Sharing a Sleeping Bag With a Guy On My Wrestling Team 04

Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.

Chapter 4: Sandstorm

I tried to convince myself I was fine. I walked behind the guys while we hiked, breathing into Max’s hoodie, pretending it was just warming me up and not messing with my head. My brain was doing laps. I kept listing girls I had hooked up with before, like I was checking boxes. I remembered the last one in particular. It was good. Really good. I had literally planned to text her when we got home from this trip.

I liked girls. I knew that. I had proof.

But then I thought about Max again, about the clearing earlier, and the way he looked at me while we used each other, and my stomach tightened in a way that had nothing to do with girls at all. I almost felt like I was going to throw up. I was excited and nervous at the same time. I tried to shake it off but it stuck. When I let myself be honest for more than two seconds, it sounded hotter to hook up with Max again than text any girl. Even Melanie. And yeah, I hated how fast the idea popped into my head that she and Max and I could do something in a threeway. We could stuff her crust at the same time while our boners throbbed against each other. Then I thought about he we didn't even need her in between us. I shoved that thought away before it got any more detailed.

Meanwhile Max walked ahead like everything was normal. He had this careless energy that made me feel insane for being the only one thinking too hard. He kept joking with the guys and drifting into my space whenever the trail narrowed. His arm brushed mine every few minutes. He didn’t flinch. I did, every time.

Trent, the jokester, noticed I was different.

"You’re quiet today," he said once, glancing back.

"Just tired," I muttered, even though my brain wouldn’t shut up.

"Yeah after you ate shit off that ledge earlier," he said, chuckling. 

I flexed inside Max's sweatshirt, remembering him giving it to me after mine was torn. I took a big whiff, and realized I was fucked. Well, literally, I guess. 

Just as we stepped into a rocky canyon, the wind picked up suddenly. It hit hard, swirling dust around all of us. A shout came from up ahead as a funnel of dirt twisted right across the trail and the group scattered. The wind slapped grit into my face and hair. I ducked behind a big rock. Max grabbed my arm as another dust devil tore past us, his fingers tight on my bicep as he pulled me into a protected crevice, almost like a small cave. Suddenly it felt like we were alone in there together.

"Dude," he yelled over the noise. "This is crazy."

The storm lasted five chaotic minutes. We braced ourselves between boulders while the wind ripped across the rocks. When it finally calmed, we brushed sand off our faces and hustled back toward the trail. We all gathered together, and coach led us back to camp.

What we saw made all of us groan. Tents were shredded like tissue paper. Two had blown halfway into the shrubs. A few tent poles were mangled into heaps of scrap metal at this point. Trent stood there staring at his tent, looking like someone had run over his dog.

"No way," he said. "Dude, it’s destroyed."

Joey poked at the twisted metal. "Fuck we're cooked."

Coach jogged over and pointed at our tent. "Yours held up," he said. "Removing the wind flap must’ve saved it. The others trapped pressure and twisted."

Max and I looked at each other. We didn’t exactly remove the flap for survival reasons, but we didn’t correct him.

"Trent, Joey, you two bunk with these guys until we sort this out," Coach said.

Great.

We had just started to repair everyone's tents, when the winds picked up again. We all shoved inside whatever tent was closest to us, and within a minute, the four of us sat cramped, knees practically touching. The walls shook from rough wind gusts as sand shot horizontally above us, visible our our mesh window. Max leaned back casually, his thigh pressed against mine. It was casual enough to get away with, but I felt the heat of him.

We started telling stories to pass the time. Trent went on about some girl he hooked up once who put a finger in his ass. We laughed at his story and asked him how it felt.

"Weird, but good," was his only response.

Joey acted like he had seen everything online and therefore knew things.

Then Trent asked it.

"Has anyone ever done actual anal?"

Max smirked immediately. I stared at him like, please don’t.

Joey turned his head fast. "Why’d you look at him?"

"I didn’t," Max said.

I rubbed my face. "Jesus Christ."

"He's done it," Max said cheerfully. "And so have I."

Joey made a gagging sound. Trent’s eyes went huge.

"Wait, really? Who? How? Did she want it? Was it like, painful? Do girls like that? What did you do to get her to do it?" He leaned forward, totally invested.

Max told the story without using pronouns once, which made it even funnier. He described movements and reactions and how tight everything was, and Trent was eating it up. By the time Max finished, Trent was adjusting himself every ten seconds.

"Dude, you’re literally hard," Joey said.

"Shut up," Trent snapped, covering his lap.

The storm finally died down and we crawled out into the clearing. The air was calm now. The guys stretched and looked around at the damage.

Max nudged me. "Good story time, huh."

"Shut up," I said, but my face went warm.

We joked that Trent should take the tent and "use it real quick before Coach sees the state of his pants." He actually did it. He walked inside with this determined look, zipped the door, and sat down.

He forgot about the top window.

Max elbowed me. "Come on."

We climbed up the side of the tent and peeked through the mesh. Trent was sitting there, eyes closed, pants down, fully going at it, rubbing his decently sized meat with a furious, quick-cumming mentality. 

"No way," Max whispered, laughing into his sleeve.

I snorted so hard I almost gave us away.

Joey yelled from a few feet away. "Are you serious, Trent? We can hear you!"

