Message from John Carter

This blog is rated R and is not appropriate for people under the age of 18. If you are offended by gay content, please move on and read some other blog.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Wrestling: Watching and Participating

Every year for the last three years, I have gone to the NCAA Wrestling Tournament.  I go with the Grizz out of St. Louis and we watch the five sessions of wrestling on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday--and in between we wrestle each other and various other guys.




The first year, we went to Philadelphia. That was a great trip.  It's where I met a lot of really cool guys--and wrestled a ton.  Last year in St. Louis was fun, too. Again, I got to wrestle a lot of hot guys and had a great time. 

This year, in Des Moines, Iowa, was no exception.  I got to wrestle several guys (Mat_Titan, Ltwtwrsinyc, and JTWrestler).  The pic above is of me wrestling with the Titan himself.  As you can see, he was resorting to some dirty tactics to distract me.  And yes, I was distracted. 

What a cool guy the Titan is, by-the-way. I really enjoyed being around him and wrestling with him.  It's always great to go on these trips and make new friends. 

As you can see, I generally like to wrestle in the nude.  I like erotic wrestling.  I can't help it.  But I didn't always wrestle erotic.  JT and I wrestled in gear--he was in a mask and briefs--me in a jock.  That was a really fun match.  Unfortunately for some odd reason, we did not take any pics. I think because we were busy wrestling.

If you are wondering about these trips, let me tell you a little about them.  We have to work to get tickets to the NCAAs.  The always sell out, but I get tickets through StubHub or Grizz gets them through a college booster club.  They have a session of wrestling on Thursday morning, Thursday night, Friday morning, and then Friday night.  Saturday morning they have the consolation matches--which I always skip because I want to spend Saturday wrestling.  And then Saturday night are the finals.

Ask any of the guys I went with.  I am totally obsessed with the tournament.  I skipped going to dinner two nights because I was afraid we wouldn't get back in time for the opening matches.  I got to meet a lot of the wrestlers I like (we stayed in the same hotel as they did) and just generally got off on all the incredibly hot guys who walk the halls.  (College wrestlers are my absolute favorite body types--short and stocky.)

Next year, the NCAAs will be in Oklahoma City.  I am already planning on going.

My next trip, ironically, is to Oklahoma City in April.  I will be meeting up with a friend from Denver and wrestling some of the local talent. Until then, it's back to the gym and back to writing on Middleboro.

P.S.  I was so bummed that David Taylor did not beat Kyle Dake.  Both guys are really nice (and I met them both) but I have a soft spot of David and really wanted to see him prevail.  Oh well.  Next year.






Sunday, March 17, 2013

Middleboro Part 12

Part twelve of Middleboro.  Hope you enjoy.  I sure wish I could find someone to illustrate some of the scenes from this story.  Anyone know the guy who drew Rants Roids Rasslin?  Or who draws Kalabro? 




David opened his eyes.  He wasn’t sure where he was.  The last thing he remembered was Mitchell.  They had been wrestling and Mitchell had jacked David off.  Then, nothing.  



But, Mitchell was missing.  So, how could he have been with him?  And, if it wasn’t Mitchell who’d jacked him off so furiously.  Who…or what had done it?

Slowly, David tried to turn his head.  Something held him in place.  Some sort of strap across his forehead.  He tried to reach up and pull it away, but his hands were tied, too.  In fact, David was bound hand and foot, and only with difficulty was he able to turn his head enough to see that he was tied to what appeared to be a concrete wall.  It was dark, although there was some intermittent light, but everything had a decidedly bluish cast, as though some sort of filter had been laid over what little light there was. 

He heard water dripping.  A splash.  Something was near-by.  Something was moving in the murk, and David knew that he was not alone.



He strained to see what was holding him, and only slowly understood that he was literally plastered to a wall by what looked like sticky, white strands of cum.  They were slightly flexible, but still tough enough that he could not break free.  It was as though he’d been webbed to the wall.

