Reaching for Gold

"I've gotta get out of here for a while. Blow steam off. And not on the rings either."

"I'd like to go check it out too, Jim. But you know what Coach said. No drinking and no sex till after Friday."

"But that's five days from now. I'm gonna go crazy. OK, if we can't go out, come here. I've got something for you."

"No, Jim. Coach said no sex. Do you think it's any easier for me than for you."

"We could just go and sort of, you know, case the scene out there. Who knows, it might be a dive, with no one there. Maybe not even any of the other Olympic athletes. The Filipino diver told us about Destinations. And he told us the best way to get there. He said there were a lot of built guys there. We could just look and, you know, possibly shop for later. You don't have to do it in secret here in China. They tolerate it."

"Yeah, but if Coach found out, he'd at least separate us," John responded. "It's not the best thing to be doing back in Canada. They'd all be looking at us for that, not for what we do on the mats."

"Come on. If we can't fuck at least we can go to this Destinations club and check out the talent. If it's good, we'd be ready for a blast there after gathering up our medals on Saturday."

"You know that's not going to happen. After the team event on Saturday, Coach is just going to go all stringent on us for the individual events next Tuesday. We medal on Saturday, we've got to stay straight for Tuesday. And this is what we came for. We can hold out through next Tuesday."

"Speak for yourself, John. I'm bustin' and I'm going to go check that club out." Jim stood up from the bed in their somewhat cramped two-person room in the Beijing Summer Olympics Olympic Village, pulled a T-shirt over his head, and headed out the door.

A minute later, he was back at the door of the room, saying in a loud whisper, "Christ almighty, John, you gotta come see this."

John stood and went out into the corridor. Their dormitory was cut up in suites. Two double rooms and a single opening on to a small living area. A kitchenette in one direction, the communal bath in the other.

Jim was standing away from and at an angle from the door into the single room, the one that was occupied by the Filipino diver they'd met earlier in the day. Thus far they hadn't met the guys assigned to the other double room.

The door to the Filipino's room was open, and John heard familiar sounds coming from inside the room. The small Filipino diver was on his back on the bed, naked. A big, hairy bruiser, all muscle and cock, was standing between the Filipino's spread legs and pistoning his ass like a jackhammer. There was another burly guy there too. Both of them appeared to be from the Middle East and their physiques indicated they obviously were Olympians. And both were nude and obviously aroused. The second guy was standing beside the bed, cupping the Filipino's head in his hands and face fucking the diver. The Filipino was gurgling and moaning and seemingly having a ball. The two bruisers appeared to be even more happy. They were laughing and hammering their hips and flexing their bulbous butts with every stroke.

Jim and John watched for a few minutes from the shadows of the corridor. At length, John whispered to Jim, "OK, OK, I'll try out this club with you. Can't very well stay around here with this going on on the other side of the wall. God, I'd like to be in the Filipino's place now."

* * * *

"Twins, aren't you?"

Both Jim and John were having trouble focusing on the question. Both were in shock. They'd been staring at the two guys at the bar from the moment they walked into Destinations. And that likely was why the two had sauntered over to Jim and John's tables, swaggering like they were the best meat in the room, and turned chairs around and sat down on them, straddling the chairs with their beefy legs, crossing their arms comfortably on the backs of the chairs, and giving the two Canadian young men possessive looks, already undressing the two gymnasts in their minds and slapping their legs open. Jim and John's stares were taken as the two Canadians wanting it. That's the connection most guys came to Destinations to make.

"Yeah, right. We're from Canada. The Olympic men's gymnastics team," John said. He was the first one to recover. These guys were the spitting image of the two they'd seen fucking the Filipino diver before they walked south of the Olympic village, into the center of Beijing, in search of the Worker's Stadium. This was where some of the Olympics would be held, but it also was close to the Destinations club, they had been told—and had found to be true.

"Ah, good," the other guy said. He was leaning into the table, close to Jim. He'd laid a hand on Jim's forearm and Jim looked nonplused. John knew that Jim thought these guys looked very familiar too. They certainly were forward. In Canada, John would have liked that fine. Both were hunks as well as hulks. Sultry Mediterranean looks, great bodies, and just ugly enough to be intriguing. In Canada, when he wasn't in heavy training, John would have been happy to sit on the cock of either of these guys and wrap his legs around his waist in an instance.

