Pete and I had just finished playing a couple of sets of tennis at the club and had sat down at a big courtside table for a beer before showering and leaving. Suddenly, five Latin hunks—all bulging muscles and steamy looks—descended on the court. We'd been told that members of a visiting Brazilian soccer team had signed up for the court after us, and I reasoned that these must be that lot. I could clearly see that they were all beautiful, with tanned hunky bodies and flashing pearly white teeth, as two of the Latin studs took to the court while the other three, after asking politely for permission in charming broken English, took the empty seats at the table Pete and I were sitting at. The three at the table introduced themselves as Filipe, Thieago, and Rafael. They told us the two on the court were the team offensive stars, Gustavo and Raimondo.
I quickly assessed all five and found them all to my liking—no, to my loving. I could already feel my cock stir. Gustavo was the only blond among the lot, and I wondered if he had some German blood in him. Whatever the case, he was just as heavily muscled and hunky as the rest of the lot.
Pete got a little peeved when he said he thought it was time for the two of us to hit the showers and I said I wanted to stay around and watch the Brazilians hit the ball for a while. Neither of the two on the court were all that good at tennis, but they were mighty fine-looking athletes and moved with the grace of dancers. I knew that most of Pete's peeve was because I was warming fast to these Brazilians and I had promised him that he could fuck me after our tennis session. He saw the opportunity fading fast, and, in this, he was quite correct. Pete was a honey, but I literally melted at the thought of these five Brazilian hunks surrounding me.
After he saw he was in a losing battle with the Brazilians, at least for today, Pete stood and leaned down before he left and gave me a possessive kiss on the lips, no doubt in a last-ditch effort to mark his territory. I could tell by the hissing of released breath all around us at the table, however, that his gesture had had the opposite effect. It had sent a strong signal to the Brazilians that I could be approached by any of them who might be interested--and they all started showing their interest as soon as Pete was gone.
Thieago and Filipe, who were sitting on either side of me, moved in closer, while Rafael, who wasn't in reach of me, sent me steamy looks and tried out his limited English in chatting me up. Between trying to watch the somewhat fumbling tennis match and responding to Rafael, I didn't notice for a bit that Filipe was running his fingers lightly along the hair of my forearm and Thieago had a hand gently placed high up on my thigh.
Rafael called out something in Portuguese to Gustavo and Raimundo on the tennis court, and all five Brazilians had a good laugh. For the few moments I was there after that, I noticed that Gustavo and Raimondo were investing more attention into looking over at the table now than they were in wherever the tennis ball was going on.
Filipe had tightened his grip on my forearm and the fingers of his other hand were buried in the hair at the back of my head. Just as he brought my face to his and engaged me in a searching kiss, I felt Thieago's palm cup my basket. He said something like "Yiy, yiy, yiy, and then a run of Portuguese, and all five of the Brazilians were laughing again. Their laughs seemed more guttural now than before, however.
