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I received a lot of requests asking to find out more about my rivalry with my cousin, Tommaso – I described how it all began in ‘Cousins. Rivals. A Wrestling Story’.
I’m sorry it’s taken so long to put up, I couldn’t decide whether to mention how it ends. It’s also very long and rough, because I’ve written it while getting ready for a party and don’t have time to make it pretty. I hope you enjoy, let me know if you have any more questions or comments. I’m always interested to hear if guys have had similar experiences.
Anyway, this story takes place almost a year ago – which is over ten years on from that original cousin clash in Italy.
After that, although we both moved to London to pursue our careers, Tom and I didn’t really see each other, except maybe once a year at family occasions. As usual, these were opportunities used by both ourselves and our parents to assert our achievements and general posturing over the other. We would use these events as a chance to scope each other out.
“How much are you earning now?”
“Are you still lifting weights?” and so on.
The acts of one-upmanship were petty as hell. For example, I had a large graduation photo on my grandparents’ wall – so he bought an even larger frame for his, and on and on it went. As I’m sure is the case in a lot of Mediterranean families.
This rivalry, while obvious, consisted solely of these more subtle acts as we entered adulthood. We never spoke of the near-naked fight all those years ago that became a little too real – until Tom’s 29th birthday, on Halloween.
We were in a restaurant with all our relatives, including the Don, our grandfather. It was of course a birthday celebration first and foremost, but by complete coincidence I had also received a *massive* promotion that week. It was an exciting new job, and it was all anybody could talk about – how I now earned the most, and I would have all the girls after me.
Tom was sat opposite me on the long table. I could tell he was annoyed, but seemed relatively at ease, leaning back and flexing his arms behind his head. We’d both been on the receiving end of this over the years and knew how to disguise our frustration. I saw him squeeze Francesca’s hand, next to him – the girl I had liked back in school. Believe it or not, they had stayed together all this time (though very much in the Italian sense – Tom slept around).
Then he let me have it. He stood up and rang his glass. “I want to take this opportunity to announce that Fran and I are engaged!”. This was the ultimate trump card. The family erupted in a cacophony of congratulations. Tom slumped back down and shot me the most shit-eating grin. He was one of the few people in the world who knew I was bi, and I could never hang on to a girlfriend for long.
I felt totally humiliated. We were full-fledged adults now, and there was nothing to do but say “Congrats,” which instead I aimed at Fran. Damn, she was still gorgeous. Besides, I couldn’t exactly slap the guy around at the table – we’re not the Jersey Shore kind of Italians.
The meal wound on, and I took the opportunity to speak to Fran, and learn a bit more about her plans for the wedding. I was giving her my cutest smile and laying it on thick – I’d had a few beers by this stage. Suddenly, I felt a force under the table. It was Tom’s leg, pressing against mine. I had to turn back and face him in order to keep on my chair and push back. Neither of us moved, but the table started to shake a bit with the force.
Thankfully nobody noticed. We broke it up and laughed it off. “Did you miss leg day dude?” I was suddenly thrown back to that holiday, and how that fight had started about the same girl, in exactly the same way. A tentative test of strength, hidden from view, and masked in the conviviality of family.
I got up to go to the bathroom, trying to conceal the bulge that was inadvertently making itself known through the suit pants I was wearing.
In the bathroom, I splashed my face with water and took stock in the mirror. Within a couple of minutes, as suspected, Tom came in too. In the long bathroom mirror, you could see that we were still practically twins. The same height, but more built and rugged now – around 80kg – and our physiques were both on show with shirts that were probably a little too fitted. That was another annoyance – without fail, we always seemed to come to parties dressed poker oyna the same.
“Aren’t you going to congratulate me dude?” he asked as we faced each other.
“Sure,” I said as assertively as possible.
We took some tentative steps towards each other, then I slapped my arms around him in a big hug. We laughed, but neither of us let go. In fact, we were squeezing harder.
“Haha, I thought you’d like to be my best man,” he laughed in my ear, as we shuffled slightly in this weird dance.
“C’mon, I’m already the best man!” I laughed back, somewhat breathlessly as Tom forced us closer together with his meaty arms.
We looked each other in the eye and smiled, making light of it all, but when we returned to resting our chins on each other’s shoulders, I know we were both grimacing and squeezing as hard as we could. Neither wanting to let on that this was a serious test of strength, our version of Hercules vs. Samson, and that we were putting all our power into it.
Suddenly Tom pushed me backwards into a cubicle, pressing me against the wall, and locked the door behind him.
“You’re still the weaker man,” he whispered as we negotiated the tiny space and resumed the bear hug.
It was so small we had to be face-to-face the entire time, there was no room to break it up. We were starting to sweat in our tight shirts as our barrelled pecs and tight abs were sliding against each other, the thin material barely disguising our very prominent nipples. The smell was of sweat mixed with the Acqua di Parma cologne that we both never failed to receive as a birthday gift from the Don.
