Bros, Bros, and more Bros
I made a mistake! My cousin told me about this fortune teller that cast a spell on him. Apparently, it made every man he ran into act like a fatherly figure in his life. I had an awesome dad, but I've always struggled to connect with guys my own age, so I tracked the witch down and begged her for another spell. She eventually came around, but the effects aren't quite what I expected...
"Sup, dude! Wanna skip and hit the park?"
My eyes stretch wide to take in the sight of my own father, carrying a skateboard over his shoulder like it's the most natural thing in the world. He's been acting like this for weeks; not washing his hair, barely even washing himself, and constantly wearing that stupid cap backwards. He's lost any sense of his old self!
"Dad, it's Monday. You've got work," I reply, not wanting him to piss his boss off.
"Work blows!" he sneers, "I hate wearing this stupid tie, and I'd rather hang with you, bro."
I sigh as my father tosses down his skateboard and extends a palm, pulling me into a cliche bro-hug where he claps me on the back. My dad used to give out hugs all the time, but it was never as performatively masculine as this. All this stupid curse did was turn my father into an 40 year-old frat guy.
"You're going to work," I say firmly, "And I'm going to school. We can play videogames or whatever when we get back later tonight."
"Bruuhhh!" he groans, "Fine. I'll catch you later, dude. There's pizza in the fridge if you want."
The idea of leftover pizza this early in the morning makes my stomach ache. My dad used to cook an entire meal every morning, complete with fruits and veggies. Now, he'd probably settle for a bag of chips.
The man leaves the skateboard behind and grabs his suit jacket, pulling it on with an attitude. He gives me one last head nod before bounding out of the house, hair flowing behind him. I imagine it's only a matter of time before my dad's boss is fed up with his new persona. I can't imagine a bro-personality is very conducive to getting work done in a corporate office. Hopefully, he'll mature soon.
With an empty stomach, I saunter out of the kitchen and walk to campus. I'm grateful to live close to the university. Hopefully, my curse won't get in the way of my day.
"Hey, how's my favorite student doing, bro?"
My professor yells and breaks into a goofy grin at the sight of me. I close the door to his office to give us a bit of privacy. Mr. Carlton only acts like this when I stop by, so his colleagues would be shocked to see such a drastic shift in his usually stoic personality.
"I'm good, Professor Carlton," I say, "I wanted to check on my grade for this course."
"No need to be so formal, dude," he smiles, clapping me on the back, "You can call me Daniel. Want a drink? I have some bourbon."
"I'm good. I really just-"
"Relax, bro," my professor says, shoving a glass in my hand, filled to the brim, "This is good stuff. I save it for special occasions, so sit down! Kick your shoes off! I don't care!"
The department head pulls off his suit jacket and leans back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk and stretching his arms behind his head. I'd never seen the man act so unprofessional, but ever since the curse, he's started treating me like his closest buddy.
"Professor...sorry...Daniel, I just wanted to hear about my grade."
"I got you, bro!" he laughed, "Just keep doing what you're doing. I don't care if you don't show up!"
My shoulders relax. That's what I want to hear. It's not that I don't want to attend his lectures, but the last time I did, he started acting like a jackass in front of the entire class of 50 students. His presentation went from ancient monetary systems to ratings of best celebrity nip-slips. It's a miracle he didn't get fired!
"Ok, good. I have to go," I say checking the time, "And you have class in 20 minutes."
"Shit, I know," he groans and gulps down the rest of his booze, "Another day another dollar, I guess. When can we hang out, man? Tonight? I really wanna hang out with my guy."
"Nope, sorry!" I tense up and grab my backpack, "Good luck with the lecture."
"Right on, bro," he holds a sad hand up for a high-five, swallowing the rest of the drink he poured me.
I give my tipsy professor a halfhearted clap and scamper out of the office as quickly as possible. These interactions make me cringe so hard when a grown man acts young and cool for me. It's especially awkward to see such a respected individual sink to such a low level. What would we even do if he came over?
"Dude! Long time, no see!"
In the hallway, I run into the football coach and two of the team's best players. The three of them look like they're getting back from an early morning conditioning session. They're all sweaty, panting, and happy to see me.
"Oh, hey," I muster, feeling increasingly less cool around these jocks. I hate to admit it, but guys like this wouldn't give me the time of day before I got that bro-curse.
"Hey, man! You gotta come hang out with us," the brunette grins, "The team's still changing, but you're cool to come in the locker room!"
"Yeah, bro!" the blonde quickly adds, "We'd love to have you in there!"
My heart pounds faster and faster. This is why I've never been able to connect with guys my own age. I find myself boning up every time they look in my direction. Now that these two athletes are practically begging for me to join them in the locker room, my erection is bursting out of my pants!
"We can take care of that too," the coach suddenly mentions, pointing a finger at the tent I'm trying to hide in my crotch.
"What?" I stammer with a dry mouth.
"What do you think bros are for?" the coach continues, clapping his two players on the back, "My boys would be happy to help a brother out!"
The two football jocks nod. It feels like I'm dreaming, and I don't know what to do. Before I can decide, the two athletes have approached and grabbed me by the arm. Their grips are firm, and I realize I'm being escorted into the changing room whether I like it or not!
My stomach drops as I enter the locker room, finding an array of footballers in different states of dress. They all glance up at me with confusion, like I'm not supposed to be there, but then their faces soften. The gypsy's magic sets in, and they don't see a stranger when they look at me. They see their bro.
"Oh, it's you, bro," the same jock says, letting down his guard. I think I recognize him as the quarterback.
