Stamina

David came back again the next day, bandage on his knee but no other pressing injuries. Unexpectedly, Riley had texted him that morning if he'd be up to play a game of basketball on the old courts outside their high school. The pavement was cracked and the nets had long been torn to shreds and removed, but, hey, where else were you going to go on a sunny, driftless July day?

"Glad you're alive." Riley came down the front walk in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, his skin glowing warmly in the early afternoon sun. Everything about him spoke of summer: his ruffled, dark blond hair, his loose and easy smile, even the gentle curve of his fingers, reaching down from broad and veiny hands-

He parked his bicycle on Riley's porch and turned away. Damn. Why was he having all these gay thoughts?

"You OK?" Riley asked him.

"Ah-hrm," David coughed, telling himself to refocus his eyes upward onto Riley's stomach, nope, his chest, nope, just look at his face. Be normal and look at the guy's face.

"Yup. I'm fine."

Riley gave him a long shrug that was half "Chill out, man," and half "I know my nonchalance is part of what makes me attractive." The very air seemed breathless and thick, like the warmth of your sheets when you first wake up.

David had to break the silence, finally asking, "Dude, are you ready to go yet?" He gestured at the basketball beside the potted box shrubs on Riley's porch. "Or are you gonna stand there all afternoon posing? I can't stay too long, by the way. I have a dentist's appointment later."

"Can you really play like that?" Riley asked him, pointing at the bandage.

"Are you doubting me? I'm pretty sure I could beat your ass if I had bandages on both knees."

Both knees and left elbow, probably, it turned out. David had a fire in him that Riley hadn't seen in most athletes, and it made up handily for his slightly impaired running abilities. Riley caught David wincing a few times when he came down from his layups, but in the end, he was still beaten.

"Damn," Riley said. His forehead and tank were drenched his sweat, and when he clapped David on the back, his palms came away soaking too. "I guess that's that. Come on, let's go back to my place and get something to drink. It's boiling out here."

When they got back to Riley's house, they were still good-naturedly ribbing each other, talking about old high school wins, reliving their war stories. Riley had been captain of the water polo team his last two year (a fact he liked to slip into conversation), and David had been starting quarterback for one. Both were a little embarrassed to still be hung up on their past careers.

"Yup, I knew I should've tried out for basketball instead of football," David said. "I whooped your ass."

"Whatever, I would've won if it weren't so hot," Riley said. "You're more used to being in the sun."

"Sure, man," David replied. "We all gotta tell ourselves whatever makes us feel better."

Riley laughed and gave him a light-hearted "Screw you, whatever" in reply. Then, almost as an aside, he said, "I'm gonna take a shower."

There was a brief but noticeable pause before David said, as evenly as possible, "OK." Riley was going to take a shower. That was a normal thing he'd do after playing a very sweaty game of pickup basketball.

Don't make it weird, David told himself, as Riley turned around and headed down the hall. He could tell that they were both thinking the same thing. Well, he suspected, strongly, that they were both thinking the same thing. But it'd only be more uncomfortable if he made any mention of it.

Riley's shower passed without incident-no sounds, no listening at the door. David helped himself to a large glass of cool water and waited on the couch, wondering why exactly he was still hanging out in Riley's living room. Shouldn't he be heading to his appointment?

But soon the bathroom door opened, and Riley stepped out. Water had beaded all over his broad torso, from the silvery droplets that perched on his broad shoulders to the sinuous rivulets that snaked down over each abdominal muscle, joining up with other tributaries at the towel wrapped around his waist. David thought of high school English, of the stupid poems he'd had to write, but now, all he could think about was a continent that was Riley's chest, and the rivers that ran through it, and how he could explore and explore-

"So, how's college been?" Riley asked. David snapped out of it.

"Fine."

"Any girls?"

"Course."

I mean, what else were they going to talk about? They had talked about sports and now they were going to talk about girls. Girls and sports, sports and girls. How classes sucked. Crazy keggers. But then the conversation took a weird turn. Riley was telling David about a frat party where the guys-being guys and all-had been talking about the girls they'd been with. What had begun as a metaphorical dick-measuring contest soon began to evolve into a literal one.

"Then one of the guys was like, you're such a liar," Riley explained, leaning forward a bit. "Whip it out and show me right now."

