Finding Hunter and his Suits of Discovery

By the time I was in ninth grade I had a regular jack-off buddy, a fellow-student at the American school in Mexico where my father's job took us.

Hunter was Canadian. He was more muscular than I was, a little heavier, and had more body hair. He also had a larger, more mature dick compared to mine. We wanked together in the gym restroom nearly every school day, but with a peculiar twist: We did not touch each other. We simply pumped out our individual loads together. Usually we stood facing each other in order to watch the action while we jacked. Occasionally one of us would sit on a toilet  with his pants down and his shirt up, providing a more erotic vision for the other guy. We used grunts and sighs to communicate our impending climaxes. But Hunter had an unspoken rule that kept us from trying to feel of each other's junk.

Aside from our mutual masturbation routine, Hunter and I had little in common. It was as if that single need to experience a daily climax pulled us together for a few minutes and then sent us on our separate ways after our joint ejaculations. He was athletic, hard-muscled and outspoken while I was a relatively gentle bookworm. The only thing we had in common was jacking off.

So it was unusual when Hunter asked me if I'd like to go home with him some afternoon. We worked it out with our parents and the school administration. A driver from the Canadian consulate picked Hunter up and delivered him home after school every day. I went along on the day that we'd agreed on.

It was soon clear why Hunter was so muscular. He had a two-room suite that was full of body-building equipment from weights to an elaborate workout bike and a rugged-looking thing that he called a home gym. He also had a closet full of sports outfits and team uniforms for every Canadian team you could think of. And the suite featured its own bathroom.

At Hunter's suggestion we changed from our school uniforms into athletic gear. First came basketball jerseys. We went outside to shoot a few hoops. Then we changed into hockey outfits and messed with a couple of sticks. He seemed to become aroused by each of the uniforms, frequently adjusting his junk and asking me if the gear fit my crotch okay.

Next Hunter pulled out a couple of wrestling singlets, one-piece stretchy garments. "You can't wear your shorts under these," he told me, pointing to my boxers. As we changed into the singlets in front of each other it was clear that Hunter's prick was in a sort of half-hard state, appearing thick and heavy but not yet actually erect.

I wiggled into a bright blue singlet, a lustrous sheen of thin fabric. Hunter's was shiny orange. We faced off and squirmed around on his floor, trying to put moves on each other. Apparently he didn't know much more about wrestling than I did, except that we were supposed to get our opponent's shoulders pinned. I seemed to have an advantage, being lighter and quicker. Hunter spent more time adjusting the front of his singlet than actually grappling with me.

Soon Hunter crawled away, panting. . He sat on the floor in his one-piece orange outfit and leaned against his bed getting his breath. He became preoccupied with his privates. The outfits were skin-tight, leaving nothing to the imagination. Hunter tucked and re-tucked the suit's crotch around his balls. He prodded his stiffening peter to various angles, eventually settling on a totally vertical position. He squeezed his bulge several times and spread his knees as if exhibiting the unmistakable penis-shaped lump in his singlet as a work of art.

Meanwhile I'd caught a boner myself.

"That's a nice look," Hunter told me, staring at my bulge while squeezing his own linear lump. We watched each other, both of us babying our concealed erections.

"You want to do something for me?" Hunter asked. His voice was a little constrained, containing a hint of nervousness.

"What?"

"Give me a little squeeze?"

"Sure." This was abnormal, since Hunter had been the one who balked at us ever touching anything that was off-limits. The guy that had jacked with me dozens of times seemed transported to a different world now that our stiff peters were trapped in the tight, clingy singlets. I felt my own dick rising to its final stiffness, inflexible to its full extent as I reached for Hunter's clearly outlined boner.  "How's that?"

"Oh! Good! Do it again?"

I gave him a couple more squeezes and wondered if Hunter played with these singlets when he was alone. Obviously he didn't really wrestle; it seemed that he just enjoyed the feel of the satin-like material on the critical parts of his body. As for me, those singlets were the most revealing gear I'd ever seen. The sensuous fabric that stretched across my crotch gave me strange tingles and horny sensations.

Now, starting with a loose grip, Hunter began masturbating his dick. Or rather, he began masturbating the lump of Lycra that contained his dick. His hand was on the outside of the garment while his dick was on the inside. He moved the hand back and forth at a slow pace, back and forth on the big lump, encouraging his cum-shooter to become more and more aroused.

I did the same, knowing that I would soon climax if we kept this up. I looked around the room for tissues or towels but saw none.

"I'm gonna shoot in a minute," I told Hunter. "Need something to cum in."

Hunter was now leaning back against the bed, dragging his finger tips slowly back and forth along his clearly-defined bulge. The outline of his large dickhead was clearly recognizable at the top of his shaft. The Lycra displayed every curve of his erect organ plus the softer rounded mass of his balls. His mouth was partway open, his eyes closed, his fingers on auto-pilot.

"In the bathroom," he said. But then he added "Just do it in the suit. It's cool that way."

Hunter rearranged his dick again. Now it stuck out, straining against the restraint of the singlet. It made an unmistakable tent, holding the fabric up in a rounded cone. Hunter wrapped his hand around the cone, pulling the fabric tightly around his erect dick. His hand began to jiggle, sort of vibrating the hidden dick without really pumping it.

"I love singlets," he whispered, continuously jiggling himself.

I was still looking for something to cum in. Shooting a load inside the singlet didn't appeal to me, but I didn't want to miss Hunter's action by leaving him and going to the bathroom. Hunter continued to stimulate his orange-clad erection, now taking traditional strokes on it. The bright point of his dickhead become visible with every downstroke and disappeared into his fist on each upstroke.

He began to make strange unarticulated noises, sort of "Huh, huh, hah."

"Watch," he told me, jiggling a little faster. "Watch! Huh! Huh!"

The tip of Hunter's Lycra cone turned a darker orange as if a couple of drops of water had been released. The dark spot became wider and wider, obviously wet. Then, suddenly, as Hunter exhaled noisily, a flood of white cum oozed completely through the stretchy orange material and into the outside world. "It's cumming", he said, a little late. He tensed up. More cum oozed out. It ran slowly across Hunter's singlet, white globs leaving thick trails behind. Still more white stuff appeared through the saturated fabric. He was breathing sort of raggedly, making sounds but not words.

 
Hunter's ejaculation pushed me to the brink. I rubbed my hand back and forth on the bump in my singlet, looking forward to a good orgasm but wishing I had my hand on my dick instead of the singlet. When my climax came I felt the warm goosh of a major load of semen enveloping my dick while only a few drops came through the material. Maybe I didn't hold the singlet as tightly around my dick as Hunter did.

Hunter and I continued to jack off in the gym restroom at school. We still did not touch each other during those encounters, but looked all we wanted. From time to time I went home with him and we masturbated in various sports gear such as baggy basketball shorts, designer jockstraps, tight swimsuits and even simple gray warm-ups.

Hunter's favorite was clearly the singlets and he would almost apologetically ask me to squeeze him when he was erect in a shiny, bright colored wrestling outfit. "Heh!" he would whisper as the sensations gripped him. Then he'd jiggle himself to a climax and his cum would ooze thickly right through the fabric and make runny white trails across the neon suit.

AS