As he struggled to move, he felt a constriction in his groin.  He leaned his head forward, as much as he could, and saw that his balls and cock were tightly webbed up and held in place.  His dick was hard.  So damned hard.  And only then did he realize how sore his cock was—as though he’d been jacking off over and over all day. 

Something moved.  David looked out into the room.  Was it a room?  It looked like a cave, or maybe a sewer.  Whatever, something was there with him.  Something was moving just out of his field of vision, and he couldn’t move his head around enough to get a good look.

Then, David saw them.

Along the wall across from him.  Was that Mitchell?  He was webbed to the far wall along with six of seven other men. All of them were naked and fixed to the wall with numerous strands of thick, white cum.  All of them had enormous hard-ons.  And all of them were out, their heads lolling to one side.



A scratching sound to his left.  David strained to turn his head.  He had to see what it was that had ensnared them.  Had to know what it was that was doing this.  But it was so dark, and the blue tint made it difficult to see clearly.  Still, there was something there, moving to his left, seemingly skittering along the wall. 

His breath came in short, sharp gulps as David broke into a sweat.  His heart pounded.  Something was just to his left.  He could feel its presence.  Almost feel the heat that it gave off.  There was a weird noise.  A sort of wet smacking, and David began to realize that whatever it was, it was only inches away.

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.  Then, with all his might, he jerked his head around, yanking a strand of the sticky stuff loose. 

Two red eyes.  That was what he saw.  A black bulk squatting on the side of the wall, with two large red eyes that bore into David’s head and made him want to scream.

And he did.  A long, terrified wail that echoed down the chamber and reverberated in his ears. 

It was on him.  Long, black legs with stiff black hairs.  A large open mouth, dripping a viscous liquid.  It was crawling over David.  Smothering him with its bulk.  He wanted to scream again.  Wanted to shout.  But something was in his mouth.  Something soft yet hard.  Expanding.  Warm. 

It was Mitchell.  He was on top of David.  His smooth, muscular body was clearly delineated in the dim light of the sewer.  His crotch was only inches from David’s face, and his hard cock was in David’s mouth.  He was skull-fucking David, holding David’s head in his strong hands, while he thrust his cock deep into David’s mouth. 

David was hard.  So incredibly hard.  And he was touching Mitchell.  Running his hands over Mitchell’s smooth, bare ass.  Mitchell had such hard ass cheeks.  Such incredibly nice muscled ass cheeks, and David let his hands feel the dimples on each.

But how could he be feeling Mitchell when his hands were tied?  How could Mitchell be here when David could tilt his head ever so slightly and see Mitchell, unconscious and bound, against the far wall? 

Mitchell withdrew his cock from David’s mouth, and let the wet tip linger just a moment on David’s lower lip.  Then Mitchell repositioned himself so that his head was down at David’s waist, and he was looking up with that silly grin he had.  David wanted to laugh, but he was so damned hard.  So desperate to cum.  And Mitchell wanted him to cum. He wanted David to give up his spunk.  To ejaculate again and again.  Oh God!  He was going down on David, using his mouth to work David’s poor, sore cock.  But David didn’t even notice the pain.  It felt so great.  So amazing. 

This isn’t Mitchell.

Oh, man….oh…please…don’t stop.  Just…

Isn’t Mitchell.

Sucking his balls.  Licking his shaft.  Working the tip—the oh-so-sensitive tip—and then back again.

Against the other wall, David saw Mitchell’s eyes open.

“David…?”

As David shot his load, he saw the horror in Mitchell’s eyes.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Middleboro Part 11

Here's episode eleven of Middleboro.  I may not be able to post another chapter until a week or two from now.  I will be in Iowa next week for the NCAA Wrestling Tournament and will hopefully be doing a lot of wrestling myself.  I will try and return with plenty of pictures of the action. If I can, I will post one more chapter before I go, but it depends on how long it takes me to write it.