I broke my bear hug and clawed his chest, taking an ample pec in each hand. He growled and released his hold after a few seconds.
“Ah, you little bitch!”
We shuffled around a bit as he yanked my tie and grabbed my throat with his other hand, and pressing his face up nose to nose laid a whacking punch on my abs. I’m proud to say I managed to keep my face steely through the pain of my mid-section, on fire.
“Keep your eyes off my fiance.”
The blow didn’t feel great after several beers, but at least all bets were off. Like our teen scraps, I started rabbit punching his mid-section from the sides, the difference being that now there was some power behind the blows, and we traded quick shots like this, letting out short groans and umphs with each smacking hit, for a while until we heard someone else enter the bathroom.
We immediately stopped at the sound of the intruder, silent and face to face, with a deep look that was a combination of respect and long-brewing hatred for each other. I realised that I had been making a low growl that I now forced myself to suppress.
I didn’t want this to end so inconclusively, but we needed to get back to the family. Tom seemed to acknowledge this as well, because when the guy left the bathroom he unlocked the cubicle. In the harsh light of the room, we looked like we had just been to a sauna. You could see straight through our shirts, and I could also see an outline in Tom’s suit pants.
“Just like the old days” I said, laughing halfheartedly.
“Y’know, we never hang out anymore. Isn’t Fran going back to London? So why don’t you crash at mine tonight?”
Tom said he would think about it, as we tried our best to repair our shirts under the hand dryers. If he came it was obvious what would happen, but the stakes had been raised with the increase in both our muscle power.
“Well, come if you’re man enough” I said testily, worried I might sound ridiculous now that the wave of aggression had temporarily ebbed.
He tapped my cheek condescendingly, and leaving the bathroom he called back:
“You’re on, little cousin.”
Looking vaguely respectable, we rejoined the meal to some confused looks.
“Get into a water fight, boys?” my grandmother asked ruefully.
Back at my place, I admit I was excited. Tom had accompanied Fran to the train station, and said he’d stop by later. I immediately stripped off into my undies and did 5 sets of push ups, as well as some free weights, just like we both used to do in secret. I threw on some gym clothes that doubled as pyjamas, and waited. All my housemates were out at various Halloween parties, so for once we could have it out uninterrupted. I was pacing around the room, radiating heat.
Around midnight, the bell rang. canlı poker oyna I sprang downstairs and opened the door to Tom, who looked pissed off. He wasn’t alone.
“We missed the last train,” Fran said.
“It’s okay if we both crash with you right?” Tom said, throwing me a look. Yeah, sure.
I installed them both in the room furthest from mine – the last thing I needed at this point was to listen to them having birthday sex. Was this Tom’s plan all along?
Incredibly frustrated, I jumped into bed, only for Tom to come into my room moments later.
“Fran just wants to sleep. I’m still wired though. Got any gym stuff I could borrow to get out of this suit?”
I threw Tom some shorts and a tank top, same as mine. To my surprise, he closed the door and started to change in front of me. He peeled off his shirt and tossed it territorially across my chair. He hung his belt and boxers over the TV. Man this guy got on my tits.
“Could you make any more of a mess?” I said, jumping up off the bed next to him and starting to move his clothes into a pile.
It was even more annoying that I could see now he filled my tank top even better than I did. He had that deep defined pecs thing going on, and his chest had been waxed – he no longer had the same diamond of chest hair that I had.
“Looking at this?” he said, flexing his pecs even bigger in a typical bodybuilder pose.
“No, I was just wondering when you started waxing like a bitch. Shall we ask Francesca? Looks like she has you whipped.”
I knew how to make him angry – the same with any Italian guy, just insult their masculinity. He grabbed the clothes out of my hands, threw them at my face then like some kind of gorilla launched himself at me.
“I’ll show you who’s the bitch, cazzo!”
I caught his arms and we met in a test of strength, a clash of the titans moment that I couldn’t believe was happening again. With Francesca down the hall, no less! What a chance to prove who was the alpha male.
There was no pretence now that this was in any way for fun as our linked fingers pushed as hard as we could, with no extra energy even for a creative insult. Nobody was getting an edge in this game of mercy – we broke it up and began trading fast body punches. And I’m talking really fast – all you could hear was the rhythmic sound of fist on flesh as we danced closely around the room in a whirlwind of blows.
Tom tripped me onto the bed and we continued to slam our fists into each other, rolling around, out of control. Again there was no time for words, just groans in sync as the hits landed milliseconds apart.
Eventually things slowed up a little and we exchanged a punch every couple of seconds. Tom was on top of me and pounding my chest, with me reciprocating from below. Our olive skin chests were both red and raw, protruding from the tank tops. Then I seized my opportunity, and wrapped my legs around his midsection in a tight scissors and squeezed with all my force. I hadn’t been skipping leg day.