"My name is Yakup," the one close to John said. "The ugly guy over there, he's Nazim. Turkish wrestlers. Good enough to win medals. You two want to wrestle? We've never done twins before. Same mat, same time? You take cock, yes? We don't have time for wrestling for who takes the cock. You got rubbers? We got the ones they left in the room for us, but we've used them already. They must not have expected real men." Yakup laughed and gave John a fake sheepish smile, which John thought was charming.

"Not this week to most of what you offered, I'm afraid," John answered with a light laugh. "Nice proposition, though. We're in training for our first events on Friday. No booze, no wrestling, no what wrestling could lead to. Yes, we both prefer the bottom. And, no, we didn't bring condoms. We knew we wouldn't need them tonight."

"No booze? No sex? What kind of athlete is that? Yakup and me. We have to have sex before we wrestle. It makes men of us. We become invincible. No sex? Who tells you no sex before events? We do sex, we get a medal; we each fuck you both, maybe we get two medals. We come back and let you touch them and we fuck you again. You two look like you make good sex." All four laughed, the Turks a bit more heartily than the Canadians. It was the other guy, Nazim, who had said that, so both of the Turks were being direct, probably thinking from the looks they'd gotten from across the room that preliminaries weren't necessary. They were both smiling—they both had good smiles—and were jolly and refreshingly open about it all. Nazim had a hand on Jim's thigh under the table—and he hadn't removed his grip from Jim's forearm. "What's that you're drinking there? We've got Tsingtao. They're giving the beer away for free to Olympians here. It's good stuff."

"Orange juice," John responded. "We're drinking OJ. Like I said, we're still in heavy training. No booze till we get our medals."

"Heavy's nice. I could show you something heavy," Yakup said. One of his hands was below the surface of the table too. And what he was feeling wasn't just John's leg. "I've never done twins before. We could have fun. Nice. You let me take it out and let me hold it?"

John wasn't surprised about the twins thing. He and Jim had done doubles before. And he'd really like to do doubles with these Turks. They were so straightforward and open about it. It was refreshing. He and Jim wouldn't have any trouble with that. They'd been raised together—and in isolation and under heavy training regimes. They'd both shown as promising gymnasts early in life, in Montreal, and had immediately been regimented and cut off from most of the world. They'd just had each other to grow up with and to experiment with. They had masturbated together when they'd reached that age, and their first serious sex was with each other. When they'd gotten too good for what the gyms in Montreal could provide them, they'd been moved, together, down to the Parkettes National Gymnastics Training Center in Allentown, Pennsylvania, to train with the teams from the United States and other countries. It was just the two of them there, and when they went cruising, they often were fucked together. The guys they went with often found that a turn on—just like the two Turks making the moves on them here.

"Gymnasts you say?" Yakup was asking when John told him that, no, he couldn't pull John's dick out. Yakup didn't take that as a refusal to continue playing with it through the fabric of John's pants, though.

"Yes. You have a gymnast on your Olympic team too. Ahmet Ergin. Ever heard of him?"

"Yeah, sure. I know Ahmet. Ours is a small team. But I don't know much about him. He's stuck up and standoffish. Thinks he's the answer all women are looking for. He any good?"

"Yes, he's pretty good," John answered. What he didn't say was that Ergin wasn't just "pretty" good; he was the best. Both John and Jim saw him as competition for the all-around gold in gymnastics this year, seeing him as more of a threat than each other.

Yakup took John's zipper pull in his fingers, but John reached down and prevented that. It wasn't much of a victory, though, as now Yakup could feel how much John's hand was trembling.

"Where'd you find out about this place?" John asked Yakup to try to tamper him down a bit.

"From a Filipino in the village," Yakup answered. "A diver, I think."

"Hmm," John thought. He turned to Jim to see if he'd caught that, but Jim and Nazim were busy kissing. And Jim hadn't shown the restraint that John had. His fly was open and Nazim's hand had disappeared into it up to his wrest.

John looked around the room. The only men noticing anything happening at their table were ones with envious expressions on their faces who didn't have a partner themselves to be doing something just as open with. Yapup's tracing of John's cock in his pants was driving him craze, but he was determined not to give in to it.