Pictures, again, are from Sean Cody. 


 
Foster twirled the end of his t-shirt in his fingers as he nervously sat in the back seat of Jack’s car.  Jack, David, and Chris had been inside Spanky’s house for what seemed like an eternity.  What were they doing inside?  Hunting monsters?  That was crap.  They were probably wrestling.  Everybody was always wrestling, but not with Foster.  Oh, no.  Whenever he showed up, everybody always got that look--a roll of the eyes, the snide remarks--but he didn’t care. He was as good as anyone else. 

But, Jack.  Now he was different.

Foster hated to admit it, but he’d been in love with Jack since ninth grade.  Jack had always been so fucking hot, so cool.  He had that thick, black hair and the dark complexion.  He was built, too.  Maybe he hadn’t been the biggest guy in high school, but he looked good.  And what an ass!  Jesus.  Foster was a bottom.  No doubt about that.  But Jack’s ass was another thing altogether. 

A tap on the glass.

Foster was surprised to see Jack standing at the window, looking in.  Damn!  He wasn’t wearing a shirt!  Foster had known they were inside wrestling.  So, at least Jack had had the decency to come outside and invite Foster in. 

Jack was grinning a funny grin, and he motioned for Foster to roll down the window.  Foster wasn’t sure why Jack didn’t just open the car door, but what the hell.  He slid across the seat…and realized that the windows were power.  He unlocked the door instead and opened it.  Jack pulled it open the rest of the way and that was when Foster saw that Jack was standing there in a very brief pair of red trunks and a pair of black wrestling boots.  Jack’s cock was hard—Foster could see it through the fabric. 




“Jack, I knew you guys were wrestling in there!  Why didn’t you just invite me in?  You didn’t have to make up some lame story about a…”  Foster didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.  Jack was in the backseat and had caught Foster by the back of the head and pulled him in.  Jack’s tongue was down Foster’s throat and Jack was working at Foster’s belt and zipper. 

Foster didn’t fight.  He wanted this so badly, wanted Jack to want him.  And it was happening!  Finally! 

God, Jack looked so great as he pulled back and looked down at Foster’s crotch.  Foster leaned back and let Jack un-do his pants.  Then Jack’s big, strong hands were under Foster’s tidy-whiteys and had a firm hold on Foster’s cock.  Jack was so muscular, so strong, and he slide further into the backseat so that he was on top of Foster. 

Foster gave himself over to Jack, kissing him on the mouth, the cheek, anywhere he could land his lips.  Jack seemed to be laughing at him.  Messing with him.  For a brief second Foster wondered if this was some sort of joke.  Some sort of prank.  But Jack was turning Foster over and yanking down his pants to expose his ass. 

If this was a prank, then what a fucking prank!

Jack rubbed Foster’s exposed ass with one rough palm and then gave him a slap.  Foster involuntarily giggled.  He thought he sounded like a little girl and he was a little ashamed of that, but Jack didn’t seem to care.  He worked two fingers into Foster’s ass and reached around to work on Foster’s cock.

Then, Jack plunged in.  His massive cock hit Foster just at the right spot and he arched his back and tried to adjust himself so that Jack had a good angle.  But, oddly, he didn’t need to.  Jack was hitting the right spot with no trouble at all, and Jack was working Foster’s cock with an almost manic stroking.



Foster put his palms on the window in front of him and let it happen.  Jack felt so good in him, and on his cock.  The pounding against his prostate was heavenly and Foster felt himself getting ready to cum.  Jack stroked him like a piledriver, up and down, up and down, and Foster gritted his teeth in an attempt to keep from cumming too soon.

Looking down, Foster saw Jack’s hand on his cock and it felt so damned good.  But, that was funny.  It almost looked like Jack’s hand was extended around Foster’s body, like some elastic man.  Jack’s arm literally curved around Foster’s body like a powerful snake.  It was an optical illusion.  It had to be.  The pleasure was so intense, so fantastic, that Foster wasn’t seeing right. 