Tom arched upwards and tried to break the hold with his arms, but I wasn’t budging. He fell forwards on top of me and tried to squirm out of it, the sweat offering some leverage but not enough. He was breathing heavily and put both hands over my face, trying to smother me. I did the same to him and the fucker bit at my hand. Then with a seemingly inhuman effort, Tom lifted me up in the scissors and threw us both onto the floor.
We crashed down in a sweaty heap, onto my new laptop no less – which to this day has a huge crack on the screen. I maintained the scissors, despite the fact that my head also hit the bedside cabinet and I’m fairly sure was now bleeding. Tom started to gasp more and more – the only sound in an otherwise intense silence. Our tank tops had ridden up and now my legs were pressed skin-on-skin against his very red midsection.
Equally I had clamped his head to my exposed pecs, limiting his movement and breathing even further. I couldn’t help but flex the pecs in his face.
“Give it up, if I squeeze any harder I’m going to do some damage.”
All I got in return was a breathless “Fuck you,” and a deep bite to the chest. In his last throes he lifted us up again, and slammed me down. And again (my poor laptop!). I wasn’t budging, through felt myself starting to weaken and my shorts rapidly tenting as we lay there squirming in internet casino sweat for at least 15 minutes.
Then, magically, he tapped my shoulder. I released the scissors and his full weight fell with a thwack onto me. We were both panting heavily, but I was elated.
“Shall…I go…and let Fran know what a pussy you are?” I breathlessly whispered in his ear.
He jumped up off me with sudden renewed energy, and whipped off the tank top, throwing the sweaty rag at me. I got up too a second later to face him.
“OK cousin, that was a lucky round one. Let’s do best of three..and…the winner will gets jerked off!”
“Man, I always knew you wanted some of this. No way!” I said, grabbing my bulge.
My point was somewhat undermined by the tent in my gym shorts. We stood there for a moment, all sweat and testosterone in my small room, until he relented.
“Now who’s the pussy. Fine, have it your way. I’m knackered” he said, and collapsed on my bed, immediately greasing up the sheets.
Within seconds, he was snoring. Contented with my victory – and unsure how much further I could have gone anyway – I got under the blanket as well, and turned out the light.
In a state of half-sleep, I remember our feet touched under the covers. Suddenly Tom pulled me close to him in a firm, singular motion, as the big spoon, wrapping his substantial bicep around my chest, his face buried into my neck. His semi-hard dick was pressing into my back, and I realised at some point during the night, he’d lost the gym shorts. For the second time in our relationship, I thought “Fuck it,” and slipped out of my own shorts, so we were now, ridiculously, completely naked.
As the first light of dawn started to hit the window, maybe around 4.30am, I woke up to find Tom on top of me, using my pec as a pillow. We were in an embrace, and our now hard cocks were crossed on our bellies.
“Now for round 2,” he said groggily, as he started to grind me hard.
By the time I realised what was going on, I was already seriously aroused, and in my sleepy state I went along with it as well, grinding him back in time – creating the same rhythmic whacking sounds as when we exchanged punches.
The sheets were clinging stickily to his back as we slid over each other. I’m convinced Italians sweat oil under the right conditions. Now he looked up at me and we were face-to-face in the silence of the dawn.
I raised my arms up and flexed my biceps in his face, clenching my teeth and growling like some absurd animal. He squeezed a bicep with one hand before raising his own and shoving it and most of his hairless armpit in my face. I looked down, and in the occasional rays of light could see our two purple heads pressed together, jostling for true supremacy.
I bit into his armpit and he whipped the arm away.
“Bite me will you?” he said, pressing his face hard into mine. “Fucking bite me, will you?” he repeated again and again before biting me hard on the mouth.
It wasn’t a kiss, it was an aggressive act. We were biting each other on the mouth – weird I know. I could almost taste Fran’s perfume on his lips. His sweat-drenched hair was pasted to my forehead, as we stayed eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, pec-to-pec and cock to cock for what felt like hours. Neither of us was willing to relent, and be the lesser Marrone. There was too much riding on it.
Suddenly I just knew I couldn’t hold it any longer. I moved my hands down his back and thrust handfuls of his muscular ass even harder into me. I arched my back and moaned out loudly as I shot five huge loads up between us. Mere seconds later, Tom inhaled deeply and didn’t exhale until an equally hot stream shot out from his weapon. It was over.
“Now…we’re even!” he said, smug as ever.
I couldn’t believe what had just happened between two grown men, no longer horny teenagers who might have an excuse. Truly exhausted, I fell back asleep in the mess.
By the time I awoke several hours later, Tom had gone. He left me a text saying that he and Fran had taken the early train back to London. I knew in reality that we’d gone too far – good old Catholic guilt. Or maybe he was just scared about what the deciding round would hold?
We met up at Christmas, and things were the same as ever. Small-talk, jostling for position. But things seemed somewhat calmer, like we’d gotten something out of our system. I doubt this will ever be mentioned again – unless perhaps I get particularly drunk at his wedding and feel like showing him up!
Thanks for reading – if this is popular, I’ll be sure to share more stories. Peace out! Italian Stallion.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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