The Young Marine Takes To The Courts

I was a captain stationed at the American Embassy in Paris when I was twenty-five. I had been assigned to the Ambassador’s personal staff, and he and his wife had taken a liking to me right off. They were going to be attending Wimbledon that year as a guest of one of the Queen’s cousins, the Duke of Kent, with whom the ambassador had served on a UN peace-keeping mission in Cyprus.

The ambassador and his wife surprised me when we got to London and I checked us into our lavish accommodations in the Grosvenor House hotel on Park Lane by giving my tickets to all the seven days’ matches while we would be there. I was thrilled and a little awed, even though they’d told me that my seat wouldn’t be in the private box where they would be seated with the Duke. Hell I didn’t care. I’d played tennis in high school and then at the academy and was pretty good, and I now played tennis casually when I could. I liked the sport enough to follow it some as far as the major titles, too, so Wimbledon was a big deal overall.

The first match we saw was one of the quarter-finals for women. By the end of the women’s quarters I was thrilled to watch matches with Steffi Graf, Martina Navratilova, Gabriela Sabatini and Monica Seles all winning to move to the semi-finals. And the men’s quarters that week were as exciting, with Agassi, McEnroe, Sampras and Ivanisevic all advancing to the semis. I fell in love with Agassi watching him scrap it out with Becker, and I jacked off that night thinking about licking his hairy body all over. And somewhere in my edging and stroking, Becker had joined us, and I vividly enjoyed sucking his fat uncut German sausage too!

During the men’s semi-finals, it was Ivanisovec and Sampras who accompanied my enthusiastic spank-fest that night. Something about Agassi trouncing McEnroe in their match seemed too easy for the pretty-boy, but the slugfest between Sampras and Ivanisevic had me pigging out on those two hunks not just one load that night but two. Fortunately the housekeeping staff at the Grosvenor House was on top of things and changed the soiled sheets out daily. They must have thought I was having more fun than my left hand was actually giving me!

The day of the women’s finals was a long day. The ambassador and his wife were watching all the matches that day with the Duke and his family. I had the use of the ambassador’s driver if I wanted to leave early, and after Steffi Graf beat the tar out of Monica Seles, like she had Gabriela Sabatini to get to the finals – at least Martina made Monica work for every point in their semi-final match! – I was walking around the courts, glancing at some of the lesser matches, doubles, boys and girls.

It was as I was finally walking to the office to call the ambassador’s driver that I heard my name being called. It had been a while since I’d been called by anything but my last name, certainly since I entered the Academy, and it didn’t register until I felt a hand on my shoulder, and the voice was working through my mind to register where I knew it from. “It IS you, Bill,” I heard as he got around in front of me and looked at my face.

Oh, how much more handsome he was – impossible to imagine – than he’d been seven years ago, the last time I saw him, at our high school graduation. “John!” I said, stunned by running into him in England and stunned by the jolt of electricity that shot from my balls through my cock at seeing him.

John Wagner and I had played on the tennis team together in high school. We were both good, but he was destined to be great. He had the advantage of being from a rich family and having his own tennis coach, too, whereas my coaching came from our school coach and the odd game at John’s house on their own court when his trainer was there.

“Wow, Bill, you’re a . . . “

“Marine,” I helped him identify my uniform.

“NICE!” he said, giving me the once-over. “Very nice, as a matter of fact.”

Did I really just get that signal? I’d fantasized so many times about John Wagner being naked with me, I had callouses on my left hand and on my cock through high school just from him. He had to be commenting on the uniform or my rank – that had to be it. “Thanks, John, appreciate that.”

“So what are you doing here? Other than watching the tennis, that is,” he added quickly with a laugh and a thousand-watt smile.

His smile jolted my nuts again. DAMN was he handsome. He was almost as tall as I – maybe six-two to my over six-four. He had very blond hair and icy blue eyes. And I remembered – with another jolt to my nuts – that he had a big uncircumcised dick that hung beautifully over a nice set of big low-hangers. “I’m posted to the American Embassy in Paris, and the Ambassador and his wife got me tickets.”

“Ah, nice, hobnobbing, eh?” he said, laughing and grinning.

