SJ Strap
Jockstrap Fan
My high school required a PE class and had a gym uniform. We’d all buy the same printed thin white T-shirt, red cotton shorts, and a basic white jock. We were also required to shower after class which meant lining up for a speed wash in a gang shower and then taking ONE worn out towel handed to us by the gym teacher. Then it was out the door into the cold to walk home. If your hair was still wet then maybe you should get a haircut. You’re not getting a second towel.
I hated sports because of this. Every element of this experience was spartan, discipline, and regimented. I was at a public school in a working class town, so it wasn’t a matter of any of us being too entitled or precious compared to any of the other students. Most families were broke. “Too broke to bitch about it“ was the standing joke.
By the middle of senior year my red shorts were failing me. I’d grown out of them and didn’t want to ask my dad for the money to get new ones. The jock was too. The elastic was done for. I asked the teacher/football coach/towel guard if there was anything in the lost and found that might fit me. He said he’d look, and the next day had a ‘new’ uniform for me. I had no idea who left it or why, but it was nice to have something that fit me better.
I had it on before I thought about some other guy’s junk having been there in that jock first. I saw every dick in my class five times a week from September through May, but I’d never really thought about other guys’ junk. But with the used jock it was somehow instantly personal. Who was he? Why was the pouch all stretched out? What happened to him or where did he go in such a hurry that he left his gym clothes? The though returned again and again that I was wearing his jock. We were junk brothers somehow.
From then I started looking at my classmates as they changed into and out of their uniforms. I noticed a few of the guys joking with each other as they stood in just their jocks. I stopped hating gym class. I started looking at guys. I was taking a solid look, rather than scanning to recognize friend or foe. These were the first steps of an awakening, and all because of a used jock.
I hated sports because of this. Every element of this experience was spartan, discipline, and regimented. I was at a public school in a working class town, so it wasn’t a matter of any of us being too entitled or precious compared to any of the other students. Most families were broke. “Too broke to bitch about it“ was the standing joke.
By the middle of senior year my red shorts were failing me. I’d grown out of them and didn’t want to ask my dad for the money to get new ones. The jock was too. The elastic was done for. I asked the teacher/football coach/towel guard if there was anything in the lost and found that might fit me. He said he’d look, and the next day had a ‘new’ uniform for me. I had no idea who left it or why, but it was nice to have something that fit me better.
I had it on before I thought about some other guy’s junk having been there in that jock first. I saw every dick in my class five times a week from September through May, but I’d never really thought about other guys’ junk. But with the used jock it was somehow instantly personal. Who was he? Why was the pouch all stretched out? What happened to him or where did he go in such a hurry that he left his gym clothes? The though returned again and again that I was wearing his jock. We were junk brothers somehow.
From then I started looking at my classmates as they changed into and out of their uniforms. I noticed a few of the guys joking with each other as they stood in just their jocks. I stopped hating gym class. I started looking at guys. I was taking a solid look, rather than scanning to recognize friend or foe. These were the first steps of an awakening, and all because of a used jock.