I think I might have gone a bit overboard. But fuck, the first time I smelled him…I knew it had to be him, I had to. I mean, sure, my son’s hot. I know, I know I shouldn’t say that about my son, and I’d never do anything with him, and I love his mom too. But there’s just something about some guys–muscular, younger, and musky. Fuck, it’s the smell that does it for me, more than anything. I might have, on occasion, when I’m alone, snuck one of my son’s dirty, sweaty singlets from the laundry and jacked off with it pressed to my face. But Max. Max was something else entirely.

Given my, uh, interests, and the fact that I got off work earlier than most people, I could often catch my son’s wrestling practices after school, and I’d go there to cheer him on. Sure, he was a bit embarrassed, but he kind of likes it too, I think. But really, more than anything, it means I get to check out his hot friends in their singlets, and Max…maybe, maybe he’s not the best looking one. A bit too boyish for me in the face, I like them a bit more rugged, with some hair on their chest. Max shaves, I think, but he’s a star wrestler, just great at it. That second practice, I saw him pin my son in half a minute. I felt bad for him…but you know, also a bit envious. When practice was over, they were talking, and I went over and introduced myself, and fuck, I could smell him. It was just so fucking strong, you know? And he’s a big guy, six foot four or something, and he was just looming over me, sweaty, reeking, and he was talking at me and I couldn’t think of anything to say. I still don’t know how I got out of there without cumming in my pants or shoving my face in his pit or crotch or fuck, fucking anywhere.

And so…so I knew I had to do something. I needed…a memento, something of his to enjoy, and so, when I got an opportunity next practice, I went rummaging through the locker room. What I really wanted was a practice singlet, but I didn’t find anything like that in his locker or bag, but I did find a jock–a nice ripe one. I was so horny, I jacked off right there on the bench, cumming into the pouch. That’s a bit odd, right? I mean, why fill it with my stink if I like his so much, but I…I like the idea of filling his shit with my cum, making it smell like both of us, but more than anything, making it smell fucking filthy. Because as dirty as it was, I wanted it to be worse. I liked…like imaging that he’s this really filthy fucker. That…that I could have found the jock cum stained, yellow with piss and sweat…

And that’s…well, I’m not really sure why I did anything that came next. I stripped off my pants and briefs, and pulled on the jock, threw my jockeys in the trash, and wore Max’s jock out of the school, and then I just kept wearing it. I was going to take it off when I got home, but…I just didn’t want to, really. See, my wife, she hates my snoring, so we’ve slept in separate bedrooms for a long time. I mean, that’s just what works for us, we still fuck and everything, but, well, not for the last few months, because I’ve worn Max’s jock the whole time. At first, I just wore it, but then I started cumming in it too, and…and pissing in it. A few times I even wiped my ass with the pouch. And all the while, I kept going to practices, watching him. I was obsessed. I knew it wasn’t right, that it was sick, but I just couldn’t stop myself, it’s like…like something else was in me, making me do these things. The only time it came off was so I could press it to my nose while I jack off, and then it goes right back on. It’s brown. Like, really brown. I can smell it through my clothes. I have to be careful at work, my wife, fuck, she doesn’t know what to think, my son doesn’t even notice, and I didn’t even know what to make of it until today, the day of the wrestling finals.

We had to get here early with all the competitors, but as insane as I knew it was, I went to the bathroom and pulled off the jock, and then went into the locker room, found Max’s bag, and stuffed it back inside, and then headed to the stands, commando and sweating like a nervous pig. What in the hell had I just done? I hadn’t even washed the thing, it reeked of me. I mean, he wouldn’t know it was me, but what if someone had seen me do any of that? I’d be arrested and labeled a pervert for the rest of my life, but nothing like that happened at all. Instead the matches started. My son got eliminated in the quarterfinals, but Max…nothing was getting in Max’s way.

He stepped out for his first match, and he looked a bit uncomfortable. I noticed him…adjust his crotch a couple of times. Then he got in the ring, and he was a beast. Merciless. He had his opponent pinned in less than a minute, and held them a bit longer than he needed to, and his eyes, they seemed a bit distant. He got up, adjusted his cock and I could see he was hard. I realized then, that he must have the jock on under his singlet.

My heart caught in my throat, but what could I do? If I said anything, people would think I’m a pervert. If I went and found him, he’d know who’d fucked with his jock for the last few months. His next match came, and this time I noticed something else, he had a five o’ clock shadow across his face, and he was looking cocky and confident, and like he knew he owned the place, but then things went…a bit crazy.

He got in the ring, had the other guy pinned in moments, but he didn’t stop there, he was pushing him down onto the mat, face down, and grinding his crotch against his ass. His stubble was filling in and pushing out into a beard, his hair darkening to a dingy, dark brown, and soon it was sprouting all over his body. The kid was shouting, trying to get away, and a few of the coaches and the ref tried to pull him off, but Max whirled around and clocked one of them so hard in the jaw he collapsed, knocked out. The rest pulled back, Max returning to his pinned opponent, grabbed the ass of the singlet and ripped it away, pushing apart his ass and jamming his cock into his hole. The scream, fuck, the scream.

People in the stands freaked out, and started leaving. My wife left, but I stayed, unable to look away, my cock hard as a rock and leaking in my pants. He was fucking the wrestler, but he was snorting the air–long, loud and gruff snorts–then he turned towards me, right where I was in the stands, and leered, ramming his cock deeper, and deeper, and deeper, but it was me he wanted, me he was smelling, and I ran. I’m still running, but I can hear him in the halls behind me, hunting me. He’s hunting me, and I don’t think I can keep running for much longer.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.