I laughed uncomfortably, not thinking my career in the Marines was anywhere near that trivial. “Actually my posting is to the Ambassador himself at the embassy, and I have responsibilities to him. That’s why I’m here in England. They were nice enough to get me tickets as a gift.”

It sounded stiff and defensive to me as I finished saying it, but John just laughed and cuffed me on the shoulder and said, “Hey, you’re here. Greatest tennis event of them all. That’s what matters, right? You still play?”

“Not much now,” I said sadly and realized I missed it a lot.

“I’ve got a great idea then. I’ll get us one of the practice courts and we can play, unless you’re going back to the matches now. What do you say? A match for old times’ sake?”

“I don’t have tennis clothes or a racket or anything. How could I play?” And then it dawned on me. “And you can get us a court? Here? Now who’s hobnobbing?” I said with a snarky laugh.

“What size shoe do you wear?”

“I, uh, I wear a 14,” I said, a little self-consciously.

“Come on – someone’s got to have some shoes you can borrow. And I’ve got plenty of clothes because I’d inTENded to play more than the first damn round when that Norwegian came at me like he was wielding Thor’s hammer!”

Ah, now it made sense. Of course he was a player here. He was born to it. And from what I remembered of our time in school, he wasn’t all that interested in academics except for the opportunity to play the sports.

As it happened, we did find some shoes for me to borrow, and I wore John’s extra tennis shorts and shirt and jock strap and socks, which was weird, but also HOT as far as it went. We played best two out of three, and I lost the first set rather badly, so I was battling through the second set and won it with a lucky bounce off the net in the long tie-break. And the third set went to five-four, too, but he beat me soundly in the last game to take it six-four.

We headed back to the locker room, congratulating each other and taunting each other some in good humor, and I was trying to keep my mind off the scent of his sweat or the thoughts of having seen him naked earlier and how much I’d enjoyed it and was looking forward to it again. He was ahead of me at one point and stopped short for some people who crossed our path, and I bumped into him. My long inhale of the sweat on the back of his neck and hair was involuntary, and the feel of his body against mine caused that familiar jolt through my nuts. Difference was this time my cock started to swell instantly. “Sorry!”

He turned around and took a step back to where I’d moved back after the impact. His eyes bore into me. “I’m going to take a leap here Bill, and I hope you don’t go all Marine on me or anything.” He paused, waiting for what, I didn’t know, but I was holding my breath at the same time as the blood was pumping into my cock. He moved even closer, until we were almost nose to nose. “I’ve always wanted you, Bill, to be with you. There, I’ve said it.”

Instinctively I looked around to see if anyone heard that or was watching us. And although there were ten gillion people around, nobody was paying us the slightest bit of attention. “I, um . . . “ I struggled but nothing came out.

“So, handsome, sexy marine and old friend, should I take you NOT going all commando on me as a good sign?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes,” I said simply.

“WOOOOO FUCKING HOOOO,” he said loudly, pumping the air with his fist. I did my scared shitless look around again. There was still nobody who cared in the least what we were doing, only that we weren’t “anybody”. I vaguely wondered if that bothered John, as he obviously was somebody on the tour, first round loss or not. “Let’s get showered up and go somewhere.”

“NO,” I protested louder than I’d meant to.

“No?” he said, perplexed.

“I mean, I want to lick the sweat off you,” I said in an almost whisper.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkkk,” was all he said to that.

We grabbed our stuff from the locker room and used one of his bags to stuff clothes into and left. I had called for the Ambassador’s car when we got to the lockers, and it was there when we walked to the entrance.

The ride into London was excruciating because we had to play it cool. I for one could only think of my throbbing hardon in John’s shorts and how much I wanted to jump him.

We’d decided to go to his hotel because I was reluctant to take a man into my room which was part of the vast suite the Ambassador had. And when we got there the decision was affirmed for another reason as we jumped each other roughly and sent lamps and other things in the room flying and breaking as we were all over each other like animals in mating season.

Our sweat and endorphins were heavy in the air and were just fueling our urgency all the more. We were at each other, grinding our hardons into each other, both still in our tennis shorts but out of our shirts cast somewhere along the way. Our lips were clamped on each other’s and our tongues were dueling roughly amidst the sucking, chewing and kissing.