That had to be it, didn’t it?

Then, Foster felt Jack’s hand as it caressed his chin and cheek.  Jack had such rough, powerful hands, and Foster loved that feeling of intimacy that he felt when someone ran their hand over his face as they fucked him.

But, wait a minute.

Jack was still stroking him.  And another hand held Foster in place while he pumped his ass.  So, where was this other hand coming from?

Foster started to look back at Jack, but Jack held Foster’s head in place.  Oh God, he was about to cum.  Fuck, this was gonna be a big one! 

And it was, too.  Spattering the window in front of Foster like icing on a cake.  The rush of ejaculation felt so fantastic.  Foster’s entire body was into it.  Every fiber of his being seemed to vibrate with the pleasure of it.  He could actually feel the cum as it exited his cock.  Feel the long streams of white cum as it spattered against the armrest and window.  He felt like he was being drained.  Emptied of everything.  And, everything looked blue.

*    *      *

As soon as Jack walked out onto the front porch of Spanky’s house, he saw the back door of his car sitting wide open.  He ran down the steps and across the short expanse of lawn.  Foster was gone.  The back seat reeked of cum, and Jack saw white strands dripping from the armrest and the far-side window.  Jesus.  It looked like Foster had cum an ocean in there.

“Where is he?” It was Chris.  He was standing there in just a pair of tight leather pants and his sneakers.  It wasn’t his best look.

“Gone!  It’s got him!”

Spanky was standing a few feet away.  He was dressed—if that was the right word—in a pair of leather briefs and a leather harness.  “Hey!” He said, but Jack and Chris weren’t listening.

“My God, Chris!  What the hell is going on?  Where is it taking them?”

Chris ran a hand through his hair, but Jack could tell by the panicked look in his eyes that Chris had no idea.

“Hey!”

“We’ve got to find David, Chris.  You have to help me find him!”

“Hey!”

Jack was suddenly aware that Spanky was trying to get their attention.  “What?”  He sounded irritable, and he was.

“Isn’t that Foster over there?”  Spanky was pointing across the street.  There, just at the edge of a circle of light cast by a street lamp, sat Foster.  He was in the street, the gutter really, his back to one of the big storm drains.  He was naked, and his head lolled to one side.

“I think he’s out,” said Jack.  “C’mon, the thing didn’t take him.”

“Even the monster doesn’t want Fost,” added Chris.

Jack and Chris ran down the drive and into the street.  Foster’s round belly seemed luminescent in the glimmer of streetlight.  It actually seemed to glow.  But Jack could see that it was just a sheen of cum that slicked him. 

As they were crossing the street Jack saw them, emerging from the darkness in the storm drain behind Foster.  Spindly, black legs, like the legs of an insect or a spider, closed around Foster’s torso.  Jack wanted to scream, wanted to yell, but it was too late.

Foster was yanked backwards into the storm drain.

Monday, March 11, 2013

Erotic Wrestling

Okay, if anything, I am willing to get out there and wrestle.  The picture below is me, being throttled (in a playful way) by a friend of mine who came into town last weekend and wrestled me all Saturday and Saturday night. 

He is taller than me by several inches but we were pretty evenly matched in terms of strength.  That led to some great tests of strength between us--like the picture below demonstrates.

Yeah, that's me on the left, unwilling to give up even an inch.  Toe-to-toe and chest-to-chest.  Nothing like a little nude wrestling between two friends.

Of course, sometimes I got the worst of it.  Here I'm being choked out.  Look at his arms.  Aren't they great?  He's got his legs wrapped around me and is holding me in place while he works me over.  I got out of it, and turned the tables, though.



I pinned him to the bed and tortured him a while with his arms behind his back.  He didn't give in, though. A real tough guy. 

If these pics don't get me thrown off Blogspot, I don't know what will.  Oh, well.  I've got lots more wrestling planned over the next few weeks.  Hopefully, lots more pics, too!

