This story is just a fragment for the moment. If there’s significant interest I’ll continue it, but I’m also OK with it just being a weird little idea. It’s about a contest to determine the manliness (?) i.e. fuckability of several contestants. Enjoy.
The Man Awards — Preliminaries pt. I
“And without further delay, let’s begin. Now our first contestant is a banker from the suburbs of Detroit, Michigan. Everyone give a round of applause for Christian.”
Christian saunters out onto the stage to healthy applause while putting a hand up in a congenial wave, grinning, and winking liberally at the crowd. His slicked black hair is perfect down to the strand and his skin is a deep Mediterranean olive.
“Hi, Christian,” says Lance, the effervescent host.
“So you’re a banker. Now in these harsh economic times a lot of us guys are feeling the sting of tightened purse strings. Are you laughing all the way to proverbial bank?”
Christian’s laugh is low and light. “Not at all. We’ve all had to cut back and make sacrifices. I think the only things I haven’t compromised on have been my porn fund and my gym membership.”
That gets a round of cheers from the audience and some more winks from the contestant. He sticks a teasing tongue out at Lance who suddenly seems playfully affronted.
“Well for your first challenge, we’re going to see if you’ve been doing your cardio.” He winks at the crowd. “Now, Christian, I don’t have to tell you that there are some old wives tales about the kind of underwear that bankers wear. Care to prove them wrong?”
“I’d be happy to, Lance.”
On cue the music comes up and Christian started moving to it. It’s some trance remix to some summer blockbuster, but Christian makes it his own, dancing slightly out of time but with sensuous, careful rhythm. The buttons of his jacket open slowly as his fingers make their way down and a simple shrug of his shoulders sends the designer suit jacket to the ground. The crowd cheers for him to continue and he does in his own time. His white oxford shirt is next and when it comes off it reveals the taut muscles beneath. His pecs and abs are smooth and well-defined, his arms are corded with veins and are well-shaped. He teases and preens in his pants, thrusting his hips and slipping the tip of his tongue out over his lips while he dances with his eyes close. He waits for the call of the crowd to reach a roar before he unbuttons his slacks and let’s them fall slowly down his hips.
His bulging black briefs give the audience a full view of his firm, lean legs and round butt. He kicks off his pants and stands on the stage in his black socks and underwear as Lance looks him over with cartoon wolfishness.
“Oh, boy. You weren’t lying about that gym membership, huh? Can I join your gym? I’m not much on the weights, but my trainer gives me top marks in the steam room.”
Lance waits for the groans, cheers, and boos from the audience to subside before he puts an arm on Christian’s shoulder and gestures to the side of the stage. Christian bows for the crowd, soaks up another round of applause, and then takes his place to the side having completed his first challenge.
“Alright, now our next contestant is a musician from the veritable hippie commune of Ojai, California. Please welcome, Pete.”
Pete comes out with blue eyes flashing under feathery blond hair. He has a solid build that’s evident through his form-fitting white t-shirt and well-worn bootcut jeans. He gives a broad, good-natured smile and the crowd swoons audibly for him. He waves at Christian and the banker gave him a nod and says something that the mics didn’t pick up, but it makes Pete laugh.
Lance hooks an arm through Pete’s.
“Well, well, Peter, you’re the model Californian, aren’t you?”
“Am I? Thank you, I guess. I don’t know if I can represent an entire state. That’s a lot of pressure.” He laughs again.
“I’m sure you’d be fine no matter how much pressure we put in you. I mean on you,” Lance shrugs at the supposed gaffe and continues. “So Mr. Musician, what do you play?”
“Oh my. So you just spend all day banging, huh? Are you naturally talented?”
“A bit. It takes a lot of practice though, I spend at least thirty hours a week just practicing nonstop.”
“Well, we can’t evaluate your drumming tonight…unfortunately, but we can take a whiff of some of your other charms.”
Lance points to the steps leading down from the stage and the spotlights quickly swerves to illuminate a table of three men sitting patiently. “These are the judges from this challenge, Pete. They’ll be evaluating you based on your smell. One of the cornerstones of manliness if you ask me. Feel free to head down there whenever you’re ready.”
Pete nods. He peels off his shirt and it yields inch by inch as he rolls it over his flat stomach, hard, rounded chest, and broad shoulders. He unbuttons and pushes down his jeans in two smooth motions and steps out of them in complete comfort. Underneath he’s wearing a pair of white briefs that follow the contour of his heavy balls and thick, half-hard cock. The audience is heavily appreciative of the view. He has a relaxed, unhurried stride as he heads over to the judge’s table and with a silly grin, he grabs the table and climbs on top of it. He plants both big feet on the table and pumps a fist in the air like a rockstar.
In his own time, Pete crouches down in front of the first judge — a handsome bald bear with a salt & pepper goatee — who runs a hand up Pete’s hairy calves, up the inside of his thigh and across his stiffening bulge to the side of his briefs, right next to his balls. The judge leans forward and Pete scoots closer and presents his crotch to the judge. The judge hooks a finger in Pete’s briefs and pulls them aside so that he can get his nose right in. He takes a long smell and makes a pleasant noise sort of groan in the back of his throat.
“You smell good, boy,” the judge declares.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Sir, eh? He has manners. This boy’s welcome in my dungeon anytime.”
Lance rolls his eyes. “Let’s keep the tricking to a minimum until AFTER the contest, gentlemen. Pete, on to the next judge.”
The blond does as instructed. He stands and walks a few feet over to the next judge — a younger guy in a polo and a khakis who looks like he could be on the stage himself. The judge puts out a finger and gestures from Pete to come closer. The contestant squats down as he did before, but the judge puts his hands on both of Pete’s hips and pulls him closer. The judge stands from his seat in order to put his face right up against Pete’s briefs. The judge inhales deeply with his face pressed against Pete’s underwear to the approving roar of the crowd. The judge sticks his tongue out and starts to lick Pete’s cock through the cotton. The contestant’s cock is fully hard now and jumps at the attention.
The judge pulls away, licks his lips and pats Pete’s cock approvingly.
“Fucking hot, man. Those briefs are lucky to be pressed up against a piece of action like that. That’s a fucking manly, powerful scent.”
Pete smiles and kisses at the judge who slaps his leg playfully in return.Then Pete stands and goes to the next judge, an older man who wastes no time and gets close immediately. He gets an entire hand in through the leg of Pete’s underwear and pries them aside. The base of Pete’s cock pokes out of the briefs and the moistened head presses against the fabric as the judge yanks on Pete’s underwear. The judge presses his nose into Pete’s curly, light-brown pubes and takes several consecutive whiffs before reaching his hand up the back of Pete’s briefs to fondle his ass.
“God damn it,” the judge swears, as he kneads Pete’s ass. “God damn.”
Eventually the judge takes his hands off of the contestant and sits down again. “That’s a sweet boy. Smells like summer. Hot and wet. I could drink his sweat.”
“I’m sure we don’t doubt that,” Lance says neutrally, “now let’s continue with the contest. Pete you can come back and stand on the stage here next to Christian. Thank you. Now, we’re just getting started with the contest, so don’t go anywhere. We’ve got more men to lust after and hoops for their sexy asses to jump through after a word from our sponsors.”