure!" I said. "We'll go around to the side." It was a reasonable request; the front yard was big and flat, the side yard was only some ten feet wide, but plenty big enough for our practice.

"Ah, just stay where you are," Cody declared. "You two can be one of our goalposts."

I have to admit, we were situated for it, right near one side of the yard as we were. "Alright," I said. "I can give you all a good look at how to play football."

The guys just laughed; our mock-feud was well-known by all.

I should have realized I had set myself up when he didn't respond, for my friend and I continued our exercises, me feeling that the background noise would help us work on our concentration when Cody came chasing a friend of his my way and timed it so that when he tackled him, he rammed the guy right into me. I was off-balance (of course) and went over with an "oof!"

"You bastard!" I said, getting up and dusting at my shorts. I had landed on my ass, only my pride was injured.

"Hey, watch our goalposts!" Cody said to his friend. "The score is now six to nothing, our favor."

"We'd better go around to the side," my teammate said.

"I think you're right!" I said, glaring at Cody. I wasn't really mad, but I was pretending to be. Well, maybe I was a little mad, at that.

"Aw, come on," Cody said. "I'm sorry. You guys go ahead. We'll be more careful."

"You fouled me," I said. "You can't tackle in football, you know!"

"Says you. Okay, so what's the penalty in that sissy sport of yours?" he said, standing there arrogant and proud-looking.

"I get a free kick at the goal," I said.

He looked surprised and then laughed. "Okay, I'll be the goal for you. You go downfield and we'll see how good you are!"

I went across the yard ("downfield") with my soccer ball and turned, and Cody was standing there with his arms up, making a goal... American-football-style goal, of course.

"Okay, let's see you put it between the bars," he said. "Only way to score a goal in football."

Now, in soccer, the goal is down on the ground, but I had done enough high kicks to figure I could make this "goal" at such a short-range, especially with no goalie trying to block my kick. So I just sized him up, made a run, and kicked the ball, but I wasn't used to trying for altitude, not with a ball on the ground, anyway. So I muffed it, and instead of it going between his arms, I got him right where it hurts. Unintentionally, honest!

"Hey, you got your goal!" my teammate said. "Right down the middle!"

But Cody was dropped to the ground and yowling.

"Damn, man, I'm sorry!" I said as I ran up. "Did you get hit that hard?"

"Yeah! Ow!" he groaned. "Help me back up to the room, okay?"

I took his arm around my shoulders, smelling the powerful raunch of his body and clothes. He kept his body clean, but he'd been sweating today and he smelled pretty rich. He limped back up the front stairs into the house. We lived on the third floor, but there was an elevator mostly used for hauling big stuff or by jocks injured in play, and we took that.

I got him back to the room and he said, "Man, it feels like I'm bleeding."

"Bleeding?" I was surprised. A soccer ball isn't that hard, but I didn't see any reason to disbelieve Cody.

"Yeah, man," he groaned. "Can you check it out and see if I'm bleeding anywhere?"

"Check you out?" I asked.

"Come on, man!" he begged. "I can't put a mirror on the floor and squat over it. Take a look and see if I'm broken open anywhere."

Only a roommate you'd had for a while could be asked to do that. "Well, okay," I said. "But you tell the guys and I'll give you a real sock-er in the balls."

"I'm not going to tell them anything," he said. "Come on, man, take a look, quick."

"Unfasten yourself," I said.

I watched him fight the tie he had at the fly, a ridiculous amount of lacing up the front of those pants, and he was wincing. "Ah fuck," he groaned as he winced some more, "can you do it?"

I nodded and reached my hand for the laces. He stood a little straighter, holding onto the desktop with one hand, while I fumbled the laces open, pulling at the strings to get them loose.

"Don't you wear a cup with these things?"

"On the field, yeah," he said. "Ow! Not for a friendly game."

"Well, you'll remember it next time," I said. I had the fly unlaced. "Now what, do I yank them down?"

"Please," he said. "Every move I make hurts."

Boy, I thought, I had messed him up! I grasped his pants around the waist and tugged them down. No underwear. He didn't have even a jock on, just the pants down and suddenly he was wagging free.

"Damn!" I said. "I don't see any blood. Maybe you felt some sweat dripping."

"Lift it up," he said. "I think it's underneath."

I didn't really think about it. Although no one knew, I was gay, so touching his cock didn't bother me in the least. Plus, his prick was so long that it did obscure his balls entirely. I grabbed it and lifted his balls up and free of his body.

"Ow, ow!" he said as they moved.

I knelt down, leaned under, and peered at the scrotum, the balls were large nuts dangling down, but the scrotum itself began to tighten up as I looked at it.