Another chapter in Middleboro will be posted tomorrow night (March 12th, 2013).


Saturday, March 2, 2013

Middleboro Part 10

Another episode in the continuing story of Middleboro.  Again, pictures are from Sean Cody.Com.


 
Jack’s pants were down around his ankles.  His briefs were torn and hanging onto one leg.  His cock was hard.  Harder, it felt, than it had ever been before.  He tried to think about David.  His brother was missing.  He wasn’t in the basement.  That thing had taken him.  But all he could think about was his need to cum. 

Jack took a step forward and fell to his knees.  His balls contracted and he felt his whole body convulse with pleasure.  He looked down at his cock and in one over-whelming spasm it shot a load.  He leaned back, his back arched, his hands balled into fists.  His cock contracted and shot and contracted and shot.  His ass cheeks flexed and his quads burned as his body moved almost involuntarily to the convulsions of his cock.  It felt so magnificent.  So, absolutely sublime.  His entire being seemed to be spraying out in the streams of sticky, white cum that flew across the carpet.  It made him feel a little light-headed.

In fact, it made him feel very light-headed.  As he continued to cum, he felt himself getting weak, and his vision started to narrow.  The room appeared to have a blue tint, like a filter had been drawn across the light. 

Was Chris coming toward him?  Was that Chris? 

He reached out, but only for a second.

He was out.

*   *   *

Derrick Mason was in his singlet and already covered in sweat.  He was in position.  Thick, hairy, muscled arms extended.  His massive legs flexed.  His eyes fixed on Jack.  He was preparing for a takedown. 

A whistle blew, and Derrick was in on Jack’s legs, taking him down, hard, to the mats.  Jack instinctively fell onto his belly, and Derrick was across his back, working for a nelson.  Jack tried to get up on his knees, but Derrick knew just how to thread his legs under Jack and force him back flat onto the mat.  Jack could feel Derrick laughing.  Derrick always laughed at Jack, because he always beating Jack in wrestling.  Derrick was from St. Stephens, Middleboro’s arch rival, and Derrick was their team captain.  He had it in for Jack.  He always had.

Then Jack saw the lights of the gym above him.  This was because Derrick had turned him over and was scoring back points.  Jack struggled to escape.  He was intensely aware that his singlet was drawn tightly across his crotch, and his junk was clearly outlined.  Derrick had Jack’s arm pinned and was holding him in place.  Jack heard Derrick say something that sounded like “loser,” and then Jack was back on his belly.  Derrick had scored three points. 

Derrick had a smell to him.  A man’s smell.  A thick, oaty smell of sweat and testosterone.  It was matted black hair, and slick armpits.  Breath reeking of Gatorade.  Jack caught a brief glimpse of Derrick’s nipple and the hair on Derrick’s chest.  Derrick had a man’s chest, not Jack’s slick, hairless chest. 

Whenever Derrick got the top position, as he did now, he worked his cock up into Jack’s ass—Jack could feel it through Derrick’s singlet—and Jack felt as though Derrick was about to pin him to the mats, pin him in place, not with his strength, but with his thick cock.

In three years, Jack never beat Derrick.  He wrestled Derrick five times.  He lost by pin, major decision, major decision, decision, and pin.

Jack was no longer on the mats. He was in his jeans and shirtless.  It was a hot, hot summer night.  He was bent over the hood of Derrick’s car, and Derrick had a hold of Jack’s balls, squeezing them hard, and laughing over Jack’s shoulder.

“How do you like that, Jack?  Huh?  You like that, don’t you?  Fucker.  You like that, don’t you asshole?”  Derrick’s voice had a rasp to it; a rough sandpaper punctuated by exclamation points. 

