Justin's Jock

All senior year I was in love with Justin Belisario.

He was the class president, quarterback of the football team, and one of the best-looking guys in school. Me, I was a nobody--a skinny wimp. I ran cross-country, the refuge for boys who couldn't get on the cool sports teams.

It was just my luck that we were in the same gym class. Back then after working up a sweat we all had to strip and get in the gang shower. Geeks like me had to put up with constant jeers and shouts of "fag" from the jocks. Having your towel snatched, or being "accidentally" shoved against a locker happened all the time.

I never saw Justin pick on anyone, though. Sometimes he even told a buddy to lay off tormenting a victim. Normally that would get you accused of being a "queer lover," but he had enough respect that no one called him that to his face.

Being bullied was bad, but trying not to look when the hunkier boys were parading around naked was worse. The mixture of terror and lust that was high school gym class gave the strength to put up with a lot later in life.

Gym shorts were cut high back then. Justin's narrow hips, hairy thighs and tight butt filled his to perfection. His V-shaped torso strained at his white T-shirt.

But when I jerked off later at home the picture of Justin that rose in my mind was him in his jockstrap, just before he peeled it off to take his shower. His bushy black pubic hair peeked out from behind the bulging pouch. His leg straps framed his butt cheeks in neat triangles. As I shot into my used underwear or into the toilet I'd imagine myself on my knees in front of him, pulling down the wide waistband, watching his long, cut cock flop out, purplish head dripping precum, just before I took it in my willing mouth.

Of course that had never really happened. Justin didn't know I existed. Or that's what I thought, until a couple of weeks before graduation.

It was after we had come in one day from the field. I'd raced through my shower, toweled off and gotten dressed as fast as I could. That way I was not only less of a target, I also had a few moments to check out other boys, one in particular. I headed for the aisle where I knew Justin's locker was.

As I passed it ever so casually I turned my head. There my idol was, standing in front of his open locker without a stitch on, toweling off. Forgetting all caution I stopped and stared.

At that moment Justin looked up. I was caught red-handed.

Even in my state of terror I noticed that his eyes were large and brown. I also saw, to my amazement, that their expression was amused, not hostile.

"Wilson." How did he know my name?

Justin continued to dry himself. He raised one leg and put it on the wooden bench between the lockers, displaying his privates. Despite the thudding of my heart I felt my own cock stirring, only adding to my humiliation.

"You queer for my bod, Wilson?"

I shook my head in weak denial. He dropped his towel on the bench and faced me, hands on hips. I got a full view of his broad shoulders, defined pecs and ripped abdomen. I was sure a bulge was showing in the front of my pants. I prayed he wouldn't notice.

He regarded me with that same cool amusement. "Too bad. I sure could use a good blow job."

My head spun. Of all the things I'd thought he might say, this was the last.

Justin waited, then shrugged. "If you change your mind, bud, give a holler." At that moment one of his football buddies stopped to chat and he turned away. I got out of there.

I went back to my locker, got my stuff and left as fast as I could. I didn't hear a word the teacher said in my next class. My mind was in turmoil over Justin's offer. Was it a trick? Everyone knew Danny, the night janitor, was a fag. I'd heard some of the athletes talking about how they let him give them head in the supply closet. He was the school laughingstock. No way could I let that happen to me.

Still, it was less than a month until graduation. Even if Justin told on me it wouldn't matter--we were all going our separate ways. I'd never see him again. The thought made me sad, and made up my mind.

When the final bell rang that day I missed my bus on purpose, dawdling by the front entrance of the school as if I was waiting for a ride. I was really waiting for Justin--I knew he had his own car. Luck was with me. After about twenty minutes he came striding out the front doors, wearing his varsity letter jacket, headed toward the end of the lot where his car was. He was by himself. It was now or never.

I ran after him. He heard me coming and turned. I stopped, panting from exertion and nerves. I had no idea what to say.

He said it for me. The same amused look I had seen in the locker room crossed his face. "Hey, it's my buddy Wilson."

I said, "I--" and stopped. The words wouldn't come out. I dropped my head, miserable.

"Change your mind about that blow job?" he said in a low voice.

My heart leaped. I managed a nod.