"I don't see any blood. Nor any bruises," I said, shifting my hand on his cock to get a better grip. It was moving on me, too.

I was concentrating on looking for injuries, so this went pretty far before I realized what was happening. I looked up and found that I had a hold of my roommate's rampant erection, standing fully out from his body, seven uncut inches of hard cock, and I had a hold of it.

"Are you enjoying this examination?" He was my friend; I smiled when I said it.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "Feels good." This was in a soft voice, unlike his usual cocky tones.

I stood up. "So, you aren't bleeding anywhere. You still hurt?" I still had hold of his cock.

"Yeah," he said, and his body kind of hunched into my hand, slowly, and I felt the velvety foreskin writhing from the steel-hard shaft inside of it.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Well," he sighed. "You could maybe rub it a while and make it feel better?"

"Isn't that supposed to be 'kiss it and make it feel better?'" I asked.

"Would you?" he breathed huskily. "Please?"

"I didn't really get you in the nuts with the football, did I?" I asked him.

"No," he said. "Just missed them, but I figured what the hell."

"And now I'm here, holding your cock," I said.

"And about to kiss it," he agreed. "I hope."

I smiled and knelt down and kissed that big, purplish-red head on the pale-white shaft. "Does that feel better?"

"A little," he said. "Could you do it some more?"

"Like this?" And I took his cock into my mouth, tasting the heavy, musky, sweat-salty skin as it slid past my lips and over my tongue.

Cody gave a long, low groan and I enveloped most of his shaft before his head hit the back of my throat and stopped.

I held on tight and smothered it with saliva as I pulled back out, getting his cock nice and wet.

"How about that?" I said when I pulled off of the cockhead.

"Oh, do that again!" he begged. "Please!"

I went back down on him, and his moans of appreciation were almost musical, and his piss slit was pouring pre-cum onto my tongue, a sweet-salty taste. I milked that hard athletic cock of his, looking up at his broad, strong body and the way he smiled down gently at me, enjoying his friend giving him such pleasure.

"Aw, Perry, you're so damned good at this!" he groaned. "I would have crawled in bed with you a year ago if I'd known!"

I pulled off his cock. "Wouldn't have done any good," I said. "I was a virgin last year. Only over the summer, I spent some time in Rome and was picked up by an American tourist for a few weeks."

"He taught you well," Cody said. "Come on, get back to work!" he urged me. "I need some more massage where I got hurt."

"I got hurt out there too, you know," I said to him.

"Huh?"

"When you knocked me down," I said. "I got hurt, too, you know."

"Want me to kiss it and make it better?" Cody grinned at me.

"You bet," I said.

"I'll lock the door," was his only comment.

I stood up and shucked my shorts the rest of the way off and lay down on the bed on my stomach while Cody locked our door and came over. "Hey, turn over," he said.

"That's not where I got hurt," I pointed out. "I landed on my butt, remember? So kiss it and make it feel better."

I expected a laugh and some closed-mouth kisses on my butt cheeks, maybe, then I'd roll over and let him suck me, and then we could sixty-nine. That was my plan, anyway.

Instead, I felt my legs pushed apart and then... "Oh my God!" I gasped. I'd been fucked once before, but I had never experienced this act before. And it felt amazing!

Cody had stuck his tongue right into my asshole! Right in, with me all hot and sweaty from the practice, but his tongue, a plump, soft probe, went right into my ass! He had a great deal of control over his tongue, he kept it nearly as hard as his cock, tensed into a round shape with a sharp point and that point drove into my asshole.

The second stab he made at me, I just relaxed my sphincter and he jabbed that tongue into me, sinking a good bit of the tip into my ass before he released that taut spear and went to licking the rim, those tender nerves that, by touching them with a warm, wet, delicate tongue, can be driven to deliver massive jolts of pleasure right to your brain, bypassing the cock but turning it rock-hard in the process.

I raised my ass up off the bed and he licked and probed at my ass with that talented tongue of his, and his hands stroked and coaxed me up higher, one hand reaching under to grab my cock and palm it, then pump me when I rose up higher, and soon he had me in almost an upside embrace, both his arms around my back, and my legs pressed against my chest.

He had me hitched up pretty high and I found it more comfortable to rise up onto my hands and let my legs hang where they would, and he lapped, licked, slurped, and pummeled my asshole with that tongue of his.

"Oh, God, Cody!" I groaned. "Come on, fuck me, buddy!"

"Can I?" he asked.

"Sure. Just... you got any lubricant?"

"Sure, man, I got some," he said. "You learn that over the summer, too?" he said as I heard his dresser drawer open and close, then the soft rasp of a tight lid being pried off. Vaseline, I guessed but didn't look to see.

"Yeah," I groaned. "It was a hell of a couple of weeks. I hated to see him go."

