Adam in the Locker Room Part 3
As Chris ran off to the locker room, I couldn't help but feel a little bad for the guy. Not only had he absolutely failed his bench press, the guy had sprung wood right in front of everyone. Truthfully, I don't think anybody saw it, but I made sure to point it out to him and his face had turned so red. As he got up though, I was amazed at the height of his tent. I couldn't help but stare at it and my face definitely betrayed me. I tried so hard to contain my surprise and excitement, but as he walked off I allowed myself one final dig.
"Ya no worries bro, go take care of your stiffy".
He didn't even look back, and thank god he didn't, because I couldn't contain my excitement any longer. As I began putting my shorts away, I could feel my own little guy growing and I decided to finish off doing some stretches, laying on my stomach as much as I could until my obvious excitement went away.
After Chris had challenged me on the bench press, I wasn't sure what I was doing when I approached him as a spotter. I think I just wanted to tower over him, see that I wasn't scared of him or prove to him that I didn't think much of him. Yes, I knew I was closer then I needed to be as a spotter, but a part of me just needed to see him looking up at me, looking at my sweaty body looking down at him. I wanted him to see me from that angle, to see that even though he was bigger than me. I had a body worth showing off.
As he began preparing for his lift I had this fantasy of teabagging him with my sweaty ballsack, an ultimate act of domination. But I knew he would get up from the bench and beat the shit out of me if I tried. I didn't know much about Chris, but I did know he had had a few violent outbursts at his school.
He had missed some tournaments and through the high school chatter, I found out it was due to fighting. I hadn't seen his angry side, hadn't seen the violent outbursts, but I had witnessed this primal side of Chris on the court throughout the years. There was this split second, where I felt like he was about to lunge at me, or at one of my teammates, or at the ref. He would stop, crouch slightly, and turn red as he stared intensely at the object of his sudden rage. I could see through his tight shirt that he would take deep breaths to calm himself down, as the other team would sigh almost in unison at the relief that Chris had calmed down, the beast would fall back asleep and the game would continue.
As I had edged my body closer to Chris, I had other thoughts in my head though. They say sexuality is complex, and I think complex is a complete understatement. There was the part of me that wanted to get back at Chris for challenging me and embarrassing me with his lifts, but there was this other side of me that couldn't stop staring at him.
With the pump from his "warm-up" bench press, his arms looked bigger than ever. He had this body that was not super hairy, but scruffy and put my boyish smooth body to shame. He would always sweat so much more than me and I don't know if it was because he was working harder or pushing himself more, or maybe it's because he was bigger. But he was sweaty as hell as he prepared for his bench press, I got closer and I could catch brief whiffs of his manly scent.
It wasn't body odour, okay maybe it was a little bit. But he smelled clean at the same time, there was something so clean and masculine about his workout scent that I found myself completely intoxicated by it. I stared at his body as he laid down, and when he lifted his arms reaching for the bar, I was fixated on two things:
As his shirt lifted up slightly, I could see the outline of his white
jockey underwear. I couldn't tell if they were boxer briefs or
tighty whities, but I couldn't stop staring. I pictured how he would
look in them, his massive thighs and legs pressed hard against the
cotton fabric.
His sweaty armpits released a stronger scent than before and I found
myself looking at them. This thick dark forest of pure masculinity
and strength. I wanted to just crouch down a little bit, move just a
little bit closer, breathe it a little deeper.
What the hell was happening to me? Why was I so fixated on this guy who was always competing with me, what was I doing? I felt my dick growing slightly and I tugged at it so embarrassed. I know it's completely inappropriate to do that in a gym, but the intensity of Chris' body made me lose control. I wasn't scratching, I wasn't trying to show anything off, to be honest I was completely embarrassed about the whole situation. I don't know why I took a tug of my dick right then and there.
When Chris failed his bench press it took me a second to grab the barbell, I was too distracted by what I was seeing. That's when I noticed his throbbing erection and I almost lost it. As Chris walked away in shame I stood there for a minute, I needed to enjoy every last second of his scent before it disappeared with him.
The cold water had gotten rid of my rage, but nothing seemed to bring relief to my growing pain down below. I kept looking at myself in the mirror, taking deep breaths, steadying the rhythm of my breathing. I knew the worst was over, but what exactly was "the worst"? Why did I take such minor things and allow myself to blow up so suddenly. Rationally, I knew that I wasn't the first teenage boy to spring a boner in gym class, in my freshman days it seemed like a rite of passage. Any adult male knows that those things have a mind of their own, but this wasn't one of those unprovoked erections, this had a cause, a trigger, and object of lust tied to it.
"Object of lust? Are you hearing yourself?" I don't know what was going on, but I couldn't get the image of Adam's bulge towering above me, I felt like the only way to destroy this image was to jerk it away, to just fantasise about it, let it take over for just a few minutes and move on, pretend I had never thought it. A little bit of post-nut clarity is the best thing you can do for your mental health, when in doubt, rub one out.