"What?" David said, laughing.

"Yeah, like this one guy didn't believe that the other had an eight-inch dick. So he was like, show me. Prove it."

David was, against all better judgment, hanging onto every word. "Then what happened? Did he do it?"

"No. Not quite. That guy, he was pretty drunk, man. He's like, instead, let's have a jack-off contest. See who can last the longest. And then everyone was like, yeah, that's a great idea. And then everyone started taking off their pants; it was fucking crazy. Horny bastards."

"What did you do?" David asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, did you stay?"

"Nah," Riley answered. "I had another party to go to."

David responded with a quiet oh, perhaps a little too quietly, and now Riley would be wondering if he was disappointed, if he actually would have liked to hear about Riley staying in that frat house as the guys, for all their unfortunate gender stereotypes and toxic masculinities, began undoing their belts and loosening their drawstrings, and then slipping their hands into past the Calvin Klein logo, until they reached what they had been itching to impress their brothers with all night.

Even the heat in the living room was becoming oppressive, the ceiling fan only serving to stir torpid air into torpid air, and Riley went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. Not having to look Riley in the face temporarily lifted the strange pressure David had felt, allowing him to ask:

"Do you think you would've won?"

"What?" Riley asked over the sound of the running tap.

David shifted a bit and leaned over the sofa so that he could speak directly in the direction of the kitchen. "Do you think you would've won?" he ventured again.

The tap squeaked off. "Oh, totally," Riley scoffed. He sauntered back into the living room, his junk still swaying gently in the pliant fabric of his shorts. Taking a seat at the other end of the three-seat couch, he reclined over the arm and added, "Don't. forget, I was on the water polo team. All that treading. That takes stamina."

David raised an eyebrow at him; that was all he needed to say. Sure. Of course. He checked the time. He would probably have to go as soon as he finished another glass. After his appointment, he would go home, maybe message some of the girls he'd been seeing during spring quarter, see if any of them were around the Bay Area this summer.

Then came the question. "You want to see who can last longer?"

David nearly choked on his water.

"What?"

"Well, you asked if I think I would've won, but I won't really know unless I try, right?" Riley said all this evenly, as if they were investigating the most banal of questions.

"Yeah," David replied. What more was he supposed to say? "I guess I could time you or something."

Riley gave him a puzzled look. "Time me? No, I mean like we actually jerk off at the same time to see who can hold out the longest."

David would've spat out more water if he could have. He eyed Riley to see if he could fully understand what he was saying, if this was some sort of trick.

"So you want to have, like, a jerk-off contest?"

"Well, it's not really a contest if there's no prize."

As if Riley suggesting they have a jerk-off contest wasn't enough. David swallowed again. Almost against his will, he managed to ask, "What kind of prize?"

"How about whoever cums first has to do whatever the other person asks?"

"'Whatever'?"

"Yeah, that's what I said: whatever."

It was a challenge, clearly. But David wasn't going to back down. Riley had clearly been teasing David to get a rise out of him, wandering around the house in his towel, telling him the frat party story, daring him. But daring him to do what, exactly? Of course "whatever" could mean many things, but they, being two guys, straight guys, who hadn't ever done anything with a guy before, and who would respect each other's boundaries, they would only go so far. David rationalized, but they had gone from reconnecting over high school athletics to this in less than 48 hours. There was only one way to know for sure.

"Fine, I'll do it," David said. "But only if you don't make it weird."

If Riley hadn't been expecting a positive answer, he didn't show it. He finished his water and set down the glass before undoing the towel around his waist. To David's surprise, he was still wearing underwear.

"Ready?" Riley asked.

"What, is a gnome gonna jump out and bite me?"

Riley just smiled and said, "You're being a smartass 'cause you're nervous." He pulled down his boxer briefs, revealing a sizable cock. He let it flop down over his heavy balls. He wrapped his hand around it and began to stroke, bringing it to its full size.

"OK, your turn," he said.

David, his thumbs hitched into his shorts, began to pull down, his heart pounding in his chest. The room seemed to grow even quieter as he tried to figure out what to look at: Riley's face, Riley's cock, or just the awkward middle of the room.