"Eight-thirty tonight. Meet me at the bleachers by the football field. Park far away and walk up there so no one'll get suspicious. Got it?"

I raised my head and looked him in the eye. "Got it."

He nodded, then flashed the dazzling smile that had all the girls in school panting after him. "Good. See you." He got in his car and was gone.

I made up some story and got permission to use the family car that evening. By the time I pulled into the high school parking lot darkness was falling. It was almost empty and I didn't see Justin's car. My heart sank. He'd stood me up.

I almost turned the car around and left, but a faint glimmer of hope kept me going. I parked and got out. The ball field was behind the school and I started walking toward it. The bleachers stood on the far side, black and empty. There was no one around.

Other than the glare of the security lights from the school building it was now totally dark. The early June evening was warm and pleasant. Despite my humiliation at having been played for a fool something made me keep walking. When I reached the bleachers I clambered up a few rows, then sat and looked at the dark and silent field.

All of a sudden I heard footsteps in the grass nearby. I wheeled toward the sound just as someone's head popped up above the side of the stand to my right.

"That you, Wilson?" a voice hissed.

Justin gestured with his hand, then disappeared. I stumbled down the row to the side and jumped off, hitting the ground with a thud. I saw a shadowy form rounding the corner and struggled to my feet to follow.

When I got around the corner I didn't see anyone. Then I spied a gap in the back wall of the grandstand where a couple of boards were missing. I knew Justin must be in there, under the bleachers. I walked toward the opening, my heart pounding, got there and stopped in my tracks. All I could see was inky blackness.

"Yeah, in here." The whisper came from inside. Still I couldn't move. What if this was a trap? What if Justin had brought his buddies from the team along and they were all in there, ready to beat me up?

"You by yourself?" My voice sounded loud and shaky to my ear, though it was probably just a frightened squeak.

A soft laugh. "What do you think, dumbass? Now do you want to or not?"

I screwed up my courage and slipped inside. It took a moment before my eyes adjusted. It actually wasn't pitch black--dim light filtered in from openings underneath the seats above my head, and a little bit more came in through the gap where we had entered.

"Over here."

I turned. Justin was leaning against the wall some distance away, wearing a light-colored shirt. I covered the few steps between us on rubbery legs and stood in front of him. I looked into his eyes, dark and liquid. He smiled, and I knew this was for real. He hadn't lured me here to humiliate me or beat me up. He wanted to get his rocks off and I was the one to do the job.

I dropped to my knees. His jeans were pushed halfway down his thighs, and my breath caught as I saw what was underneath. Even in the gloom I could make out the wide waistband across his flat stomach and the triangular swelling of the pouch attached to it. Justin was wearing his jock.

My hands took hold of his hard butt, my fingers slid under the leg straps. I let them rove around to the front, lifting the waistband and drawing it down until his cock popped out. I closed my eyes, opened my mouth and the next thing I knew the hot, hard flesh of the head was on my tongue. I tasted salt and knew he must be leaking precum.

I'd dreamed of this moment, jacked off thinking about it. But the reality was far better. My own cock sprang up, hard and painful against the front of my pants as I closed my lips around his shaft and took him in. I was rewarded with a sigh of pleasure.

"Yeah, that's it, man. Suck it good."

I redoubled my efforts, twisting my head, taking his nuts in my hand, pulling back until just his cockhead was in my mouth and flicking my tongue around the ridge and into his pisshole. Justin moaned. Strong hands grabbed my head and pushed it into his crotch. His cock hit the back of my throat and I gagged, tears springing from my eyes. His pubic hair tickled my nose. The knees of my pants were cold and damp. None of the discomfort mattered. I was where I'd always dreamed of being. My heart felt ready to burst, whether from joy or lack of oxygen I didn't know. All I knew was, I wanted this to last forever.

He relaxed his grip and I pulled back, drawing a few gasping breaths. Then I went back to work. After a while he pulled out. I looked up.

"Hold on. I don't want to cum in your mouth."

"Why not?"

Justin chuckled. "You kidding? My girlfriend hates it. Swore she'd dump me if I ever did it again. You don't care?"

At that moment I would have let him piss down my throat. I shook my head.