Most of the guys in my gym class didn't shower after their work outs. They said it was just inconvenient and they showered when they got home, but my arrogant ass knew it's cause they hadn't worked up a sweat. I, on the other hand, was completely filthy. My shirt was three shades darker and it was all sweat, I put deodorant on every morning, but I knew that wasn't enough. As I lifted my arms to remove my shirt, my nose was invaded by my rank pits and I knew it was time for a shower. I grabbed my towel from my gym bag and began removing the rest of my clothes.
I removed my shorts and my white Jockey briefs. I remember the first day of freshman gym being mocked by the other guys for wearing tighty whities. I laughed along with them, but the truth is, they were the only underwear I could wear. I was always aware that my balls were quite large and I felt like only tighter briefs were up to the task of holding up my heavy boys. The only issue there was that my balls and cock ended up snuggled up together for hours in a day and they were always extra sweaty. Nothing a cold shower can't fix though!
So I removed my underwear and once again, the scent of all my manly bits was another indicator that I absolutely needed a shower. But I was still undecided about jerking off in there too. During my sophomore year, I had my headphones stolen out of my gym bag while I was in the shower, so I always brought my gym bag with me into the shower stall and hung it on the higher hook. We didn't have our own changing room lockers with a lock. As I walked into the shower area I didn't realise I had left my dirty Jockey briefs behind.
I never showered at school, and I avoided the team showers as much as I could. Often waiting until everyone had left to get my shower in, or waiting till I got home. My dad would always complain that I stank in the car on the drive home and I would apologise and make up some excuse about being in a rush to finish an assignment.
Today, after the whole incident with Chris, I had decided to wait around until everyone had left so I could shower in peace after gym class. I wasn't that sweaty, and I could definitely wait until I got home. But I was still troubled by these new thoughts I was having and I wanted to drench myself in cold water until everything went away and I could snap myself out of this weird embarrassing spell Chris had put me under.
From the fitness area, I could see the last guy going home for the night and I knew Chris had left before everyone after his boner incident on the bench press. So my plan was to walk in, strip quickly, wrap myself in a towel as fast as possible, and take a 30 second freezing cold shower to shock the nerves and snap me back to reality. Everything was going according to plan, I went in, saw the locker room was empty and as I began to strip, a flash of white caught my eye and I knew I was in trouble again.
The Jockey briefs Chris was wearing were now sprawled out on the bench like a trophy showing off. As soon as I laid eyes on them I was hypnotised into a trance and I could feel myself walking towards them closer and closer, like a zombie full of a lustful appetite. They were inside out and I could see the masculine wear and tear of Chris' busy day. These were not brand new, bleach white underwear. These guys were worn out and had lost their original shade of white, lost to his workouts, team practices, his fights at school, all of Chris' manly endeavours had slowly eroded these briefs into the dirtiest piece of cloth I had ever seen. I should have been disgusted.
If this had been anybody else I would have confronted him later on and said something along the lines of, "bro nobody wants to see your crusty ass underwear again, take them home".
But this wasn't just anybody else, these were Chris' underwear. My rival who for the past four years had been doing everything to one-up me. The guy who just a couple hours ago had purposely chosen a higher weight to show how much stronger he was. The guy who I had just embarrassed by pointing out his gym-class boner. That guy. Chris. And now here I was staring deep into his sweat stained underwear.
"I need to take these home" I thought to myself, "I can shower at home".
So I picked them up, and as I went to place them quickly into my backpack, I caught my first ever smell of his underwear and I knew I would not be able to make it home. In almost one quick motion I lost complete control of what I was doing, and before I knew it, Chris' dirty underwear were pressed against my nose. I took my first serious huff and the manly scent that radiated from the crotch area was one of the most intoxicating smells I had ever smelled. My cock got completely hard, and I felt myself tugging at it uncontrollably. I didn't care anymore. I pulled my shorts down and I now sat on the gym bench furiously stroking my cock, moving his briefs around my face, praying for more and more of his fresh scent. So hungry for more, but also afraid that I would huff the life out of the underwear.
I moaned and squirmed and acted like a slut for the smell.
"Oh Chris" I heard myself saying. "Oh Chris, ya give me your cock scent Chris please". I was high on fumes. It was a drug. There was no other way to describe it at all, it was a complete intoxication where nothing else matters, there were no consequences. There was no shame. I just wanted more.
I hadn't heard the footsteps coming out of the shower area, I hadn't heard anything at all. All I remember is being aware that there was someone in the locker room next to me and they were watching me, and my cock was still out and all I could do was remove the briefs from my face and throw them on the floor.
Chris smiled, the biggest most triumphant smile I had seen on him before.