It was my Junior year in college and I'd enjoyed the wonders of living in my fraternity these past two years: about 50 guys, l8 to 23 years of age, at the prime of their sexual allure, most horny as hell all their waking hours (and in their cum-soaked dreams as well). As most young men were wont to do, they routinely dressed in minimal clothing, the better to admire their physiques whenever they passed a mirror. And horny guys in same-sex housing frequently turned to the most easily available body-to-body contact available: the impromptu wrestling match. One brother arriving back from classes, aching to relieve the cerebral stress by rushing to his room, stripping down to a T-shirt and shorts, seeing his roommate lying casually on his bed, jumping him where he lay, and for the next five to ten minutes the two going at each other until one or the other said, "Okay, I give! You won!!" This scene would be played out time and time again, and it never failed to turn me on whenever I happened upon one of these encounters. I wanted to leap into the fray and roll around with them as they fought. But I'd feared to do so, because the mere observation of these combats produced such sexual arousal that I'd get a raging hard-on and have to quickly leave the room to go beat-off. How could I engage in one of these hot, grappling sessions? I'd certainly expose my secret desires the moment I got on top of my opponent and he felt the stiff prick in my groin. Hell, once I'd watched two of the better built brothers going at each other, and as their legs grapevined one another, just knowing their cocks were pressed into each other had led me to shoot my wad before I could get out of the room. If just watching could produce such a dramatic reaction, how vulnerable would I be experiencing the real thing, my body pressed up against my opponent, our cocks one atop the other. Just thinking about it gave he a hard-on. But after two years in such a sexually stimulating environment I was beginning to weigh the risk versus my own mounting sexual frustration. Thus it was that at the end of the Fall semester "pledge rush" that it all began. Among the fifteen freshmen pledges we'd taken was one named Tom and as strikingly handsome as any male I'd ever seen. He stood about 5' l0" and weighed about l65 lbs of beautiful, naturally-developed muscle. His pale olive skin complexion was flawless. His thick dark hair completed the most beautiful head I'd seen since Renaissance pictures by the old masters. I could not pass Tom in the hall, not see him anywhere with out becoming aroused. As luck or good fortune would have it I'd gotten one of the few private rooms in the house that Fall, and it was just down a hall from the floor's communal shower. It was about six weeks into the Fall semester when late one night I recognized Tom's voice humming to himself in the shower. I had learned weeks earlier two things which put a smile on my face: Tom liked to shower very late, just before turning in for bed; and he liked to take very long showers. I often joined him in these showers, which gave us time for extended, idle conversation on topics of mutual interest, and I had carefully avoided too-soon introducing the topic of wrestling before we had a chance to get to know one another. As gorgeous as Tom was, especially naked under the hot, steamy flow of water, I'd always managed to keep my cool. But I was feeling particularly horny this night and so threw caution to the wind. I invented a story about how much a friend and I in high school days had enjoyed wrestling matches in a grassy field near where we lived. Interestingly, he said he'd never had an experience like I described, but seemed intrigued by the idea. He asked a number of questions about the matches I'd had with my friend, and I thought I detected a growing curiosity on his part. Tom said what most appealed to him was the idea of testing one's limits. The only wrestling he said he'd ever done was in gym class, but the coaches seemed to care about teaching rules and regulations more than encouraging fun in the activity. He also suggested it had seemed silly to stop wrestling simply because a guy's shoulders were on the mat. He most liked the notion of a contest in which there would be no time limits, no pinning to achieve victory. In his theoretical match, the contest would end by the loser submitting to the winner. Once he'd worked out all the pertinent details in his head, he summed up: "I'd like to wrestle a no-holds-barred, anything goes match to submission. Fair or dirty tactics, the match would continue until one combatant achieved total victory over the other." "Well, do you think you'd like to wrestle me some time like that?" I timidly asked. "How about right now!" he replied. I started to quiver from the excited anticipation, and tried to hide the fact by vigorously toweling off. When we came into my room, I locked the door behind us. But seeing our mutual nakedness, and not wanting to push this first encounter too far, I got into my bureau and pulled out two pairs of shorts. I handed Tom a pair, but he asked, "What are these for?" "For our wrestling match." "Didn't the Greeks wrestle naked in olden days?" he asked. "Yes, but that was the custom then," I answered. "Well, I say we should revive the ancient ways, you and me, right here!" "If that's what you want, but are you sure, Tom?" "I wouldn't have it any other way. Let's do it." "And the format, anything goes, to submission?" "Everything goes!" After a moment rearranging the furniture, I was facing him and he me. The air was electric with energy. We both knelt down about two feet from each other. He reached out for a head lock at the