"What did you think of the subway they have here?" Yakup asked John.

"Subway?"

"Yes. That's how we got here. You didn't take the subway down from the village?"

"No, we walked. And I think it's time we walked back." So these were probably the same guys as the ones in their suite earlier, John thought. They just got here faster because they took the subway rather than walking. He turned to tell Jim he thought they should leave. But he saw that Nazim was swabbing Jim's tonsils with his tongue and had released Jim's hard cock from open fly of his pants. Jim had widened his legs and had one ankle on the Turk's chair beside his thigh and was, John, thought "this close" to hooking them over the hunky Turk's broad shoulders—which John knew that Jim could do quite nicely.

John hadn't often seen Jim this horny. But it was Jim who was the higher sexed of the two—and the one most rebellious about the training rules. John had always been the steady, practical one. John slightly resented, though, that both he and Jim sensed that Jim was the better gymnast of the two as well.

"I think your brother likes Nazim," Yakup said with a laugh. "I don't know why, though. He's uglier than I am and I have the better dick. I think Nazim will fuck your brother now, no? And I think I fuck you now, yes?"

"Uh, time to go," John said, standing so fast that his chair fell back and hit the floor. "Come on Jim. We need to get back now." He virtually pulled Jim out of Nazim's grasp. Neither of the Turks took it badly. They both laughed and gave the brothers broad smiles.

"We fuck, I think, yes," Yakup said. "Not know, maybe, but I think you two don't go back to Canada before riding Turkish cock. I think you will think about this and will come to find us. You will have a good time and something to talk about. Maybe more exciting than getting a medal."

Jim was looking bleary eyed, and Yakup's smile—and his muscled body—were so damned tempting to John. If they didn't leave now, John thought he might give in.

"We'll see," was the best he could say as he started pushing Jim toward the door. "After our events. Maybe."

Both Turks were laughing and looking around the club for other prey before John and Jim made it to the door.

The next morning, John was shocked—but not particularly surprised—to find that the Turks must be the occupants of the other room in their dormitory suite. When he went to the shower, he found that the Turks were already there. And so was the Filipino diver. The two Turks were facing each other under the cascading water, and the little Filipino's body was sandwiched between them. He was suspended off the tiles between the two, and Yakup was holding his legs out with fists grabbing his ankles. He was panting heavily and his head was lolled to one side. His tongue was sticking out and his eyes had that hooded, fully satisfied look to them. As far as John could tell both Turks had their dicks inside his channel.

Yakup turned and smiled at John. "Hello. You sleep late. After this, you could shave my body hair for me—I have to be smooth for the competitions. Or, instead, we could—"

John didn't wait around for the rest. He retreated to the room, hissed to a just-now-awakening Jim what he'd seen, and both of the them dressed hurriedly and went off to the gymnastic venue at the Beijing National Indoor Stadium to get their showers and start their practice routines.

Over the next couple of days, John and Jim managed to avoid Yakup and Nazim. It wasn't because they wanted to, of course. The time ticking by and their own continued forced celibacy only heightened the desirability of the two Turkish hunks in their minds—just as Yakup had said it would. And John and Jim couldn't resist seeing the two Turks in Olympiad action. They wangled tickets to the wrestling competitions on Thursday and they melted in the stands in watching Yakup and Nazim work their near-naked bodies on the wrestling mat.

Thus, it was no surprise to them Thursday evening that Yakup had taken a silver in one of his events and Nazim a bronze in one of his. And it also wasn't a surprise to either of them, as they sat in their room after warm showers and fidgeted at the thought that their event started the next morning that they heard clearly half-drunk and fully exhilarated Turkish wrestlers returning after a victory celebration somewhere.

There was a quiet before the storm, during which, John and Jim were to discover, the two Turks had hit the showers. But then the boisterous celebrating began again.

Before either could realize it was inevitable, Yakup was at their door, flinging it open and standing there, just with a towel around his waist and his silver medal dangling around his neck.

"We celebrate. We fuck," Yakup burst forth in exuberant voice. "We win medals."

"Great," John answered. "But we'll celebrate with you later, please. We have our event in the morning."

