College Diver Goes Deep for the Win

Sometimes at smaller newspapers, reporters have to cover for their peers ... or take on stories that are outside their comfort zones. Case in point: Kyle Roth.

Our sports reporter, Benjy, went out of town on a family emergency with a story almost completed and he asked me if I'd do a quick interview with this college platform diver and get a pic or two of him in and around the pool. Benjy was a pretty good guy and very dependable about returning favors ... I agreed to help him out and file my additional paragraphs with our editor so the story could run in the upcoming Weekender.

I'd never heard of this Roth kid, but apparently just about everyone in upstate New York had. He was the only child of a prominent Manhattan family who had made early millions and retired to the Bainbridge area. Kyle was a good-looking, outdoorsy kid with a love of the water, and his father soon got him involved in competitive diving. Training was tough and began at the age of 8, and from Benjy's notes, I guess the Roths were extremist "stage parents," throwing around money and harsh words to make sure their son had the stellar high school athletic career he deserved. In the files, Benjy had a photo sent by the Roths of the family's "trophy room" littered with extravagant trophies, colorful ribbons, and gleaming medals of various shapes and sizes.

After high school, Kyle came south to a small college within our paper's primary circulation area. The institution didn't offer athletic scholarships, but the rumor was that "things happened" to get talented young athletes into its hallowed halls. Of course, financial aid probably hadn't been a deciding factor for the Roths. Kyle would only be a sophomore this fall, but he had already blasted past five of the college's three-meter diving records.

As I drove through the attractive campus, I half expected tumbleweeds to blow across my path ... activity was minimal. Summer session was in full swing, but I knew that four-year schools ... especially private, supposedly conservative ones ... often all but shut down June through August. Benjy assured me that Kyle Roth was in residence, actually living in a nearby apartment through the summer to avoid any interruptions in his training. The sports complex that housed the gym, running track, and pool was on the west edge of campus ... with the reduced student body, traffic and parking was not problematic. I arrived about 10 minutes early, so I took a moment to check the camera (battery life excellent), my notebook and supply of pens (ample), and my back-up digital recorder (never leave the office without it!) before zipping them all up securely in my battered-but-trusty leather messenger bag. I also did a quick hair fluff and applied a bit of concealer under both my eyes. Do I ever sleep? I thought. I locked my car and headed for what appeared to be the main entrance.

Inside, a pretty, trim girl sat behind a desk, her focus on an open textbook. She must have saw movement in her peripheral vision, because once I cleared the entrance, she looked up with a bit of a shocked expression and closed her book as if I'd caught her diddling herself.

"Hello, sir, and welcome to the Kolmann Rec Center," said the pretty smiling co-ed with all the genuine emotions of a fembot. "How can I help you?"

"I was told I could find Kyle Roth here this afternoon. We're scheduled to do a short interview for a newspaper article a colleague of mine is finishing up." Almost immediately, this girl's demeanor did a 180. "Kyle," she beamed. "We all love Kyle aroud here ... he'd be just finished with his workout and probably in the locker room."

"Then I can just follow the signs?" I asked, pointing to the graphic bands of color on the wall that I supposed led you to the major areas of the building.

"No, the swimmers and divers have a smaller private locker area donated by some wealthy alumni the Coach knows ... Kyle and Ted will be there. Just take the elevator right down there one floor down and its the third ... no fourth door on the right. There's a big mural of a pair of swim goggles right beside the door. I actually know the girl who painted it."

"Thanks," I sincerely said, "but who's Ted?" But the young lady just motioned me with a "whatever" finger and hurried to pick up the phone in response to a red blinking light and soft buzz.

The building was eerily quiet, my footsteps actually making light padding noises on the cement floor as I moved to the elevator door and pressed the "down" arrow. The elevator arrived with the sound of thunder and was just as noisy as it descended and deposited me on one of the complex's two lower floors. I thanked the gods for my safe arrival and exited the lift. I could immediately see the painting inquestion, so I sauntered over and tapped lightly on the adjoining metal door. After a few seconds and no reply, I tried the handle. It was not locked, so I collected my thoughts and entered. The damp, cool smell of collected water and the sharp smells of chlorine and cleaning agents assailed me immediately. It was a small, dim room with two vinyl chairs immediately to my left and a small table with a few sports tables sprinkled about. A fake fern attempted to give the space a sense of the living. To my right was another door with a small window ... it appeared to be an office, a "Coach Livingston" brass placard was attached near the door frame on a light aqua cinder block wall. Straight ahead I saw an open doorway with soft light and voices carrying from within.

I moved to the doorway and leaned in for a look. "Fuck me!" I said under my breath. The room was long and narrow and completely tiled in watery blue and soft green tiles. The part closest to me was walled with dark green lockers ... maybe 10 each side ... with a wooden bench bolted to the floor dividing the space. At the far end was an upscale open shower area with eight shower heads and a raised seating area in the middle. And in the place where the two areas met stood a naked god being carefully toweled off by a scruffy but very hot young man.

