Stories : The Jockstrap Party
I was in the locker room with my trainer, after a hard workout. P.J. never charges me for keeping my lazy ass in shape. He said it was due to the fact that we were both mixed breed, gay guys, who had to have each other’s back. I am half, pasta and cream sauce loving, Italian and half Argentinian, with a caliente temper. So, I have to work out to burn all those homemade Ravi calories off, my tall good-looking, Mediterranean and Latin body. P.J. is half, drink like a fish, Irish Catholic and half, from da island mon, Jamaican. He has quite the body and personality which keeps him very busy training all the Atlanta elite, from reality stars to rappers and, of course, gay men at the hottest gym in midtown, located in Ansley Mall. “Mi have a surprise for you, after mi get showered,” smiled P.J. as he saunters off naked to the showers.
“I’ve had that big pinga of yours many times. So, that is not a surprise unless you’ve wrapped it in pasta dough and smothered it with hot Alfredo Sauce,” I holler back.
He is so messy, always dropping his work out shorts, jockstrap, muscle shirt and kicks, for me to pick up. I think he knows my nose for smelling his sweaty, hot pheromones as I pick up his jockstrap and place it under my nose to inhale deeply, just as if it were a fine Italian wine. Except, no Montepulciano aroma gives me the hardest dick like the aroma rising from P.J.’s jockstrap, so much so, I have to grab my towel and hit the showers, quickly. I believe it’s his uniquely aromatic scent that keeps folks dialing his cell for another training session. Which he reminds me, costs those rich folks, “el mas dineros!”
That’s why I share my Mom’s homemade Italian feasts with him and my hot, Latin bubble butt, or if he’s in a real hurry, I just drive around back of the mall and give him head until he cums deep down my throat. I have a taste for that, too. My Italian side is so overwhelmingly dominant, that I am what some researchers call a taster. My taste buds love anything from garlic to pesto to habanero to lime and, by all means, salty-tangy cum.
After we shower and I clean all our stuff up and place in our bags, P.J. hands me an envelope saying, “Ah, open it mon.”
“Aw you shouldn’t have boo, is dis a sweet card professing your love for me?”
“You best be openin’, mon, before mi give it to anudder one of mi pretty gay bredren.”
Inside the envelope, is a card with seven, hot men wearing only jockstraps. When I open it up it’s an invitation to one of those sex parties that the ATL has become famous for throwing. This one is by invitation only and is a fundraiser to buy Christmas toys for tots whose folks are ill or have died from AIDS. And the requirements are to come prepared to wear only a jockstrap while at the warehouse venue and to bring one-hundred dollars’ worth of toys or a Benjamin to get inside. All else will be provided, drinks, food, condoms, lube and various areas set up for whatever you get in to. Wow, I love these parties and it’s all for a good cause.
“Is this my Christmas gift from the hottest trainer I know?”
“A nuh mi, give Christmas gifts, unless it’s this buddy hangin’ low in my jeans,” P.J. said as he grabs his freshly showered dick.
“Are you going wit me or do I do this party on my own?”
“Mi a go wit you, ah, mi be takin’ your phat ass shopping and you must be wearin’ the jockstrap mi pick for you. A nuh mi go wit no skettle.”
“Mi no understand skettle, mon,” I looked perplexed.
“Ah, mon, you know like a cheap slut,” P.J. laughs back.
A big smile crosses my face as I imagine me and P.J. looking through all the sexy jockstraps that, The Boi Next Door, has to offer. I’m sure we’ll stir up a crowd there as we try on jockstraps and model for each other. We’ve shopped there before and I thought the uptight queen working the register was going to ask us to keep it in the small dressing rooms. He was just jealous that we could have all those heads turning trying on swimming trunks. Me with my shapely, bubble butt and P.J. with his huge pinga that makes gay men either drool or wish they had the same asset. I’ve taught my trainer, friend and cohort in crime how to say some Latin idioms like, “Chupa mi pinga,” when we get disrespected for our ethnicity and he said just that to the queen at the counter. For those of you who do not speak Española, that means, “Suck my dick!”
On the day of the party, I have much to accomplish. I want to wrap all the toys I bought in festive Christmas paper saving the receipt to prove I spent more than a hundred bucks. I was like a kid in a candy store. I have to find the right color sweat suit that will coordinate with the jockstrap P.J. bought me. It’s like none other. Black with yellow letters like you see at a construction site, “Proceed” is written on the thick top, front waistband and “With” trails down both slim straps going around the legs and, finally, “Caution,” written on the main cup that holds my jewels. He said it looked great with my skin color, but I was a bit hesitant to wear it because my booty is my best attribute. He just laughed and said, “Ah mon, mi see dat phat ass is bear, no one will miss dat,” and proceeded to slap it loud in the store causing heads to gawk.