"Well, I'm glad he's gone," Cody declared. "Now it's my turn." And he climbed back into bed. "Turn over; I want to see your face while I shove it in."

"Okay," I agreed as I rolled over and up into his face, one arm of his down slathering something lube onto his cock.

Cody still hadn't undressed, too eager, and I was still wearing my yellow t-shirt and sneakers. But his body felt good even with those American football pants rasping the insides of my thighs, and then that rock-hard cock of his found my asshole and he pressed into me. His body arched backward as he pushed, and I looked into his eyes and smiled, hiding my discomfort as his cock entered my tight hole, and he grinned back.

When he got the last few inches into me, he lowered his body on top of me, resting on his forearms, and I wrapped my arms around him; his body felt so damned good, even covered in a funky, old, high school American football jersey, and his hands felt good even through my t-shirt.

When his lips met mine, it was electric. I can't say it any better. There was passion in that kiss, of course, but there was more, it was also the culmination of two good friends who had come to know each other very well so that we trusted each other entirely. And while my first (and only) time had been with an older man, gentle, tender and skilled at sex, a wonderful choice for introduction, there was this element he had been lacking, the meeting of two hearts, and the unbridled horniness of the hard, teenaged cock burrowing into your ass, fiercely taking you, demanding its own pleasure from you, and giving so unstintingly in return.

"Hah, ah, gah-hah!" I said as he began to hump at my ass, no slow beginning as with the Roman tourist, he was too driven by his sex-hunger to be gentle, and with my own need so imminent in my own body, no need for it.

Soon all discomfort dissipated and he fucked my ass lustily, as the bed bounced and squealed with his energy, for Cody had muscle and it came into play in his game, and it came into play now. He turned his entire store of youthful vigor into this fuck, his cock drove into me and flung itself out to be rammed in again.

If my ass hadn't been bruised by the fall, it would be now, for his hips slammed against them again and again, and I poured my own athletic prowess into the fray, catching the frenetic tempo and matching his thrusts with thrusts of my own, clutching his cock with my ass muscles, so that he was not just fucking me, I was fucking myself on him and milking at his cock, my groans of pleasure from his cock matched by his groans of pleasure from my ass.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!" he grunted, his words echoing from his lips like from the depths of a well. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah! Oh, so tight and so good, yeah so fuckin' tight, so fuckin' tight, yeah, yeah, yeah!"

"Uh, come on, Cody, fuck me hard!" I gasped out, rough sounds of command. "Good and hard! Fuck, yeah! Harder!"

If he had been forceful before, he turned his full fury on me now, released all constraints on his body, and now he was driving into me and the bed was a fury of bouncing, bounding bodies of Cody and me, two young guys in full, frantic, wild motions of body-joy!

"Oh, God, Cody, I'm gonna cum!" I groaned as my climax built in the back of my brain.

He grinned an open-mouthed grin of pleasure and enjoyment, pleasure at my pleasure in there as well, and he grunted out, "Yeah, cum, shoot it, man, shoot it!"

"Ah, ah, ah!" I groaned, clutching to him hard, trying to crush him flat against me in my need to get closer to him. Now I had him so tight that his face was down, with his chin on my left shoulder, and he was grunting into the pillow, a muffled sound, but the sounds and his body told me that he was reaching his own orgasm, and I wailed my joy into his ears as I reached my peak.

I shot my load in between our writhing bodies, and as I poured the hot cum onto both of us, he gave a strangled groan and with a "hmph, hmph, hmph!" being his only sound, as he hunched into me with slower, harder thrusts, until his body clenched tight in every muscle, and his cock emptied its load into my ass. A massive flood of cum washed into me and then out of me again to pour onto Cody's balls and onto the bed with every movement outwards of his pile-driver cock.

As his orgasm ended, Cody sagged onto me in a heavy, hot, dead-limp weight, gasping for breath, his lips near my ear and his chin dug into my collar-bone, a wet-sounding blowing and heaving of his lungs, "uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh!"

Well, buddy," Cody said after a time. "You feel better now? We get all that soreness worked out of you?"

"You bet," I said. "How about you, did you get enough massage on your poor, injured dick?"

"Yeah, well, for now," he said. "I might need a follow-up treatment or two."

"Or three or four," I agreed with a grin.

Cody returned my grin and then said, "We'd better get back downstairs before everyone wonders where we are, and comes looking for us."

"I guess you're right," I agreed and got up, pulling my shorts back on.

"Care for a game of football?" he asked as we headed back downstairs.

"Which one?" I asked.

"The real football," he said.

"Sure, only I thought you played the other football," I said.

"You play the other football!" he retorted.

"I do not!" I protested. "Over six billion people can't be wrong!"