John pulled me down onto him on the bed and had his legs wrapped around me, still with both our sweaty socks on, grinding our groins together in our shorts and sweaty jock straps. I got down and got his shorts opened and ripped off him and shoved my face into his stinking jock. We both moaned loudly and the moans turned into growls as I lifted his legs and ass into the air and sucked the sweat out of his crack and hole. “Oh fucking hell Bill, fucking EAT my hole!” John shouted, pulling his ass cheeks open wider so that I could get in deeper.

“I’m going to fuck this hole,” I declared in response.

I managed to get my own shorts opened, feeling the vast wet spot that wasn’t from sweat but was from my drooling cockhead which had gotten free of my jock strap – actually John’s jock strap that I was wearing and that was HOT! – somewhere along the way. The inside of my shorts were thick with it.

I struggled to get my shorts off and did something I’ve never done before – left my socks on and didn’t give them a second thought. “Lube,” I demanded.

John threw his arm toward the chest by the side of the bed but couldn’t reach. I climbed over him to get to it and he roughly grabbed my raging cock and pulled his head to it and sucked in my gorged head. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkkkkkkkk,” I exclaimed, yanking the drawer out and groping for the lube and condoms.

When I had them in my grasp I tried to disengage from John’s mouth, but he grabbed my balls HARD and held me in place, sucking hungrily. “GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.” I growled in protest, but I shoved my cock in hard and deeper and was rewarded with John’s moan before he started choking and gagging. I roughly pulled out and threw the lube at him and ordered, “Get that fuckhole ready NOW!”

John did as I said, lubing his hole and obviously enjoying it. I enjoyed watching him finger himself roughly as I tore open a condom and stretched it uncomfortably over my throbbing cock.

“C’mon Bill fuck me!” John demanded, and he had his legs up, knees by his shoulders and hole ready. I mounted him roughly – we were both too worked up to wait, and I shoved my huge cockhead inside him roughly but stopped and held my position when he shouted. While he was breathing and I was waiting for his slick cunt to relax its vise grip hold on me, I struggled and got my sweaty stinking jock strap off and shoved it in his mouth. “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he protested, but he also inhaled deeply and moaned again, and his ass suddenly relaxed, and I SHOVED in balls deep. “AAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!” came through the jock stuffed in his mouth.

I couldn’t wait any more, couldn’t hold back any more, and I went to town drilling his ass. He was yelling through the jock strap but made no effort to pull the rank thing out of his mouth. And he started back-thrusting into me, meeting my thrusts. I reached down and grabbed his cock out of his jock strap which was still on and started stroking it, and his head thrashed about from the added stimulation.

I drilled him harder, pumped that cunt like it was my entire existence, HARD, DEEP and FAST. I felt him respond as my gorged cockhead knocked his prostate, felt his body jolt and his cock in my hand throb, and I adjusted my aim to really give it to him. And it wasn’t long before his shouts were plain despite them being muffled to the words being incomprehensible. And his ass was clenching and spasming around me as I felt his first blast out of his cock.

The cumblast felt harder than it was, splatting on his abs limply, but his spasming fuckchute had me going over the edge. And just as I did his second cumblast shot HARD and went to John’s face and hair. Fucking hot! I started blasting into the condom inside him as his cock gave a few more big shots as I held it and felt its waning power.

John’s eyes were closed and his teeth were still clenched on my filthy jock strap. He was panting heavily as I was, both our chests heaving. When I pulled out of him his eyes went wide and he gave a muffled yelp. When I pulled off the condom I was damn proud of the huge amount of cum I output. I held it up so John could see as I climbed off the bed to go and throw it away in his bathroom, but he grrrrr’ed through the gag and shook his head. I looked puzzled at him, but he motioned me to come closer. I pulled the jock strap out of his mouth, now stinking worse for his saliva mixed with my sweat from before. “That,” he said, shifting his eyes to the jock, “NEVER gets washed! And I want your cum on it too.”