Trent’s face went red and he yelled back, "Shut up!" but didn’t stop.

We were still laughing when we rejoined the group at the fire pit. Coach was setting up food and a few of the guys gathered logs. By the time night fell, everyone was exhausted and cold, and Trent and Joey were officially our tent roommates, to my chagrin.

Inside, we arranged our sleeping bags in a tight row. Max and I ended up next to each other again. My chest felt tight. I wasn’t sure why but I felt cock blocked by the whole setup. It was like I was waiting for a moment with him and it never came.

Trent and Joey seemed to fall asleep instantly. Max turned onto his side with his back to me. I watched the rise and fall of his shoulders in the dim light. The sky was clear above us, the moon was not in my line of sight, and I could see all the stars.

I forced myself to sleep.

I drifted off for some amount of time before I woke up, and it felt like a jump cut. It was still dark, and my heart was beating fast, my body warm under the blankets. It took me a second to understand why.

A hand was holding me.

Not my arm. Not my waist.

My junk.

Max’s hand.

He was behind me, pressed up close like he was spooning me, his chest warm against my back as his tensed pecs pressed into my shoulder blades. His breath landed on the back of my neck in a steady rhythm. His fingers were curled gently around my shaft, which was sticking out of my boxers. He wasn't moving his hand, just resting it on my meat pole like it had settled there in his sleep.

I froze. My eyes adjusted to the dark. Trent was snoring lightly. Joey was tossing softly. Max was silent, breathing slow. 

I nudged him without moving my body, gently tapping him with my elbow. He didn't move. I turned my head toward him. I saw his closed eyes an inch from my head.

"Dude," I whispered. "Max."

He didn’t answer. He shifted slightly, tightening his grip. His hips pressed forward a little, and I felt him getting hard between us. I throbbed in his hand.

He wasn’t awake.

My whole body went tense. I swallowed hard as he moved again, this time grinding slowly, like he was dreaming. My breath caught. I didn’t know whether to wake him up or pretend I was asleep too.

"Max," I whispered again.

He groaned softly against my neck, a sleepy sound, and started rubbing me through the bag. His hand moved in an unsteady rhythm. I tensed but didn’t pull away.

He adjusted his hips and his hardness pressed between my cheeks through the layers of fabric. It lined up too perfectly. My brain short circuited. It was the first night all over again, but this time there were two dudes in the tiny tent with us.

I reached behind me and nudged his abs, which I had learned was his more sensitive area. He stirred, inhaled sharply, and woke up.

"What," he whispered into my shoulder.

"You’re…" I whispered back. His hand was still around me.

He realized. His eyes shot to the others, then he seemed to relax when he noticed they were asleep. His fingers tightened instead of letting go. "Oh."

We stayed still. Neither of us pulled away. His breathing changed. He pressed closer.

"Is this okay?" he whispered.

I didn’t answer with words. My hips shifted back into him.

He exhaled hard, nearly silent. His hand started moving again. Slow and careful. I reached down and covered his hand with mine, guiding him. He groaned into my shoulder as he reached down to release his dick from his underwear.

He slid his other arm under my chest and pulled me tighter into a spooning position. His hardness pushed against me, trapped between us as my cheeks enveloped it. I felt the pulse of him through the throbbing of his shaft.

We stayed quiet as our breathes synced. His nose pressed into my hair, sniffing me deeply. My hand wrapped around his thigh as he moved against me.

Every motion was slow and hidden. Every shift made my breath stutter. I didn’t know how long we stayed like that, rubbing and holding each other in the dark, stealing tiny gasps whenever the other guy changed pace.

He brought his hand up to my mouth and gently probed past my lips with his index finger. I rolled my tongue around it as I sucked it tightly. He brought his palm back to his face and I heard him spit into it, before reaching down below. A moment later, his wet cock pressed against my ass. 

I felt a surge of nerves. His boldness and horniness was going to get us into trouble. I looked at the two curly heads in front of me, gently sleeping, while I was preparing to get fucked in secret.

I wasn’t thinking about girls anymore.

I wasn’t thinking at all.

Just him.

Just the warmth of him behind me.

Just the way he whispered my name, half asleep, as he held me tighter, and inserted into me.

It felt like a long time before he got all the way inside, as I felt my body opening up for him in small waves of relaxation, between bursts of tension. He finally started moving, and I pressed back into him, while he rubbed my manhood inside our sleeping bag. His death grip on the head of my cock was too much pleasure for me, and my heightened nerves only made everything hotter. I couldn't stop myself from breathing a bit too hard.

I felt myself getting close. He was too. Our rhythm got uneven. His forehead pressed into the back of my neck.

We both tried to stay silent as we finished against each other, our bodies shaking quietly under the sleeping bags.

He stopped thrusting, and I felt the rapid pulse of him inside me. His hand continued stroking me until I grabbed his wrist. He froze as I sprayed out my release onto my abs, his hand, and the inside of the sleeping bag. 

We stayed quiet and tangled like that as our bodies pulsed. There was no room for a conversation, no ability to form a game plan. The others stirred only briefly over the next few minutes as I held still, Max still buried inside me to the hilt, his breathing drifting toward a rhythmic sleeping pace, and I drifted off asleep, holding his arm, and my cummy mess coating my body.