I guessed that the nude stud was Kyle Roth. He was tall and slender and chiseled and, other than his head and a bit of beard stubble, completely hairless. Kyle's chest was magnificent, like precise planes of pale marble, marred only by deliciously small chocolate nipples. His abdomen was taut but not overly defined, visually teasing my eyes with hints of tight, corded muscles just below the surface. His ass was surprisingly plump from my viewpoint, but parts of his body were shrouded as the other man applied a large terrycloth towel to blot up drops of water on his skin. "Non-Kyle" was on the shorter side ... maybe 5' 10" ... with reddish-brown curly hair and a face featuring a prominent nose and delicate freckles. His Irish looks were a nice contrast to the creamy Dutch-heritage complexion and dark and moody Iroquois-derived features of "Real Kyle." This, I figured, was the mysterious Ted.

I remained silent and motionless. I desperately wanted to see how this scene played out, and so did the raging pecker in my pants. As if cued, Ted dropped the towel to the bench and moved in much closer to Kyle. He immediately set to work on a nipple, chewing on the area and moaning softly to himself. In response, Kyle stretched and hissed and muttered encouragement. "Ted, you know all my buttons ... make me happy, make me so happy." Ted moved to the other nipple, his hands reaching around to knead the muscles of Kyle's back and to lightly rub the top of his luscious butt. Glimpses of a succulent dick peeked from between Kyle's strong legs.

Ted was very intent on his work, but not so much that his eyes didn't wander a bit ... and that was when he notice me. "What the fuck, man," Ted shouted as he straightened up and stood protectively in front of Kyle. Kyle seemed to accept his role as the "man in danger," but I also noticed that he made no move to shrink back or to cover himself up. "Who let you in here?"

"No one ... uh, the door was open and I had an appointment with ..."

"Fuck, Ted ... this is the guy from the paper. Coach set it up and I completely forgot." Kyle playfully smacked the side of his head sending little sprays of water from his longish, dark hair.

Ted looked a bit miffed at Kyle, but he still stood ramrod straight between us. "It's okay," he mouthed to his sexy buddy. And to me, "Sorry, sir, you just startled me ... us ... I'm Ted Conway, Kyle's roommate and the diving team manager." He relaxed a bit but I could tell Ted was still very aware of the sexually-charged environment around him. "Uh, could you give us a moment? Maybe we can find a space up in the lobby and ..."

"Or maybe," Kyle piped up in a rich baritone, "the reporter man would like to watch us play some more?" He leaned out a ways so I could see his sly smile more easily

"Kyle, don't dick around. We need to ..."

"No," I started. "That would be really, well, awesome." I moved forward before they could squabble any more and stood almost nose to nose with Ted. With no menace, I raised my left hand and lightly brushed his cheek, playing a bit and running a finger along the makings of a goatee. Kyle suddenly appeared to my right with a definite grin and I placed my right palm flat against his smooth pectoral ... his heart was racing like the pulse in my dick. I was working his nipple a bit and then started to trail my hand a little south when Ted stepped up to nudge me back with his shoulder.

"Dude," he declared, "if Kyle wants to play, we'll play ... but you'll be watching from the sidelines. No more touching ... Got it?!"

I was getting a little pissed by his attitude, but the testosterone in the room was ramped up so high that I was feeling slightly dizzy being so close to this pair of young college studs. "What the hell," I stated, and before I lost their attention, I walked over to the bench and dropped my messenger bag to the floor. With exaggerated motions, I undid my belt and pushed my open pants down past my knees. I was wearing a bright blue jock strap that made my pale skin almost glow. I double checked to see that Kyle at least was watching ... they both were ... and then tugged the pouch aside to free my very hard, very engorged cock. I think Ted licked his lips, but that fucker had set the rules. So fuck him!, I thought. Then I plopped down on the bench seat and began to slowly stroke my meat, stopping only to play in a bit of pre-cum.

The pair of college students took my brazenness as a "go" sign. While Ted stretched to remove his pullover, Kyle began to run a loving hand along his own prong. With Ted out of the way disrobing, I got my first clear look at Kyle's manhood. He was circumcised and probably topped out at a slender nine inches. I thought about what a sweet ride he'd be, but remembered that I was just here for the show.

By then, Ted had shed his top to reveal a pale, slightly beefy chest with large rosy nipples that looked so very tasty. While Kyle continued to stroke, his eyes closed as he got lost in the jack, Ted dropped his loose cargo shorts. His legs were stocky as well, covered in coarse, darker brown hairs. He wasn't wearing briefs and his dick hung thick, pudgy, and angry. His balls were glorious, one of those very round, very red sacs that doesn't show where the 'nads separate ... just one impressive pouch of masculinity covered in ginger down.

"Kyle, baby, let's show this guy how helpful I can be ... how much I love helping you any way I can." Kyle didn't answer. He did open his eyes and turn sideways so his dick stood straight out. With a bit of force, he pushed Ted into a squat where the team manager wasted no time in swallowing his star diver's pud in one quick gulp.

