Stinker’s Drive (Sketch)

It had been a gag, one day–a prank by one of the guys on the football team, and no one had ever fessed up to it, not that Jeff would really give a fuck who it was. He’d gone out one afternoon, after practice, to find that someone had slipped his keys from his locker, gone out, and hung his dirty jock from the rearview mirror, like an air freshener. It had been a gentle ribbing, aimed at Jeff’s hygiene, because he almost never washed his jocks and other gym clothes, so the rest of the team could smell him coming around the corner, but rather than humiliate him, he just considered it to be a source of pride–and so, rather than take it down, he decided to just leave it there for the rest of the semester.

It wasn’t like his decoration went unnoticed around town, either, since it was a small college town in a rural part of the state. He didn’t really mind the reputation though–he didn’t give to fucks what anyone thought of him, because when it came right down to it…he liked the way he smelled, and he wasn’t going to change for anyone, just to make them more comfortable. So it was, one afternoon, that Jeff climbed into his car, at the end of the day, and when he did…he noticed that something stank a bit more than usual.

He looked around at his car, which was a bit of a mess, but there wasn’t any food or anything in the back. Besides, it didn’t smell like rot–it smelled like…sweat, and piss, more than anything else. Still, he couldn’t find the source, and figured it wasn’t a big deal–he buckled up and pulled out of the parking lot, heading for the house he was renting with some friends a few miles away from campus.

Still, the smell lingered, and while it didn’t bother him, he was…surprised to find that it was making him a bit horny. He hadn’t gotten laid lately–most of the girls on campus avoided him because of his musk, but it didn’t bother him all that much. He liked his hand more, in some ways, because a pussy always seemed to be attached to something complaining. But he did want to know what in the hell the smell was, and so, stopped at a red light, he looked around again–and noticed his jock, hanging from the rearview mirror–or at least, what should have been his jock, but it wasn’t.

This thing–it was almost grey brown in color, and looked like it hadn’t been washed in years. How in the hell had he not noticed that? Was this another prank by one of the guys on the team, pushing him a bit further, since the first prank hadn’t worked? But…maybe it was his jock. It looked right, to him, and part of him was telling him that it…smelled right too, somehow, but he couldn’t quite be sure. Against his better judgement, he leaned in, took a whiff, and as pungent as it was…it did smell amazing.

He shuddered in his seat, groping himself waiting for the light. It seemed…hotter in the car, than it usually did, somehow. Sure, the sun was out, beating down on the chassis, but this…it was an internal heat too. Something inside him, making him sweat–and by the time the light turned green, it was pouring off him, soaking his hair down, and soaking into his clothes too. It didn’t feel right–in fact, he was feeling dizzy and lightheaded. He…he needed to smell that jock again. Yeah, that would make him feel better for sure.

He took another whiff, shivers crawling up and down his spine. He kept driving, but his mind was focused elsewhere–he didn’t notice his college t-shirt soaking through with sweat under his hoodie begin to dissolve away, the same with his jeans–the denim around his ass succumbing first, and then the rest down his legs, to his feet, which were similarly melting his socks and shoes. He started groping his cock openly now, looking around at the drivers in the other cars, wondering if they could see him. It felt…good to be driving naked, actually. Risky. He liked risks, and he liked showing off too. He unhooked the jock from the mirror and looped it over his neck–better to smell it, and better to let other people see what a fucking pig he was too.

The air was heating up inside the car, the seats blistering and popping, the metal warping and reforming around him as he drove. Over the course of the next two streets, Jeff’s little sedan swelled and grew into an old grey pickup, paint peeling and rusted, but man, did the cab smell good. It smelled like the jock–it smelled like him. He was breathing deep, sucking in as much of the filth off his jock as he could, hair growing in all over his chest, shoulders and back, and something else was happening to his body too–color swirling to life all over his chest and belly, down onto his legs. Thankfully, he had a ways to go before he would be home–give him plenty of time to sniff and edge himself while he drove, passing the little house where college students usually lived, and got on the highway out of town. He enjoyed the ride, sniffing his ripe pits, stroking his long, sweaty cock, hotboxing in his own heat and sweat. He got to the house after about half an hour, pulled into the garage and finally opened the door of the truck–and the scent of the place–oil, dirt, smoke and beer. He started stroking faster, jock out in front of his cock, and he shot a massive load into the pouch, feeling a pair of leather biker boots form around his feet, along with a leather bracelet and cock ring–his usual driving gear.

As he recovered from his orgasm, Jeff realized that he had no clue where he was, or how he’d even known to come here. Still, just like the jock, he could tell, from the smell of the place, that he was home. He was home, and he was finally the man he’d been meant to be, all this time.

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