same moment I did, and thus we had our faces pressed firmly next to one another and were grinding and straining to each pull the other over. Since we were pretty evenly matched in strength and weight, neither went down right away. I wanted to test his willingness to use illegal tactics, but I didn't want to be the one to initiate the first dirty move. But our deadlocked headlocks persisted until I could hold off no longer. I grabbed his hair with my right hand and yanked him over in one quick move. Tom was now on his back, I on my stomach beside him. With one arm still squeezing my head, Tom used his other arm to push hard against my chin in a fierce effort to break the headlock I held. I grabbed his arm, wrenched it behind his neck and pulled it tightly to me. Now I could rest, holding him pinned down and tightening the headlock. Or so I thought. He wrenched his arm free, grabbed my hair and yanked me off balance, just enough that I lost control and he flipped over atop me, grabbing my neck with one arm, my right arm with his right arm, his whole body stretched prone atop mine. Which meant, of course, his prick was lying right on top of my ass. As I squirmed and struggled he tightened his legs about mine and I was sure I detected a stiffing of his cock from the friction our bodies were creating. I knew for sure that my cock was hardening against the rug beneath me. After two minutes of this struggle, Tom asked if I was ready to give. "Fuck no!" I said. For though the hold was discomforting I was too much enjoying our positions, and in fact I then began to earnestly thrust my ass up and down to excite his prick. "What are you doing?" he said. "Trying to break the hold by any means I can" I replied. "So you think if you can get me to cum, it'll weaken me enough for you to break the hold. That really IS a dirty tactic!" "You agreed to anything goes": "Well, what you don't know is I can stay hard for a long period of time without cuming." "How long?" "Let's find out." With that he started to hump me while keeping his grip as tight as possible. I began to thrust in faster and faster rhythm. After a couple of exquisite minutes I noticed he was lessening his grip on me, but I hadn't felt him climax. I seized the opportunity, flung him off, and quickly came around and jumped atop him. We were now facing one another, chest to chest, cock to cock. I stopped all motion and stared down at him. "You didn't cum, did you?" "No, but I almost did, which is why I started to let go. I don't want this match to end so quickly, I knew if I stayed on you like that another minute I'd shoot my wad and the fun would be over." "Not necessarily, Tom. Can't you imagine cuming once, then building back up again toward a second shooting, and a third?" "Well, maybe...." "Let's find out something right now. How far are you willing to test your limits of pain and punishment?" "Pretty far, I think" "And it's turning you on, right?" "You got that right!" "Okay, let's keep this position we're in right now, our cocks together, our legs intertwined. We each have two hands for administering pain. While our groins grind into one another, let's see how much creative pain our two hands can inflict. Nothing held back" "Like....?" "Hair-pulling, choking, pressure points, body blows, whatever. Okay?" Without answering me, Tom immediately yanked my head down by my hair and began to drive his knuckles into my wind pipe. I was beaming and reciprocated in kind. As it became harder to breathe, our cocks became harder as well. I then released one hand from Tom's throat and delivered a fist to his side. And again, and again. Soon, as one hand each was pulling ferociously on the other's hair we were now belting one another in the sides and arms with clenched fists. The stinging pain was merely arousing our pricks to greater heights of ecstasy. This phase of the competition was proving a tie as well, though we kept hitting each other for all we were worth. At one point I stopped the blows, let go of his hair, and looked down to see his face. He stopped, too, and we stared into each others eyes. "Having a good time?" I panted. "My god, this is great. I don't think I've ever felt like this before, and I don't want it to stop." "Since neither has given, how about a breather for a minute before we continue?" "Okay, but don't get off me," he quickly added. We smiled at one another. That evening we wrestled for about two hours. He and I both came twice. And neither one of us ever "submitted". This was to be the first of dozens of such encounters together over the next two years. There was nothing much we wouldn't try on the other. Over time our tactics reached new heights of both finesse and brutality. Sometimes a match would be us just standing facing each other in a mutual bear hug, squeezing as hard and as long as we could. The winner was determined by whoever shot his wad first. And the winner got to tie up the loser in any hold he chose for the next fall. On other occasions, we'd start in T-shirts and shorts just so that we could rip them off each other in the progress of the match. Beyond any particular hold, what Tom and I most got off on was securing holds mutually applied, the more painful the better, and then executing them as long and as fiercely as we could. Since we both wanted the most erotic matches we could create, our combats would invariably begin playfully, gradually build to a serious contest, and once we'd both become fully aroused, wind up in intense and dirty combat until we both ejaculated together. The years that have passed between then and now have little diminished my memory of Tom and the joy of those frequent and fierce frat house combats.