I’m really getting excited and restless waiting for P.J. to come by my place and get the party started. We promised each other that we would model our straps privately getting high off what P.J. calls a spliff, which is just a huge blunt in American slang. That’s the pre-party with some sexual warm-ups, I hope. I’m getting aroused thinking about him in his black, felt sweat suit sporting the red and black striped jockstrap. He said it was his only holiday party, so he mus star dem threads. Or something like that, I’m getting better at the Jamaican slash English he speaks. “Him can be my star any day,” I laugh to myself.
I ring P.J. up on his cell to find out what’s taking so long and he picks up beating me to the punch, “Mi soon come, Mascot.”
I try in my best Rasta voice to respond, “Lang time mi a wait, mon.”
He barks back, “Lang time you gonna chupa mi pinga!”
“Well get here, mon, so I can get a taste of your sweet man juice,” I plead.
“Stop being a pussyhole, Mi in your parking deck, mon.”
P. J. struts in my door with more smooth than the soft, felt sweat suit he’s wearing. I hand him a cold beer and give him a big hug trying to pick him up, but he’s so solid and wearing steel toed black leather calf boots that he manhandles me easy and twists me around starting to grind on my bright yellow, soft cotton, sweat suit. Damn he feels soooo good! We wrestle around for just a minute until he has my sweat pants down around my ankles. I can’t get away from him or I’ll trip on my pant legs. He’s playing with me and demands, “Mi wanna smoke dis spliff, so get a lighter bitch!”
I can’t move however cuz’ he has me tangled up so I bend over in his face and say, “Mi have your split right here, Ba Fongool,” throwing some dirty Italian his way.
P.J. can get freaky at times. He takes the beer bottle neck and licks it shoving it in my ass crack. I holler as if it was a huge dick and we both start laughing before we even smoke the blunt. He turns me around and makes me drink from his beer bottle and lets me loose saying, “Mi want the lighter now, mascot.” In Jamaican, mascot is like faggot or sissy.
After getting well lit drinking three beers and smoking his huge blunt, P.J. gives me his private strip tease better than most of those dudes at S.R.’s He looks so sexy in his red and black striped jockstrap. Making me put some cash in his strap as he pulls out his dick waving it in my face, I begin to smell his scent and stand up because I need to adjust my hard dick in this crazy jockstrap. He turns me around to spank my ass saying, “Na mon, you have to learn how to have sex with dat strap on. You and Mi are going to a jockstrap sex party. Leggo Chi-chi man.”
On the way from my apartment in Buckhead to the warehouse venue in West Midtown, P.J. opened up and told me that this party was going to be the bomb. He said one of his “gay bredren” trainees got him the two tickets that were selling for two-hundred a pop for exchanging a week of training fees. It will be a very large warehouse with any type of sexual activity you can imagine, completely decorated in fine fashion. I was really getting worked up and told him I felt very privileged to be going with him. He laughed and told me not to get mushy, but, here get busy while I drive. He pulled down his sweat pants releasing his big pinga from his jock so I could suck on it to warm him up for what was to come. I love that dangerous position of his cock in my mouth while he speeds through Atlanta traffic in his sporty Range Rover, not knowing where were going until we get there.
Arriving around midnight, we got through the gift giving and were given a glass of champagne, a locker key to hold our sweat suits and instructions that this was a safe sex party and would be securely watched. There are plenty of condom and lube stations placed throughout the warehouse, so if we planned to fuck some ass, we best roll one on. P.J. chuckled and said, “Mi plan to fuck this phat ass Mi brung!”
I could not believe the variety of jockstraps that were being displayed by hot, in shape, horny, gay men. My two favorites were the football jockstrap that you had to lace up the cup and the blue body fitting strap that wrapped around the neck and down the middle, between two gorgeous pecks, on down an eight-pack to the cup which held a fine set of jewels and then ran up the ass crack back to the neck. The see through net strap was hot, also. The only one I thought was a bit gaudy was just simple black straps with a faux fur cup. The guy called it his caveman hunting strap but was obviously not catching much with it.
We hit the bar and food area first, where they had angel like guys suspended from the ceiling in gold sequined jockstraps, low enough that you could grab some hot ass while you enjoyed a drink or feasting on a well catered, long table of food. In the very center, was a table with a tall, blonde lying in the middle with dessert food displayed all around him and guys would eat their dessert off his six-pack or wherever they wanted. He had gorgeous feet and two guys were licking whipped cream from each toe. It was unlike any sex party I’d been to before, truly something for all to enjoy. We quickly threw back two shots of Patron and then P.J. went over to the dessert table and lathered my ass with whipped cream munching, licking and making my hole so wet that I just wanted his big dick inside me. But that wasn’t the plan. As if we were on a dance floor, two guys asked P.J. if they could break in and he obliged. He stroked his cock while one brother lathered my ass again with sweet whipped cream and his cute freckled, red-headed buddy pulled out my dick and poured hot fudge sauce on it and sucked like the pro he was. I was in hog heaven, being blown by a hot, young kid and my ass eaten by a brother who had a very long tongue.
