Gay Erotic Stories

The mystery of the Jock Exchange was getting to me. I spent more of my waking hours worrying about the game than almost anything else. I knew that there had to be some explanation, and I wanted to know what the explanation might be. Yes, hooked on jocks, and hooked on wearing the cum-damp straps to titillate my libido. I was ashamed to even say these words aloud; it was so much of a developing fetish. And whom was I kidding? I was turned on to this like nothing had ever turned me on before.

In an effort to kick the habit, I made myself stay away from the club for several days, and let it grow into one full week. It was easier when I quit smoking than it was to abstain from visiting the club and checking out the locker. But for one whole week, I did it. When I strolled into the locker room after the week of absence, I felt that I had it all under control and smiled to myself that it was all over; it had never really happened.

Then I opened the locker door. A whole pile of jockstraps was there, all with the telltale cum stains. A week’s worth of jocks. It made my heart pump faster; I could feel myself breathing harder. I felt my hard-on growing to granite and I made the quick decision that I absolutely could not stay at the club. I had to take the jocks and escape.

I got home in record time, relieved that no one else was there, and headed for my bedroom. I got naked and I got one of them on me as quickly as I could, fully jacked and ready to pump. Somehow one was not enough, and I was soon strutting around wearing two or three of them, one on top of the other. I was nuzzling one, wearing several, and then swapping them around so that there was an opportunity for me to dampen each one, as I seemed to spurt out load after load after load. I knew enough about my own masculine biology to know that I usually spurted five or six times before I emptied the sperm canal. But today, I know that it was twice that many spurts and twice as many lunges to rid myself of far-reaching fluid projectiles. I spread it around and wiped my cock with a handful of the jocks. I looked at myself in the mirror, and could not believe how ridiculous I looked. One of them over my head, several on my body, one hanging off of my semi-hard dick, and a few more in my hand and sniffing them. I looked pathetic. I not only looked pathetic, I was pathetic.

With a vengeance, I grabbed them all and I took them back to the club. Within minutes I had all of them stuffed back into the secret locker. I left the club, angry with myself, vowing that I would never again stoop so low as I had just done.

For the next few weeks, I tried to forget that the incidents with the jockstraps had ever occurred. The memory seemed to be fading a bit, but never completely. All I had to do was to close my eyes and pretend that I was inhaling air over the pungent pouch of one of the jocks, and I would get hard, and I would cum easily and quickly. I jacked off many days in the men’s room at work, something that I had never done before. My wife and I were at a restaurant one evening, and the thought process and imagery of the Jock Exchange hit me, and I went to the Men’s Room and shot a load within seconds. I was living with this vivid imagery that would not go away completely, no matter how I tried to ignore it. But I was determined to learn to live without this eroticism.

I busied myself with work, and got involved with one of my wife’s charity events, one where she was an event chairman for a Walk-a-Thon. The event comprised a full weekend of volunteers who would walk around the circular track at one of the high schools, with the event starting on Friday night and going all weekend, non-stop, until Sunday evening. I threw myself into the event and helped her organize the myriad of activities for the project, and did not go to the club for several weeks. I did wonder about the jocks, and it was a devil’s temptation not to go, just to check out whether the game was still going on, but I resisted the temptation even though it was almost painful to do. I got totally involved in the charity event, immersed in it, and was doing everything that I could to let the memory of the Jock Exchange diminish.

One of the last activities that I had to complete was to line up security for the Walk-a-Thon. Since we would be at the track all night long for two nights, she did not want any punks to raise hell with the sorority girls from the university that were heavily involved in the charity project, or did not anyone to think that there was money that could be stolen from the clubs that were selling drinks and food, and cooking designer grits for breakfast, all little events to raise money for charity. I contacted a security agency that was too expensive and would not donate time to charity. Then I contacted the local police, who were more agreeable. They lined up several guys from the police-training academy, and the student rookies were pleased to have the chance to exert their official authority at such an event. There were half a dozen or so of the rookies, all strutting around looking tough and protective, which was just what was required!