Riley hadn't known what to expect, but he certainly didn't expect to see what emerged from David's shorts: a pair of heavy, almost languorous balls backgrounding a thick and perfectly mushroom-headed cock. David wrapped his own calloused hand around his cock and gave it a few strokes. Riley's eyes involuntarily widened as David became fully erect, and almost as large as Riley.

"Start your engines," Riley smirked.

The two guys began to stroke, first training their eyes solely on their dicks before sneaking glances at each other.

Riley realized they should have turned on some porn or something, because now he really had nowhere to look except right at David. David had thrown his head back and shut his eyes, as if he were trying to block out the sensation of Riley's hand sliding up and down his thick cock.

There was no sound in the room except for the sounds of their two hands sliding over their dicks, bare skin rubbing over the upholstery as they adjusted position, and increasingly heavy breathing. But soon, a fourth sound entered the mix.

David let one escape first, a low, gentle rumble from the back of his throat. Riley was sure that it was unintentional, but the sound was like a current from his ears, down through his navel, and right to his cock.

Riley couldn't help but watch David trying to suppress his moans, to bite his lip, to squeeze his nails into his other hand to keep from cumming. The more he resisted though, the hotter he got. Every vein on David's smooth, tanned skin popped; every muscle, from his neck to his pecs and shoulders, his trim waist, down to his thighs and calves, tensed into the tips of this toes.

Riley tried closing his eyes, but he replayed what had just happened moments before, how he had dared David into doing this, the way David had said, "Whatever?" Whatever. Whatever could mean a lot of things to Riley if he won. He had a vision of David on his back on his bed, his legs on Riley's shoulders...

Riley's eyes snapped back on. Focus, he told himself. But all he could focus on was the studly specimen before him, fisting away at his own cock. Shit.

David could feel himself getting close, but he recognized that Riley was closer. He was breathy again, like he had been in the shower the other day. David could feel his cock tense in his hand. Riley's eyes widened both in regret and satisfaction as he let out a groan and began to cum.

"Ah, shit. Shit, dammit. I'm cumming," Riley let out all at once. His cum ran down David's hand, spurted up onto his abs, and pooled everywhere from his belly button to his pubes.

David gave him his best lopsided grin. "Ha. That's right. Who's got more stamina now?"

Riley let out one more spurt of cum, and then he was able to speak. With a little gasp, he said,

"You do."

The sounds of heavy breathing finally died away, leaving behind a warm and fuzzy silence.

David let out a chuckle and waited for Riley to return to his senses. But the two of them, knowing what was coming next, were suddenly not so sure with how to proceed. Each looked at the other with imperceptible curiosity. Did David really want a blow job from another guy, even if that guy was as devastatingly handsome and well-proportioned as Riley? And, perhaps more importantly, would Riley even deign to give a blow job, even if it was to one of their high school's most celebrated quarterbacks? If you had asked either of them these questions a week ago, they'd probably have laughed in your face.

But now here they were, in Riley's living room, with Riley's cum still pooled in the deep valleys of his abs and the V-shaped gutters than ran down towards his pubes. In between breaths, Riley looked at David, wondering. Neither one knew how to proceed. Ineffectively dabbing at the rivulets of cum on his abs, Riley rose and slowly turned around to face David, whose gaze was positioned somewhere halfway between the tip of his cock and Riley's face. David shifted in his seat, and Riley took a step closer. His mouth opened-to speak.

"All right, let's get this over with."

Suddenly, David jumped up. "Shit," he said, "I forgot about my dentist's appointment."

In less than a minute, David was back in his shorts and tee, in the threshold of Riley's front door. Riley, who barely managed to get his towel around his waist before the door was flung open, dashed over before he could leave.

David looked back at him in embarrassed silence. Horny, yes-the front of his shorts were still protruding towards Riley-but embarrassed. And Riley's mind, that was a war of adjectives: humiliated, apprehensive, but also intrigued, willing, denied.

"I-" he blurted out, his words failing him.

"Don't worry about it," David finished for him.

Riley was washed over with relief, tinged with regret. But as soon as he realized this, the regret grew. David's back was receding down his front path.

"I'll be back to finish this," David called out, and then gave him a cocky wink. He gestured toward "Well, I mean, you'll finish this."

David grabbed his bike and was off, down the street, and then gone. Riley shut the front door. He felt the knot in his stomach loosen. But the renewed bulge under his towel-that didn't go away as easily.