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Posted Sat Oct 6, 2018 | 324 Words | Tagged story jock

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Timothy was snooping around in the locker room when he saw the 24 kit lying around, as if one of the jocks had just thrown it off and vanished. What was strange to Timothy was he did not know of a 24, nor why it smelt of fresh jock. It was on odd smell, but he knew it from his frequent trips to see what was left after the college football team had finished practice for the day. Fresh sweat, combined with the slight staleness from the misssed washings.

Picking up the jock cup and taking a deep inhale. It was fresh., and Timothy’s favourite part of the team’s uniform. Without knowing whose it was, and clearly all of the other jocks had gone home he carefully picked it up and managed to just about cram it in his backpack (even if it meant he had to carry the textbooks that normally took up most of the room).

The walk home was a little hazy to Timothy. He kept smelling the jock sweat, as if it were still fresh. As if it were radiating off him. His head felt fuzzy and after almost numb fixing something to eat, he headed off to his bedroom where he got out the gear.

Completely within it’s grasp, he stripped down entirely naked and started with the cup and jockstrap, and then the pads, top and then the trousers. Jock. Jock. Jock. That’s all that he could think of through his mind.

The next day was saturday and he awoke in a haze with fresh air. He wasn’t in his bed. He was outside. Held in place.

“Tim, wake up.” demanded the coach. Tim snapped immediately all of his attention to the coach. After all, coach gave the orders.

Sowly a helmet was placed over his head as his head slowed down. All he could do was the coach’s orders. Jock up. Dumb down. Jock up. Dumb down.