On Sunday night, with the event over, I was at the track to break down the exhibits and displays, and was asked to carry some materials and food chests back down to the police academy van. The lead instructor of the academy, Mike, was a well-muscled guy that absolutely fit the quintessential image of a police training school instructor. We knew each other well, and had known each other for several years. We chatted small talk, and dropped the chests and the goods at the back of his van. He went to the front of the vehicle, and got in and hit the lock to unlock the back door of the van. I swung the door open and before I could catch it, a duffle bag fell out onto the ground.

Dozens of jockstraps tumbled out of the duffle bag onto the ground. I know that my jaw dropped and my mind raced as I concluded immediately that this was the treasure trove that had been supplying my erotic moments for almost a year now. This was the connection; there could be no other explanation. I scooped up a handful of the garments, well aware that they were not fresh from the laundry. I could not help myself as I brought that handful of the cock-and-ball scented supporters to my nose, reeling with the delicious fragrance that wafted through the air, and tickled my nostrils.

Just then, Mike turned the corner and looked me directly in the eye as I was pulling in a deep inhalation. If the phrase were not such a mixed metaphor, it would be fair to say that I was like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Instead, I was a mature male sniffing a handful of sweaty jockstraps. I quickly pulled them away, and Mike’s look of utter amazement caused one of full embarrassment for me. I had been caught. It was an eternity, it seemed, before any words were uttered.

I was stammering and saying something unintelligible, but Mike’s words were well formed. “Damn, those jocks are a turn-on for you, aren’t they?” I was almost speechless, but had just enough breath left to deny his accusation. Mike just rubbed his knuckles across my crotch where my cock had betrayed me by showing him that I was aroused. I reacted and pulled away instinctively, just as he raised my handful of jocks to his own nose with one hand, and with his other hand, guided my hand to his crotch where his cock was also hard and demonstrating full arousal. He looked around, then whispered to me, “Get in” and we both scampered to get inside while checking out the landscape to ensure that no one was watching us. Unashamedly and unabashedly, we both took jocks to the nose, and we both somehow got our pants unzipped and we both were jerking off with wild abandon. We both blew our load in the masturbatory frenzy and with the draining of the cum, we had to come face-to-face with the reality of each other. I was embarrassed again, and felt that I ought to do some explaining. I was, at least, with a kindred spirit.

Well, it took more than just that one incident on that day for the full story to come out. As it turned out, Mike did most of the explaining. He collected the jockstraps from the training session at the gym where the academy guys worked out each day, and took them to the laundry several times a week. With twenty guys in training at all times, he was handling a hundred or so sweaty jocks every week from these guys in their early twenties and Mike was totally addicted to the feel and the handling of the jockstraps. He had a habit of throwing them in one of the unused lockers in the locker room until the last workout session. Then he would gather them all and remove them from the locker.

He told me that he had apparently left one by accident one day, and the next day, it had been returned, clean and freshly laundered. Perplexed, he had left another one, and the same thing had happened. We had just stumbled onto the exchange by accidental means, both of us. He became equally addicted to the exchange, as was I, and he had no idea what was making the exchange work. He would often wear one of the jocks that the guys had worn and would jack off in it and leave it in the locker. The timing was accidental and we were amused and amazed that we had never discovered each other in the process. He, like me, became dependent upon the activities of the other, and was perplexed when it went for a time without my picking them up. This supply that he had in the duffle in his van, was an accumulation of the several weeks that I had not been collecting them. He had assumed that the mystery man had opted out of the game, or had moved on, and he had been severely disappointed. Our mutual discovery was accidental and coincidental and fortuitous.

Neither of us had ever done any activity while naked with a naked male. But with the same interest in the jockstraps, we learned how hot it was to suck on a cock through the mesh pouch of a jockstrap that is straining full with a hard cock. And how exciting it is to actually suck on the cock when you can tease it out of the strap. And a lot of other things that neither of us had ever done before.

Take a look in the locker next to yours. You never know what might be there!