I couldn't sleep that night. No matter how hard I tried, every time I closed my eyes, I would just see Sam. Fuck, I wanted to smell that fucker's junk again. Thinking of that stank, and where I might acquire it, my hand drifted down my jock. I laughed to myself, the thought of being caught in it made me smile.
Sam knew I had a jock fetish. When I left laundry in the dryer for too long, he would just toss it on my bed. Except for the few times when a jock band would be noticeable, then he would snag it and leave it hanging over my door handle. He never would say anything, acting like it never happened, but still wanting me to know he knew.
I had an idea, fuck it. If he was not going to respect me, I would not respect his stuff.
I silently went downstairs and saw him passed out on the couch. A cable modem torn apart in front of him. Sam was a techie for sure. Always trying to figure out how shit works and how to exploit it. He loved knowing more than others, and using that knowledge to punk on and humiliate friends.
Sam had gotten into hacking in college. So much so, that his hazing included accessing all of the pledges phones and university laptops. Though a source of control, he used it for countless jokes. He, at least, had a campfire code, leaving the pledge better than he found them. So after the trauma of having their nudes, messages, or anything else exposed, Sam taught them how to protect themselves and their data. A right of passage that was fun for some, but an inconceivable nightmare for those still in the closet.
I even heard a rumor once that Sam had assisted a pledge named Dave into coming out, after a hack. I definitely felt for him. Sam had immense power over him and I doubted he had let it go to waste. Controlling people just seemed to engorge his dominant side. And historically, when he was in that dominant state, he would usually do some phallic act of straight masculine dominance, followed by a quick 'no-homo'.
Damn, did I miss those days. Life was so much simpler when all you needed to do was get a good grade, stay on the frat's good side, and find a chick every once in a while, to keep appearances up. But even looking back, Sam was in every mental image, usually shirtless or in his signature Calvin Kleins. Just like he had on now, in that bean bag chair.
It took all of my effort not to just go to the source; I could see his too-small trunks packed full. A small, wet spot from him taking a leak, I'm sure. Fuck. I was worked up, not the normal worked up, we're talking a level midnight erection. At this level, you do stupid shit. You think with the small head. I couldn't handle it any more and I cracked open the basement door, skipped the step that creaked like a banshee and headed down into the cellar.
I knew where to look, he had dumped everything from his parents' house in one spot. I had to dig through a ton of personal junk, but I finally found my prize. Sam's college sports duffels. When I ripped open the bags, I was first hit with the odor, I mean his last match must have been six months ago, and it still reeked like a fucking locker room filled with sweaty college jocks. I had hit bromo gold.
In the first football bag, I found pads, two cups, a girdle, and a single jockstrap with pouch. The next smaller bag had two red singlets, some crusty ass red jocks, and the rest of his wrestling kit. I dove for the scent; fuck, I felt like a little whore. I was ashamed, embarrassed, and so turned on. All of these items of clothing were a symbol of masculinity, accompanied by a symphony of body odor. All stained from what looked like a year's worth of funk. One well-used jock was balled up and stiff as fuck.
All had dark stains and discoloration. I had forgotten his secret to success in wrestling was to never wash his strap. Everyone complained about his smell on the mat. He became a feared opponent due to this fact. No one wanted to wrestle a gross dude. He loved it.
It became a right of passage, wrestling him in practice and getting over the smell. And later in the locker room, you could be guaranteed that he would pull his jock over some poor fresher's face like an oxygen mask. Then it was a fight for survival. The one time it got washed was when the team dragged him in his jock into the showers. They held him under the water as he tried to wrestle free. All in good fun, but it had to be done. They all had a good laugh, but he would got get his revenge on each and every one of them. So it only happened once.
Falling out of my daydream, I quickly filled my pockets and put the rest to the side, as I made it look like the original pile of random shit. I picked up everything and ran upstairs, forgetting the creaking step and closing the door a little too hard. I looked, and luckily, Sam was still asleep. I dipped into my room and hid these treasures in a large storage tube in my closet.
