Reed peeled his own clothes off, stacked them on the bench by Chance's locker, and started getting into his gym shorts and T. Soon they were joined by a couple other young wrestlers, who acknowledged Chance, as well as Reed ("hey, the guy who's gonna observe us!"), and changed.
Reed got just a quick glimpse of the young men nude, both of whom were built (but neither like Chance), before Chance led Reed through the locker rooms and out into the practice room.
It was nicely lit, Reed noticed, well-equipped, but hot as hell.
"Jesus, man, it's like a furnace in here."
"I know. It bugged me at first, but now I'm into it. Gets your muscles loose in a hurry. I think Coach always wants us to cut weight or something. You sure as hell get an amazing workout every time, sweating up a storm."
The team drifted in and Reed went to work taking photos and making notes in his log. He became almost a fly on the wall, as far as Chance was concerned, who was into his body-celebration day. A quick stretch (he was already primed after his morning run), and then he hit the weights.
His excitement did indeed result in a new swagger, one he really felt, as he walked around the weight room that morning, and most of the boys noticed it, too (either the swagger or the huge impression his dick made unencased by a jock for the first time at practice).
Chance could now think of the boys on his team frankly, sexually. He didn't just study their physiques, he perused them critically as guys he might like to fool around with. That new frankness showed in his patter that morning.
Lots of "looking good today, stud" and "damn, I gotta feel that bicep, dude; how much you curling anyway?" and "those abs are looking hot." Nothing very blatant, just a marked, subtle difference, a new level of bodily intimacy.
Such intimate awareness of each other's bodies was easily accomplished, given the skimpy amount of clothes the wrestlers wore for lifting. Reed quickly noticed, snapping pictures here and there whenever he caught a good pose, that almost all the boys wore their singlets pulled down around their waists as they lifted.
Some simply wore a pair of gym shorts, most with no top or just a sleeveless one. Practically speaking, it allowed them to see each muscle in the mirror as they worked it, gauging the effectiveness of their workout.
But, Reed smiled knowingly, it also meant they could show off and view each other's bodies more easily that way, too, judging by how often their gazes lingered on a team mate's sweaty torso. The coach, too, he noticed, was having a field day staring at his built young team. Now there's a job I should have considered, Reed sighed; if only I'd known . . .
Coach, Reed saw, spent a lot of time with Chance as he did his upper body routine. The coach wore a pair of sweatpants that were cut just right to show off a nicely-formed ass. On top he wore a sleeveless T, cut low to show off the lightly-furred chest of a very in-shape thirty-something.
He watched appreciatively as Chance did his raises, then spotted him at the bench press. At one point, in order to show Chance how the muscle was supposed to flex, he took off his T, and then "casually" forgot to put it back on. Reed took some snaps of this beautiful youngish bear.
Another time, to show Chance how to change his grip on a biceps curl, in order to get a better pump, he nuzzled right up behind Chance, asked him to hold a contraction, then traced his fingers back and forth along the muscle as he explained the theory behind this new grip. His other hand just happened to rest very informally on Chance's lower hip. Reed got a few more snaps.
He's either the best hands-on trainer around or this guy's copping feels of his young squad whenever possible. But fuck, the two of them looked very hot together. And Reed didn't think he was seeing things as Chance seemed to press his ass further into Coach's dick. Quite a fast learner I tutored last night, he thinks wistfully. At this rate he'll be giving me lessons in a few days.
"All right," coach announced after the weights session, "listen up. For today's scrimmage, I want you each to wrestle someone out of your weight class. Big guys, see if you can handle the speed of some of the lighter guys. Little guys, your resistance is about to get an extreme challenge. We'll do the usual, 2 minutes, followed by 1, followed by 1."
Brock Sears, one of the seniors on the team, wasted no time zeroing right in on Chance before any other wrestler could. He had been turned-on by Chance's cut perfection all term, and today, seeing no jock under Chance's singlet, was too much. He was definitely gonna be feeling up that cock as much as he could legitimately get away with.
"How about it, stud?" Brock smiled cockily. "Think you can take me?"
Chance looked him up and down, his gaze exceeding the bounds of propriety, a lingering look lost not at all on Brock, whose pulse began to trip even faster.
"I'd sure like to try, dude," Chance drawled out.
"I gotta go change into my suit," Brock said coolly. "That'll give you a couple of minutes to chicken out."
"I understand, dude. You gotta change your suit. And if you don't come back, don't worry, I'll know you ain't punked out."
"Man, is that guy hot for you," Reed commented softly, as he came up behind Chance.
"Ya think so? I was thinking so, too."
"Dude, he never took his eyes of your cock. Shit, though, I guess I could say that for about half the guys in here."
"Well, the fish you wanna hook is supposed to be attracted by your wiggly worm, dude. That's the idea."
"Worm? Dude, you've got an anaconda at the end of your line."
"That's so I can hook the big ones, bro!" Chance laughed as he gave Reed a quick feel.