J.O. Dickingson

The Motocross Competition

A PZA 2010 Summer Sports Story
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Life was sweet. Bradley Walker had three loves in his life, and all three were there that hot afternoon. He revved the engine of his YZ125, the first of his three loves. He'd checked the air filter, spokes, and break pads three times over, lubed the chain, and had spent hours polishing. It gleamed in the bright August sun, the aluminum frame vibrating between his legs. He could feel its heat and power and his loins vibrated as they absorbed that heat and power and they became one. He clamped his legs tighter about the machine and clenched his butthole. It was, the fourteen-year-old thought, just what it felt like to fuck. His dick began to swell.

He glanced at the starting line where the second of his three loves stood, his father. His father was an athlete and as macho as any man can be. "A man works hard and he plays hard," his father often said, mostly to Bradley's mother, who did not share the same interests in motocross, football and boxing, all sports Ward Walker and his son enjoyed and which to her were threats to her son's health and safety and left him smelling of sweat. She wasn't there. Watching made her nervous and Bradley could sense her fear. The last thing he needed was a distraction. "If a man is going to be a winner, he needs to focus on one thing and one thing only, winning. Anything short of that and he's a loser." That was another of his dad's favourite sayings, and part of every pep talk before every race.

The Motocross bike was his father's gift. The helmet and gear, cherry red, gold, silver and black to match the Yamaha, were his mother's. She didn't like the sport, but that didn't mean she didn't support him and love him. She said the outfit made him look handsome. He figured it made him look sexy. The jersey and pants were polyester of course, and clung to his body, revealing his muscular thighs and accenting his tapering chest and narrow waist and his athletic cup. At first he'd balked at wearing a cup, but after being thrown over the bars of his bike a few times, he'd learned the folly of not wearing one. "If a man doesn't have any injuries, he's not trying hard enough," was another of his father's sayings. "If a man wants to remain a man, there are certain things too important not to protect," was one of Bradley's sayings. Besides, a cup added to his sex appeal.

Speaking of sex, the third of his loves was standing with his father. The Wilsons were next door neighbours. Bill Wilson was his father's best friend, coworker and sparring partner when his father worked out at the gym, broad-shouldered, muscular chest, and square-chinned, a macho man like his father. Beside him was his wife, Janet, his mother's best friend, and beside her was their daughter Tracy, Bradley's classmate and one of the hottest-looking and most sought-after girls in junior high. She had matured early and had boobs that boys drooled over, clearly inherited from her mother, and smooth, creamy thighs that boys dreamed of parting. The fourteen-year-old recalled the previous Saturday at the Wilsons, the kissing, the caressing, the naked flesh pressed against naked flesh, hands cupping smooth, compact buttocks. Bradley's teenage dick strained inside his cup.

"You'd better pop your eyes back in. You're gonna need them to see where you're going." The speaker was Aaron Carson, a fellow classmate and close friend. Aaron was always thinking about sex, but then what fourteen-year-old boy wasn't?

"You'd better focus on racing yourself, or something else is going to pop out," Bradley observed. Aaron was well hung as Bradley well-knew from the school showers, and his tight racing pants revealed the distinctive tubular bulge along his thigh. Aaron liked to flaunt what God had given him and foolishly rode without a cup.

"Maybe Tracey will reward the winner with a piece of ass."

"If she does, I'll let you know how it was."

"In your dreams. You're looking at today's winner."

"Yeah? Well, have a good look at my ass because that's all you're going to be seeing in this race," Bradley replied with a smile. Aaron gave him the finger. They might be competitors on the race track and for the attention of the opposite sex, but they were the best of friends.

The thirty-second board was raised and the boys turned their attention to the race. And then they were off. There was a tangle in the pack at the first corner as often occurs and easily avoided by the two experienced riders. Another racer, overconfident, didn't notice the kicker on the second jump resulting in his rear wheel kicking up and him losing his balance. It was a challenging track with tight left and right corners, stutters and whoops, and jumps of different slopes and distances including one over water. At the end of the moto Bradley found himself qualifying for the semifinals, as did Aaron. That was no surprise. They were tops in their sport. Bradley's father and the Wilsons came over to congratulate him, and his father, of course, to offer criticism and advice for the semifinals. Tracey congratulated both Bradley and Aaron, flashing them that look that caused boys' loins to melt and their boyhoods to turn rock hard. Aaron headed off for a Coke to wet his parched throat and wash the dust from his mouth. Bradley declined to join him. He was hot and sweaty and dry too, but an ice-cold drink sat heavy in his stomach. He could wait until after he won the competition.

