The Contestant

I heard from more of you about last month’s DJH story than any other post I’ve done. Pleased so many of you were interested in the narrative. I already had the following post--another short, short tale--planned, but we’ll get back to DJH soon.

*****

THE CONTESTANT

I arrived at the auditorium late, but Squirrely Jones had saved me a seat on the aisle down front. The Sci-Quiz contest was well underway, and I was sorry to have missed any of it. This match pitted Eastern science students against Central’s. Eastern was much larger college, but our guys and gals were a spirited group and were determined to redeem CC for its defeat by EC last year. I had helped tutor some of the kids in preparation for this eclectic quiz. A quick once-over of the six opponents seated at a table opposite our team was not too encouraging. They looked much more mature than our guys.

Squirrely, who took his nickname from some of the shenanigans undertaken as a student in this same college in the not too distant past, removed his eye from a camcorder and leaned over to whisper in my ear. The sharp smell of his aftershave made me dizzy.

“That guy on the end is giving me a raging hard-on. Would you look at what he’s doing with his leg? Oh, man!” That last came out as a moan.

I fixed my gaze on the kid in question. Kid? Okay, maybe. Upper classman, but probably a junior, not a senior. Looked like he belonged on a soccer field or a basketball court. Knitted shirt fit him like a body-sock, revealing more muscles that I realized the human torso contained. Coal black hair moved wistfully at the whim of the air conditioning unit. Snapping eyes that were probably dark brown. A devilish black-Irish face as beautiful as any woman’s.

But I saw what was getting to Squirrely. The contestants were seated side by side at a long, open table, and the kid in question was nervous. His method of dealing with it was the same as mine. He jiggled. He moved his knees up and down or wiggled his leg back and forth restlessly. This constant movement disturbed the substantial mass hidden behind the fly of his pants. But it was the wiggling that was about to make Squirrely cream. As the kid’s lean thighs opened, it pulled the material of his slacks tight, clearly outlining a solid hunk of sexy flesh. As he closed his legs, the outline of his cock disappeared, only to become evident again a moment later. It was a fascinating and utterly erotic thing to watch … spellbinding. If I stared hard enough, it appeared the boy’s cock was growing, that he was masturbating against his own leg without touching himself. He wasn’t, of course; it was an optical illusion.

Devon Bryant, according to the inked nameplate in front of him, seemed completely oblivious of the show he was giving. I glanced around, but found no one else with his eyes fixed on Bryant’s crotch and decided the display was only visible to a few seats in our vicinity.

“Oh, man, I can’t take this,” Squirrely mumbled, his camera back at his eye again, no doubt documenting the phenomenon.

“Just pay attention to the contest,” I whispered as I folded my hands in my lap for decorum’s sake. My growing erection was no mirage. With an effort, I turned my attention to the intellectual events taking place on the stage.

Our team was holding its own, but it was a close-run thing, and the opposing contestant hurting us the most was that handsome devil, Devon Bryant. I noticed that he only stopped that nervous tic with his leg when he was actually answering a query in a nice, throaty baritone; one that would doubtless grow deeper in the throes of wild sex.

Certain series of questions were answered in turn by members of the respective teams, but others were fair game for the first contestant to gain the attention of the moderator. Devon’s long arm had a way of attracting attention. Too much so. The contest ended with Eastern ahead by a hair.

Our kids were good sports and circulated around the stage congratulating their opponents. I sat where I was for a few minutes and watched the by-play. Bryant was busy accepting congratulations from his competitors, but after I cooled my tool and went up to add my plaudits, his wry smile let me know he was aware of what Squirrely and I had been observing.

“I’d like to see the video,” said in a raspy whisper. “How about this evening … in your room?”

I popped another bone. This time right in front of everyone.

*****

Hope you enjoyed. As I said, maybe next time we’ll get back to DJH’s story.

Please feel free to contact me at markwildyr@aol.com. Be happy to hear from you.

As always, thanks for reading.

Mark

New posts are published at the first of every month at 6:00 a.m.