I handed him the condom and held out the jockstrap so that the pouch was like a bowl, and he poured what he could of my cum out of the condom into it. He smushed it up to get the cum into the fabric then put it over his nose and inhaled deeply. “I don’t ever want to forget this,” he said, almost reverently.

I had no words, and I sat down on the bed by him. He was gorgeous – physically incredible, as he always had been, and his cum on his torso was icing on a very hot and tasty cake. Suddenly I got an idea and yanked his jock strap off him and wiped his cum off him with it. I smelled it and recognized a concentration of the smells of him I’d so enjoyed. “This one’s mine.”

We both smiled and then laughed.

“Stay with me tonight, Bill,” he said when we’d stopped laughing. “Let’s go get some dinner and then come back and have a long wild night.”

I couldn’t, of course, but damn I wanted to. It was already past time the Ambassador and his wife should be getting back to the hotel for the evening, and I should be there. When I said that, John asked if I couldn’t call and tell them I had run into a friend and would be back early in the morning. I was reluctant, but my lower head did the decisioning on that point. And when I called the hotel, the Ambassador told me to bring my friend for breakfast and to the match with us, if I liked. A class act, my boss.

We never did go out for dinner. We had room service between marathon bouts of fucking, showering, sucking, showering again and horsing around. I insisted we get some sleep at around midnight, and we were both exhausted enough that no persuasion was required.

The dawn had us repeating, and by then we were in great synch and really working it well together. I was in a hurry to get to my hotel to change and get ready for breakfast, and I was surprised that John was happy to accept the invitation.

When we got to the Savoy I took him quietly in through the hall door to my own room. I checked in the living room to see if the Ambassador or his wife were up or not, and they weren’t, so I closed the door. I had John wait while I quickly showered in my own shower and dressed in a fresh uniform. Marines are quick anyway, and John commented on it. “Glad you’re not that quick in everything,” he said, grinning.

I gave him a playful shove, which he used to grab me and pulled me in for a kiss. Nice. “Come on, the Ambassador will be up for breakfast any minute.”

And I was right, because just as I led John through to the living room, the Ambassador and his wife were entering from the other side. The Ambassador brightened and called, “John!” And while I was busy being surprised, John rushed past me to shake his hand and to hug the Ambassador’s wife, with “Aunt Edith, Uncle Archy,” coming from him.

Of course John would know the Ambassador. John’s family was rich, and the Ambassador was rich. Didn’t all rich people know each other?

“I didn’t know you knew my nephew, Captain Cate, but then again, how would I have known?”

At that point the doorbell rang with a breakfast feast, and we abandoned the six degrees conversation in favor of food. I was pretty much left out of the conversation as John and his aunt and uncle chatted about family and family friends, occasionally attempting to clue me in – unsuccessfully – on who they were.

When it was over and the Ambassador’s wife had retired to their rooms to get ready to go to the match and John had gone in to wash his hands, the Ambassador came close to me. “You could do a lot worse than my nephew, Captain,” he said. And when my jaw dropped open, he said, “And he could do a lot worse than you.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I went with a hedge. “We played tennis in high school together, sir.”

“And you obviously are closer than that now, if the glow you both still have is any indication.”

“Sir, I—“

“Captain, I have no issue whatsoever with what people are. And I know that your career and my nephew’s have you worlds apart except for this intersection here in London. But I’m glad you’ve had this time at least. We all deserve human companionship. And I think you’re both fine young men.”

I wasn’t surprised that the Ambassador wasn’t a bigot or homophobe. I was surprised that he was so perceptive and eager to embrace our night and morning of wild sex. It was a little unnerving. But I thanked him genuinely.

John and I had some time together before we all left to go down to Wimbledon, and the first thing I did when I got alone with him was say, “OH MY GOD!”

John just laughed like this stuff happens all the time. “My uncle just told me I had good taste in friends.”

“Friends or FRIENDS?” I asked, emphasizing with quote marks in the air.

John just laughed again and said, “Friends, Bill. No he didn’t say I had good taste in fuck buds.”

Good thing!

We left after the match with promises that John would visit the Ambassador, but it never happened while I was there. So we’d always have London . . . not Paris, like Bergman and Bogie in Casablanca.