"Let me taste it." With that I swallowed him whole. Justin took my head again and began to thrust. I grabbed his leg straps and hung on for dear life as he fucked my face. Soon his breathing grew raspy and a low animal growl rose from his throat. I felt one spurt hit the back of my throat, then my mouth was filled with his hot spunk. I swallowed but it kept coming, a salty flood that ran out my mouth and down my chin.

"Aw fuck," Justin choked out through clenched teeth. He bent forward, enveloping me in the heat of his driving body. His hands squeezed my head in a viselike grip. His gasps filled the darkness.

I was about to pass out from the heat and lack of oxygen but I never let go of him. At last Justin's balls were drained. He straightened up and relaxed his hold on me. His softening cock slipped out of my mouth, letting me gulp great mouthfuls of cool air.

My face was wet with tears, snot and cum. I wiped it with one sleeve and looked up. Justin was already pulling up his jeans and dressing himself. He buttoned his fly and smiled down at me.

"Thanks, man, that was great." He patted my face. "Take care."

Before I could answer he had slipped out the gap and was gone. I stayed on the ground. By now the knees of my pants were soaked and I knew they were probably caked with mud too. I licked my lips, tasting the bitter tang of his jizz.

After a while I got to my feet and realized I was also wet between my legs. That hadn't come from the ground. The throbbing of my cock told me I'd shot my load when Justin shot his. I was a mess. How could I go home like this?

At the moment I didn't give a shit. My dream had come true, and I was in heaven.

Justin and I never made it again. He didn't have to avoid me-graduation loomed closer and closer and we were all too busy anyway. Later I wondered if he'd planned it that way--taken a chance, knowing it would be a one-shot deal, so to speak. He'd counted on my keeping my mouth shut and he'd read me right. To his credit he never talked either, as far as I could tell.

Though I was sad, I also got a thrill at graduation when they called his name and he strode across the platform, tall and handsome, to get his diploma from the principal. He was the most popular, the most athletic, the most likely to succeed. Me, I was a nobody. But we'd shared that night under the bleachers and nothing could change that.

Justin had given me a gift to remember him by. What he didn't know was that I'd taken something else.

It was the last day of classes. When we got to gym class the teachers told us that there would be no organized activity that day. Whoever wanted to could jog the track or join a game of softball. The only thing we were assigned to do was clean out our lockers since we would not be using them again.

The crowd of boys dissolved in a noisy hubbub. I went to my locker and opened it. I took out my sneakers and socks, T-shirt, shorts and jock, and stuffed them into my gym bag. A large trash can had been hauled into the locker room and sat on the tiled floor near the showers. Some of the guys were just tossing their stuff in it, not bothering to take anything home.

I turned and saw Justin heading out the door with his buddies. An ideacame into my head. I hung around, making myself inconspicuous, until all of my other classmates had either gone to the field or left. The teachers had gone as well to watch those boys who had chosen to stay.

Now was my chance. I went to the trash can and, after making sure no one was around, looked inside. As I had thought, there was lots of used, unwashed gym stuff in it. The heady smell of masculinity wafted up and I popped an instant boner. I reached inside and started pawing through the contents. If anyone saw me I could always say I'd accidentally thrown my wallet in and was looking for it. I was really looking for something else, just as valuable.

Justin hadn't been carrying anything when he left.

I sifted through the contents as fast as I could. By sheer luck the object of my search was near the top of the pile.

My heart was pounding as I lifted out a Bike jockstrap. On the front of the wide waistband the letters "J.B." were written in black indelible marker. I'd found the jock Justin had worn all year, the one I'd seen him in practically every period of gym class in the locker room, the costume that had filled my fantasies countless nights.

Best of all, he'd been wearing it when I blew him underneath the bleachers that night.

"What's going on, Wilson?"

I jumped from fright as the loud male voice boomed behind me. Wheeling around I saw Mr. Sapko, one of the gym teachers, hands on hips, a quizzical look on his face. He had caught me red-handed.

"Um, well--" Somehow I managed a normal tone of voice. "I was looking for some of my things, sir. Accidentally threw them in."

"Your gym stuff? Why bother? You won't be using it again."

"My mom doesn't like me to throw away things." I shrugged with elaborate casualness. "You know how it is."