He thought about his father's comments. His father knew the sport and the criticisms had been valid. Yes, his father, a typical jock father, pushed him, because he cared and had faith in his son, and that was why Bradley loved him. The advice was good-he shaved off four more seconds in the semifinal heat and found himself in the finals. The challenging track, and the gruelling heat, had taken its toll however. As he lined up for the last heat, Bradley felt the sweat trickling down his back and between his balls and thighs. He glanced at Aaron, his dusty cheeks streaked by rivulets of sweat, and Aaron gave him a wink and a thumbs up and mouthed something about Tracey's ass. Then the board was up and they were off one last time. Bradley's heart was pounding with the exertion and the heat. The previous races had torn up the track and the air was thick with fine dust. He could taste it in his mouth and feel it up his nose. A rider in front of him skidded! He managed to swerve around him and stay upright, but it cost him precious seconds. Crap! Then Aaron was down, flying over the bars of his bike as he misjudged the jump and landed on the down ramp rear wheel first. Bradley hoped he wasn't hurt and that his balls had cleared the bars.

He was gaining on the lead bike. He knew the biker, not by name, but by his colours. He was skilful, but dirty. He always stayed within the rules, but just barely. Right now he was weaving in front of him, preventing him from drawing alongside, not blatantly evident but as if he was trying to keep out of the ruts in the track. As Bradley's front tire drew parallel to the lead biker's rear wheel the bastard edged right, forcing Bradley over to the edge of the track where the dirt wasn't as packed and slowing him down. Bradley bit his lower lip and opened the throttle. He could pass him at the next corner with an inside pass if the guy made the mistake of taking the faster line across the apex. Someone behind him hit a braking bump and skidded to the side. Bradley inhaled deeply. He couldn't be unnerved, not now. Bradley's blood was pounding in his ears blocking out all sound except the thumping of his heart. The padding of his helmet, soaked with sweat, couldn't hold back the perspiration as it trickled past down along his nose and over his upper lip into his mouth.

The guy went for the apex! Yes! Coming out of the curve half a bike ahead, Bradley accelerated toward the last jump, a tabletop. Desperate, his competitor accelerated up the up-ramp in a desperate attempt to catch up, losing power and failing to clear the jump! And then he was across the finish line! The trophy and the announcer's praise were sweet, but not as sweet as the pride and admiration in his dad's eyes, and in the eyes of his third love.

"Janet, Tracey and I are going to the Dairy Queen for a blizzard. Would the two of you like to join us?"

Bradley glanced at his father hopefully. Ward glanced at Tracey's boobs. "You go ahead and enjoy yourself. You've earned it. I'll meet you back home."

"I'm sortta skunky," Bradley warned, glancing down at his dusty, sweat-stained clothes with a shrug. The shrug was a mistake. A distinct, sour stink escaped from his pits.

"Sortta," agreed Janet Wilson. "You ride up front. Tracey and I will ride in the back, with the windows open."

Ward caught Bill's smile and he smiled also. Just like a woman. A teenage boy's sweat was an aphrodisiac for a teenage girl, and the way his son had sweated that afternoon sitting a seat away wasn't going to dampen the effect. He'd seen the look in his son's eyes whenever he'd glanced over at them that afternoon. His son's machismo wasn't limited to the race track. He'd been spending as much time at the Wilsons as he'd been spending at home these past six months, and he and Tracey certainly weren't just doing homework together. The boy was a chip off the old block. He reminded himself again he'd better have that talk with the boy and make sure the girl was being responsible and taking the pill.