"Aw, come on, John," Jim whined. "The guys just won medals. Don't step on their parade." John turned and looked at Jim—and saw a look he knew all too well. He wasn't going to get any backup resistance from that quarter, John knew.

"You're not pleased we medaled?" Yakup said, a big, faked hurt expression on his face. Nazim, also only in a towel, was now inside the door too. He had beer bottles in one hand and was holding a carton of something in the other. His bronze medal dangled between two magnificently muscled pecs. In fact, everything John could see of their bodies made him ache for them.

"We brought beer. Tsingtao. The best," Nazim bellowed. His smile was infectious.

"We can't drink with you tonight, Nazim," John said. "I told you. Our event's in the morning."

"Beer's for Yakup and me," Nazim said. "We brought you orange juice. You can't say no to celebrating with us. We got medals."

John looked around for help from Jim, but Jim was sitting there on his bed—both men already were in just their sleeping shorts—and looked like a deer in the headlights. And the headlight he was staring at was the midsection of Nazim, who, clearly, was already on the way to a gigantic erection.

What could they do? "OK, one drink," John said. "And then on your way until we've got our medals too."

The orange juice tasted a bit funny, but it tasted great. Neither John nor Jim had had vodka in orange juice before, so they were well gone before they had any thought about what they were drinking.

John was sitting on the bed, beside Yakup—closely beside Yakup. And Yakup was embracing him and kissing him on the neck and twiddling his nipples in the most arousing way before John knew what was happening to him. John looked down in one direction and saw the pile of condoms on the nightstand between the beds. It took him a few minutes to focus on them. They'd been in the drawer. What, he thought were they doing out on the top of the nightstand? And the more he focused on them the more he saw that two of the packets were open and missing their ring. John looked in the other direction, down at Yakup's lap. The towel was gone. Yakup's erection was immense. A condom was in place. John moaned.

He looked down on the floor, where he now realized that, first, Yakup and Nazim had put on a short wrestling exhibition for them and then they had been challenged to a match and Jim had accepted the challenge from Nazim. Nazim was clearly winning, though. Jim was on all fours and Nazim was on his back, his arms holding Jim in a choke hold and his condom-crowned dick stroking in and out of Jim's channel. Jim was grunting and groaning and Nazim was laughing and singing, no doubt some Turkish battle song of victory.

Yakup gripped John's waist in his beefy hands, and John felt himself being lifted off the bed.

"No, Yakup, we can't. We have an event in the morning. We can't—"

"Your brother obviously can," Yakup muttered with a snort, followed by a hearty laugh. "And didn't Nazim tell you? You got it wrong. Sex before event good. No sex, no good."

"Oh, god, oh god," John whimpered as he was being raised and moved over to Yakup's lap. "Once, OK, maybe once. Maybe just . . . Oh, GOD. Oh shit. Oh holy SHIIIT!"

John cried out and grunted and groaned as his channel was being brought down on the Turk's shaft. He didn't think he'd ever had it this thick before. Or, "OH SHIT!" this deep.

When Yakup had bottomed and stroked John's cock to ejaculation, he whispered in the Canadian's ear, "You say you're a gymnast. Show me you're a gymnast."

Maybe it was the Turk's jolly laugh or maybe it was the vodka in the orange juice, but as John slowly coaxed an ejaculation out of the silver-medalist wrestler, and without ever losing hold on the Turk's cock inside him, John moved from sitting in Yakup's lap, facing out, to turning and facing him and riding the cock hard, to arching back toward the floor and grabbing Yakup's ankles, at which point Yakup stood and jackhammered down into John's channel until he came.

All four men were panting and laid out in the room in various positions while they recovered. John was regretting the Turks would have to leave.

But the Turks had no intention of leaving. John found himself bent over the footboard of Jim's bed on his belly, with Nazim crouched over his back, fucking him deep. Jim was laying on his shoulder blades on the side of the same bed. His butt was in the air and his legs were spread-eagled, being gripped at the ankles by Yakup's fists, and Yakup was standing between Jim's legs and fucking him in long, deep strokes. Jim was egging him on, counting the strokes.

Eventually, while the two Turks were still stroking them, John and Jim were locked in an arms-entwining embrace and kissing like they were the only ones in the room.

An hour later Yakup took John to his bed and Nazim took Jim to his. But they continued fucking until almost dawn.