He looked suspicious, then chuckled. "Yeah, I do." He peered at me. "You're graduating, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, best of luck to you."

"Thank you, sir," I said to his back. I shoved the jockstrap into my bag and beat a hasty retreat.

The rest of the day dragged by. I thought it would never be over, but finally the bell rang and I joined the joyous mob pouring out the doors of the school. The only thing I had with me was my gym bag. Stuffed inside were my clothes, a book or two and at the very bottom, my secret prize.

At home that night in the privacy of my room I emptied the bag and took it out. I held the jock up and inspected the pouch, worn and stretched from use. I couldn't see any stains or other evidence of its former owner. Justin must have washed it sometime close to the end of school. When I held it to my face all I smelled was Tide. I was a little disappointed, but having Justin's jock was still worth something. I put the strap in the bottom of my underwear drawer, turned out the lights and went to bed.

When I went to college that fall Justin's jockstrap went with me. I was often lonely and homesick that first semester. Sometimes when I was feeling especially down I'd get it out and put it under my pillow, clutching it in the darkness of my dorm room, listening to my roommate snoring in the top bunk and thinking of Justin, his mocking smile, his muscular body, and his cock that he'd allowed me to have once. I would have given anything to worship it with my mouth again, to have my hands on his tight glutes, to hear his urgent whisper.

Eventually college got better. I made friends, found my niche, got my own place off-campus. I kept running and started lifting weights as well. Now and then when I worked out I'd wear Justin's jock. I'd thought about it a long time before I put it on for the first time. I got an instant hardon when I did, of course, but I resisted the temptation to shoot my load in it. Somehow it seemed disrespectful to do that. Wearing it, though, gave me a strange feeling, desire and power mixed. It was an inspiration to better myself, to become as strong and confident as Justin had been.

By the time I graduated four years later I was a different person than the shy loner I'd been when I came to college. I'd put on pounds of muscle, grown my hair and learned how to dress and talk to people. I'd also learned the fine art of cruising and hooking up with other guys. Justin's jock helped me do that. Not many men seemed to wear jocks any more, and often when I stripped down in the gym locker room I'd get some curious looks. Once in a while the look would turn into something more. I met men who shared my interest in this particular article of workout gear. I peeled tight straps off equally tight bodies, and had straps peeled off of me. I filled my nostrils with the scent of elastic cotton ripened with workout sweat, and sucked on pouches soaked in the bitter nectar of semen.

I graduated, got a good job, and moved to the big city to start my adult life. My years in high school and worshipping Justin receded into distant memory. But I never quite forgot them or him. And though I stopped wearing his jockstrap that I'd rescued from the trash barrel on that June day long ago--it was getting too old--I never threw it out.

Years passed. Then one December I went back to my hometown to spend the year-end holidays. It was a typical New England Christmas, complete with snow and all the trimmings, and the place looked like a picture postcard. Being back was restful, but after a while a little boring. Of course, making the rounds of the holiday parties with the family meant heaps of rich food. Two days before Christmas I escaped to the local rec center for a workout. I had to keep from blowing up like a balloon.

I paid the ridiculously low entry fee and got a locker. I changed into my workout gear, putting on a jock underneath, of course, and pumped iron in the cramped, dingy weight room. At least because of the time of year I had the place almost to myself.

But not quite. A few minutes into my workout another man came in. I was in the middle of a set and didn't pay much attention at first. When I took a break, I looked over to see who it was. It was sheer force of habit--I wasn't expecting much.

I recognized him at once, even though Justin's stomach was a bit softer than I remembered and there were traces of silver in his dark hair. The rest of him was the same, even the way his chest filled out his T-shirt and his sturdy legs poked out of his nylon shorts. He grunted and frowned in concentration as he did his bench presses. The glint of gold on his left hand caught my eye.

I waited until he had finished his set, then said, "Not a whole lot of people here today." Justin raised his head and nodded. He didn't have a clue who I was. "Yeah, it's great. Sometimes it can get like Grand Central in here. We just passed a bond issue to expand this place. Can't happen fast enough."

We chatted a bit more, then I offered to spot him if he'd do the same for me. So we ended up working out together. I gave a few tips I'd picked up from my personal trainer.