"Oh, fuck ... shit, man ... you're so good ... so fuckin' sweet to my dick. Aaahhhhh ... AAAAAAHHHHHH ..." Kyle writhed on his feet, cooing encouragement and flexing his stomach while he pumped his cock greedily into Ted's wet mouth. I, likewise, was a blur of motion. My hand was flying over my own stiffy, lubed with occasional dribbles of spit. I was literally hypnotized by the subtle flexing of Ted's throat as he dined on his friend's prolific prick. I need to slow down or this is gonna end way too soon for me, I kept thinking, but my brain and hand were in disconnect. The sensations just felt to fucking good!

It was probably only a few minutes later that Ted released Kyle's member and carefully laid down on his stomach across the bench. Kyle leaned in to place Ted's shirt and pants under his knees to provide some padding against the hard floor tiles. With a lustful look at me, Ted bent his head down, his curly hair in utter disarray. Meanwhile, Kyle continued to stroke his slobbery, now-crimson cock while he spit repeatedly into his hands. I imagined he was going to gently loosen up his friend and roommate, but with a sudden thrust Kyle plunged two sticky fingers into Ted's hot hole.

"FFFUUUCCCKKKKK!" was the sound echoing off the locker room walls. "OOOOHHHH, SSSHHHHIIIIITTTT! Don't ... DON'T STOP ... Don't ... DEEPER ... fuck those fingers deeper. AAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!!!" I stopped stroking momentarily to watch this rough invasion. Ted's head was lolling from side to side, and the look on Kyle's face was a mask of almost-anger. He was getting off on the harsh treatment of his buddy's ass. And I was ssssssooooo getting off on watching them!!

I went back to jacking ... really all-out shucking omy uncut cock. I was trying to match Kyle's brutality stroke for stroke. My eyelids fluttered as I surrendered to the beat. I wasn't aware of time passing, but a sudden and loud "Get over here!" snapped me out of my carnal reverie. Kyle was still fingerbanging Ted, but he was motioning me to come closer. I stood and hobbled over, pants still encircling my feet ... my jock pressing tightly around my clean-shaven scrotum. When I got close enough, Kyle used his free hand ... wet from his jerking ... to steer me into a stooping position. There before me was now three pale fingers slamming into a reddened, moist ass slot. Kyle seesawed his hand maybe four more times before withdrawing his digging digits and we both just rocked slightly on our feet, watching a tiny trail of spit dribble from Ted's crinkled hole.

Like I said, Ted was slightly chunky, but his can was well muscled, its center surrounded by a mossy ring of ginger hair. It was young and beautiful, but I could tell that gash had seen plenty of dick. Ted's hole pulsed a bit, finally winking it's assent. "He's ready," Kyle said, barely a whisper of sultry breath. "Put your hand here," he instructed. The palm of my free hand resumed its place above his beating heart.

With a red, winking asshole at my feet and a locker behind me to steady myself since both hands were "occupied," I watched in awe as Kyle Roth, champion college diver, drove his spike of manflesh into the vacuuming anal abyss of Ted Conroy, team manager. Kyle's cock rested just a moment in the heat of Ted's anus, and then he quickly began an in-and-out assault, feding more and more flesh into his writhing buddy. Their union was loud with lots of grunting utterances and squishy noises. Each thrust was met by an ass backing up to take as much pole as possible. Ted moaned ... Kyle moaned ... I concentrated on not passing out.

Then I shot a stream of goo down my leg ... followed by three more massive ribbons of white. I panted as I leaned against the cool metal of someone's locker, never removing my hand from the hot skin of Kyle's heaving chest. "I'm gonna blow ... I'M GONNA BLOW MY ... SSSSHHHHHIIIIITTTTT!!!!" was all we heard and I saw a sizable puddle of ecru pool beneath Ted's sweaty form. He convulsed a few times and then lay very still, his breath coming in large, audible gulps. Kyle removed his slender tool from his friend's spent hole and stretched to his full height ... and then I think he extended onto his toes, both his hands jerking wildly at his lengthy cock while he used the connection with my arm to keep from toppling over.

It had all been so wild that I was expecting cum to hit walls and ceilings. With a guttural cry, Kyle Roth thrust out his pelvis and dribbled a small amount of semen onto Ted's damp back.

The room instantly took on an air of awkwardness.

Ted got to his feet ... still a bit unsteady ... and retrieved towels for us all. I wiped up and got myself presentable fairly quickly. "Guys ... that was so fucking incredible. I've never seen two hotter dudes go at it ... but, um, I still need to talk to Kyle for just a few moments." I felt so odd asking this polite question to people I had just watched screwing like weasels.

Kyle was sitting on the bench, a towel draped across his shoulder like a beaten prize fighter. Ted had pulled on his pants and was just zipping up. "Give us 10 minutes and we'll meet you up by the entrance." With that, Ted pushed Kyle to his feet and steered him toward the showers. I had been dismissed.

It was more like 20 minutes before we all regrouped. Kyle was much less dazed and he answered the few questions I had, giving me pretty good quotes. Ted jumped in often with more details, and he also had a disk of photos I could use for the story ... no need to go back down to the pool area. It was a pleasant exchange, but I barely noticed ... I was still lost in the hot sex I'd just witnessed and of which I played a peripheral part. I just hoped the digital recorder could help me sort out the double somersaults from the full pikes and half tucks.

HEADLINE: College Diver Goes Deep for the Win