Derrick reached between Jack’s cheeks and tortured Jack.  He squeezed Jack balls, and ran his palm across Jack’s quickly hardening member.  Then, he’d ram his groin into Jack’s ass, shoving Jack violently against the cool metal of the car.  Jack was hard.  So, goddamned hard.  He bit down on his lip, hoping that would distract him, hoping it would break Derrick’s spell.  But then Derrick slapped the back of Jack’s head and grabbed Jack’s balls again, squeezing even tighter.

There were others there.  Just outside the circle of light cast by a street lamp.  Their faces were indistinct and hazy, but Jack knew that they were there.  A circle of sweaty, shirtless boys.  Laughing.  Pointing.  Making comments that Jack barely heard. 

And then Jack was down on the pavement.  Down on all fours.  Derrick was reaching down, taking Jack by the hair.  There was nothing Jack could do.  He was so absolutely aware of Derrick’s smell, his sweaty, shirtless chest.  Derrick’s biceps were pumped from the gym.  His thick, strong legs filled a pair of faded jeans.

Jack couldn’t beat Derrick.  He had never beaten Derrick.  He was just too strong.  Too powerful.  Too able to find Jack’s weak-spots and exploit them. 

“You want my cock, don’t you Jack?”

“Nah…no…”

“Yes, you do.  You want my cock in your mouth.  Here…take it…fucker…”

Derrick had his jeans unzipped and his cock out.  His cock was not long, but it was thick and round.  He shoved it into Jack’s face.  Jack tried to turn away and a smear of pre-cum angled from the corner of Jack’s mouth across his cheek.  Jack tried to get to his feet.  But there were hands on him.  Other guys.  Holding him down, making him take Derrick’s cock, making him suck his worst enemy.



“No!”

“You want it!”

“No!”

“Jack!”

“No!”

“Jack, damn it, wake up!”

“No…”

“Wake up!”

It was Chris, standing over him in a pair of tight leather pants and no shirt.  He looked hot.  Really good.  Jack didn’t like leather on a guy that much, but Chris had the body for it.

Wait. 

It wasn’t Chris.  It was that…that thing.

“Get away from me.” Jack was on a couch.  But where was he?  Nothing looked familiar.  Chris was moving in, probably going to work on Jack’s cock again.

“Get back!”

“Jack!  It’s me!  Chris!  Look!”  The make-believe Chris pointed and Jack saw a naked Spanky standing behind the couch.

“Hi Jack.”

“Uh…Chris?”  Was it Chris?  “How do I know it’s you?  Those pants.  You never wear leather.”

Chris looked down at himself.  “What?  Oh these.”  He laughed.  “You came all over my jeans.  That was the biggest ejaculation I’ve ever seen.  It was like a geyser or something.  These are Spanky’s.  I had to wear something.  Which, by the way…”  Chris turned to Spanky.  “I thought you were going to get dressed?”

Spanky had a weird smile on his face.  That was when Jack realized that his jeans were still down.  He yanked them up.  Spanky’s face fell.

“Guess I’ll get dressed…”

“Jack, are you okay?”

Jack got to his feet but he was a little wobbly.  Chris caught him.  “I think I’m okay.”  Jack pulled his pants up the rest of the way and fastened them.  “What happened to me?”

“You came an ocean of cum.  All over me.  All over poor Spanky’s floor.”  Chris nodded to his right and Jack saw a huge wet spot on the carpet.  “Although, I have a feeling that plenty of jizz has been spilled on this floor.”

Jack was suddenly glad that he still had on his work boots.  “So, I just passed out?”

“Yeah.  Out cold.”

Then it hit him.  “David!  Where’s David?”  He caught hold of Chris’ biceps.

“I don’t know, Jack.  We’ve looked all over the house, but he’s gone.”

“Oh, my God!  That…that thing…it has David!  We have to find him, Chris.  We have to find him!”

“I know.  I know.  I’ll help you.  Let’s get out of here.  We’ll take Spanky with us.  Besides, we need to check on Foster.  He’s probably still sitting in the backseat of your car.”