The ride to the Dairy Queen and then to the Wilson's was dominated by talk about the race that afternoon, mostly between Bradley and Bill Wilson. Bradley and Tracey did sit side by side at the Dairy Queen and he was very conscious of how he smelled, and from the distance she put between them and the way she breathed, it definitely was not an aphrodisiac.

"Would you like to come in?" Bill asked when they pulled into the driveway.

"I'm sure Bradley wants to get home and have a shower," Janet interjected before he could speak. "Besides, Tracey and I are going shopping for new school clothes."

"You two enjoy the rest of your afternoon then," Bill said. He and Bradley got out and his wife and daughter took their seats. Bradley noticed self-consciously that Tracey sat gingerly on the edge of the seat. It was probably damp from his sweat. "You want to come in?" Bill asked as the car headed down the street.

"Sure."

"The girls will be gone for a good three hours," Bill observed as they stepped inside.

"Great," Bradley said with a cautious smile as he looked up at his neighbour uncertainly.

"Yes, it is," Bill responded, taking the teenage boy in his arms and giving him a long, hot kiss.

Bradley returned his third love's kiss just as passionately. Their breaths were hot. The blood pulsating through their veins was even hotter. Bill pulled off the boy's polyester jersey. The padding to protect him from scrapes and road rash hadn't exaggerated his muscular chest and biceps. You needed good upper body strength to handle a 125-cc motobike. His navy-blue tee was darkly stained down the middle of his chest and under his pits, and as Bradley raised his arms and Bill pulled the tee off, the sour stench of his boy-sweat wafted over them, serving only to further incite them. The boy's silky, pubescent pit hairs were damp, adding to his sexiness. Bill kissed his smooth, solid pecs and eagerly tongued the trails the boy's sweat had made through the track dust that had penetrated his jersey despite the tight collar and cuffs. He licked and sucked the fourteen-year-old's nipples, causing the sensitive buds to harden.

Unsnapping the quick-lock buckles of his boots, Bill pulled them off with growing excitement. The boy's socks quickly followed, releasing the scent of acrylic fibre and hot teenage feet. Loosening the waist tabs and popping the dual snaps, Bill eagerly pealed open the velcro fly and pulled down the boy's polyester-nylon racing pants and his tight white briefs, leaving the boy in only his jock. As Bill removed it, the boy's eager, confined cock sprang to attention and the delightful fragrance of his hot, sweaty teenage nuts wafted up to fill their lungs. The boy was nicely hung for fourteen. His silky, curly hairs, only recently sprouted, were damp.

Bill quickly stripped and the two embraced and kissed feverishly, pressing their hot bodies together. The boy's body still had the lingering smell of engine oil and hot aluminum and exhaust, and the two inhaled the manly fragrances deeply as they caressed each other's buttocks and fondled each other's sweaty balls and throbbing cocks. Bill took the boy there in the kitchen, plunging his hot, aching pecker up the boy's tender, tight ass. He fucked him furiously, more furiously than he'd fucked his wife on his wedding night, and the boy tensed and gasped with delight, the man's lust for him inflaming his own teenage lust. He could feel his lover's thick pecker throbbing deep up his rectum and he clenched his butthole tightly about it. His own pecker was throbbing just as hotly in his lover's fist as his lover jacked him off. It was torrid and fast and soon he felt his lover's hot, thick cum spurting deep up his rectum and his own cock throbbed out his thin, early teenage jizz. Bill kissed the boy's nape as his fluids spurted up the boy's tight ass and as he caught and smeared the boy's slimy juice over the boy's stomach and in his fine hairs. Bradley sighed with post-climatic bliss. Life was very sweet.

Looking out his living room window, Ward Walker wondered what was keeping his son. He'd seen the Wilson's car pull out of the driveway over two hours ago. Janet had been driving, and he'd assumed Bill was in the passenger seat, leaving the two kids home while they ran off on some errand most likely. He smiled. What was he thinking? What else would a healthy, red-blooded fourteen-year-old boy be doing with a hot chick like Tracey Wilson all alone for two hours? The kid was a chip off the old block after all, and it wouldn't be the first time he'd come home from the Wilson's smelling of spent cum. Ward Watson opened another beer and flipped on the TV. The boy had done good today. Let him celebrate.

The End