After this food for all, I needed to take a leak. P.J. did, too. The brother who had been eating my ass told us to follow him. We wrapped around the other side of the warehouse to an open area which had two big drains in the floor and gathered around those drains were men, on their knees just waiting for your piss. So, we let them have it all over their face and chests and they couldn’t get enough. They even sucked our cocks to clean off any dribbling leftovers before we left that area. I’m not into being fisted, but I’ve always wanted to watch this freaky activity, so we stopped for a while and saw three guys in slings getting fisted like there was no tomorrow. Big bowls of lube sat in that area, but no Crisco, like the old days. Several guys just watched and jerked off their dicks into the waiting mouths of the fellows being fisted. P. J. was so turned on that he pushed me to my knees and fed me his cock, face-fucking me furiously.
“What is next?” I giggled to myself, when I heard from across the warehouse a spanking sound. P. J. grabbed me and our new friends, the red-head and the tall, brother followed us to the sound coming from the torture chamber area. When we stepped through these chain-links suspended from the ceiling, I couldn’t believe my eyes. On one wall, a skinny, dude was hanging by his balls in this leather harness while guys just walked by slapping his nuts hard. He seemed to love it. Not me, I have very sensitive low hangers. In the center of this station, four guys were bent over a pool table being spanked royally by these mammoth brutes that have fat, black leather, paddles. Asses were red and on fire and to my surprise when the guys were finished getting there asses whipped they walked away from the table with big old hard-ons. One came over to me and after looking at my phat ass, he said I should try it, “You’ll come back for more, no kidding.”
P. J. heard this hot Latin boy and I could see he had a plan up his sleeve. He walked over to one of the paddling brutes, whispering something in his ear. They came to some sort of agreement that included me. “Oh Shit!” I hollered as the brute gave P.J. his paddle and came over to me, picking me up over his shoulder and carrying me to the pool table.
Before I could say spank, I was spread out on the pool table with my phat ass for all to see. The brute punisher wanted some P.J. pinga and dropped to his knees, pulling it out and sucking it deep down his throat. Then, suddenly P.J. started spanking me with that leather paddle, easy at first, building up gradually, until my ass was jiggling and on fire. The sound echoed through this area of the warehouse, bringing lots of hot guys to watch. I saw that look on P.J.’s face meaning his first nut was about to explode down the brutes hungry throat. He stopped paddling me saying, “Mi tink you should turn over, Mario.”
With exhilarating pain, I rolled over displaying a hard-on that was oozing pre-cum. Suddenly our two new friends jumped on the table releasing my dick from the strap. The red-head starting sucking me off like no other and the tall brother was feeding me his dick, upside down, into my mouth. Damn! Bam! I shot my load down the freckled-faced boy’s throat as P.J. emptied his balls into the hungry brutes’ mouth. Finally, our new friends jerked hard and shot their loads over my chest and face. As I came back to my senses, I saw that many guys were losing their loads watching all this hot action, either down a willing throat or onto the concrete floor.
Taking a break, filling our guts with shots of Patron and spicy, steak-filled burritos, with our new buddies, James and Terrence, by our sides, we ventured off to the area where there were plush-cushioned pillows all on the floors and in the center a huge condom and lube bowl. James and I went and picked out the right condoms for each of our buddies; while they got settled on cushions waiting for our booty’s to return. When we got back they had made a plan, no doubt. Terrence grabbed my ass and moved it onto his face as P.J. did the same to James. They both rimmed us royally until we couldn’t wait any longer. We rolled on the condoms, lubed up their huge pingas and sat down on them, riding higher and higher. It was hotter than the ATL in mid, July. James leaned over and kissed me deeply while P.J. did the same to Terrence. We must have fucked for hours. Changing condoms and swapping partners many times. I think we all came at least two more times during this mass orgy-like, free for all. I do remember a guy checking on us with a flashlight to make sure we were fucking, safely. So, James and I rewarded him by sucking, simultaneously, his dick while he stood over us looking around the make-shift, tented Arab style fucking area.
What a way to bring in the holiday season! We exchanged cell numbers with James and Terrence as we all stumbled back to our rides, in the early morning light. And according to P.J.’s friend, over two-hundred kids were given toys for Christmas from this fundraising event. Not just one toy, but many for them to open on Christmas day. Speaking of toys, I left out the toy area at the party, by mistake. But in red stockings you could find all sizes of dildoes, double-headed or vibrating. Fleshlights, nipple clamps, cock rings, blow-up dolls, tickling whips, ball stretchers, gag balls, butt plugs, latex shorts and partridge feathers in a pear tree. Happy Holidays!!
David W. Bradburn aka dwb42461