The Jock Blog

One day after class toward the end of his last semester at Thorndyke Prep, Jake entered the dorm but it was strangely silent, missing the regular antics and sounds of young men living together. He unlocked his dorm door and was amazed what he saw. There stood 20 guys in his dorm room jacking off, each in their own jockstrap. 

I settled on the Red Jockmail Simplified Jockstrap. Yeah, let's keep this simple.  I had been partial to red since that weird Christmas dream I had, the one where I was a steam punk Santa, fucking all my twinks and the narrator in a locker room.

I glanced out the window. I really had to get going.  It was already starting to snow, and I didn’t want to miss the train.  

I touched my jock as I was starting to get drowsy, and giggled. This was going to be a great Christmas. This blow job, Kenny, seeing the guys tonight, all put me in the holiday spirit, just so glad to be alive and to have survived my own cancer. I felt so snug in my bed, with the thick duvet pulled over me. Word-lover that I am, I thought to myself, “And here I am in my Quick Release Jockstrap, having just settled down for a long winter’s nap . . . “  

Mr. Luca was not just any gym teacher; he was known for his friendly demeanor, approachability, and dedication to his students' overall well-being. Little did I know that his expertise extended beyond the gymnasium to the realm of driving. It didn’t hurt that he was sexy as hell. I’ve had a life-long obsession with men of Italian descendant and I think it’s safe to say it all started with him.

The coach, hanging at home on a Saturday afternoon:  barefoot, tapered sweats, fitted tee to show off my “dad pecs.” In my very real life, I’m 61 – super fit and looking great, but 61.  Same-sex divorced, looking again for a partner . . . 

And Lifelong Obsession with Jockstraps