"Oh yeah, dude!" the massive lineman stands up and pulls me into a sweaty hug, "Glad you're here!"
"That's right guys," the brunette at my side says, still holding me tightly in place, "Our best bud is here, and he needs some attention."
My face flushes as I suddenly remember the problem poking out between my legs. By now, the entire football team is staring at it. If anything, it's only become more rock solid.
"Let me take care of that for you, bro," the quarterback says, grabbing my crotch without any hesitation.
"Move, I'll do it," says the lineman, pushing the quarterback out of the way and getting on his knees. He opens his mouth wide and-
"Shut up, all of you!" the coach suddenly roars! The locker room falls silent: these athletes are really well trained. "If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right. Line up!"
The jocks back up and form a line in front of the lockers. Even the blonde and brunette that were holding me, release and join the rest of the team on the bench. Suddenly, I'm standing with the coach, looking at an entire team of well-disciplined football players. My throbbing erection is very apparent and pointing right at the small crowd of muscular men.
"Our bro deserves to be kept satisfied, right?" the coach slams a hand on my back.
"Yes, coach!" they shout back.
"So we don't just want to get our boy off once and move on, now do we?" he punctuates his question with another slap, this time lower on my back.
"We're going to set up a system for us to get him off whenever he needs it!"
The broad-shouldered and balding coach gives me one more slap, clapping me on the ass this time while staring into my eyes. "I'm gonna have my boys take turns sucking you off, bro. You just tell me which one's your favorite. Sound cool?"
I manage to mumble my assent, and with one look from coach, the quarterback is on his knees crawling towards my crotch. He pulls down my pants and unleashes my aching hard-on. "I got you, bro," he says, before putting his mouth to work.
After a few minutes, the coach pulls the jock off my pole and orders the linebacker to get busy. Before long, it's the brunette's turn, then the blonde's. I cycle through all 30 of the team's exceptional players, and I've gotten off more than just a few times. It's impossible to choose a favorite.
At the end of it all, the coach pushes the last player aside and says, "My turn, bro," before opening his mouth as wide as he can.
The entire football team watches as I spend the next 15 minutes just filling their coach's eager throat. When I'm finally done, I feel completely spent. I swap numbers with each jock and am repeatedly promised that they will be available whenever I call, but it isn't enough. They want to hang out with me now. They want to go out and party. I find it too difficult to say 'no' to a group of 30 eager athletes, so I let them sweep me up and take me to the nearest bar.
Needless to say, we end up causing a bit too rowdy of a scene.
"I got a complaint about a bunch of college idiots causing a ruckus. Would that be you?"
The officer was all business when he first walked in the bar. My football bros were dancing and yelling, barely even paying attention to the policeman scowling at the wild scene in front of him. He looked pissed, and his glare only softened when it found me.
"Woah, didn't know you were here, man," the cop says, cracking a slight grin on his hardened face.
"Well, I am!" I cry, feeling the effects of all the drinks my bros had been buying for me, "You should forget about work and party with us!"
"You got it, dude! Screw this badge!" the officer yells, pulling me into a tight embrace. I guess the bro-curse even works on law-enforcement!
Just like that, I'm dancing with a policeman in the middle of the dance floor. He doesn't have any moves, but he loosens up after we get some beer down his throat. The football team loves watching the cop party right alongside them. Apparently, this guy has broken up many of their parties in the past.
The officer gulps down his seventh beer and slams the glass on the floor. It breaks, but the shattering is largely drowned out by the music. His onlookers go wild, but I can see the intoxication on his face. Beer is plastered around his mouth and dripping down his neck to soak into his uniform. I doubt this man has ever been this drunk in uniform before.
He stumbles over and throws a muscled arm over my shoulder, "Come here, bro. Let's do some shots or something!"
"I think it might be time to call it a night, officer," I yell in his ear.
"Oh, screw that!" he whines, "And don't call me officer! It's so formal!"
"Ok, what should I call you?"
"I dunno..." he mutters, "Buck! Call me Buck. That's what my wife calls me."
I roll my eyes at the mention of his wife. Of course this guy is taken. He's a complete stud of man. I've always liked a guy in uniform.
"How'd you like to come home with me tonight, Buck?" I ask sheepishly.
He lights up, "Bro, I thought you'd never ask!"
The cop grabs my arm with a wicked grin and stomps his way towards the door, dragging me along like I'm the prize he won at a fair. The players on the football team all stare at him with envy, mad that he's stealing their new best friend away for the night. I could see how badly each one of the jocks wished they were the one having a sleepover with me tonight.
"Hop in, I'll drive," officer Buck slurs his words and gestures to the police cruiser with his free hand.
"I think I'll handle the driving, if that's alright," I say, "Just hand over the keys."
"Looks like someone got lucky!"
"Oh my God. Dad you're still up?"
"Bro, you said you'd play videogames tonight and then you never showed! What was I supposed to do?" he retorts, unbothered by the late hour or the cop hanging on my arm.
"You have to go to work in 4 hours!" I scream, "And you haven't even changed out of today's work clothes! What are you thinking?"
"Chill, bro," my dad says, turning to the drunk policeman holding my hand, "Take him to the bedroom and show him a good time. I'm sure you were going to, but the dude could use some extra help relaxing tonight."
The sound of my own father encouraging the man I brought home to 'show me a good time' makes me question everything again. My dad just witnessed his son bringing home a cop that's the same age as him. He doesn't even care! I want to tell him to grow up and be the man I used to know, but Buck is already jerking on my arm.
"Let's go, bro," he mumbles lowly, using his strong arms to drag me into the bedroom.
"Enjoy your new cop friend, bro!" my father calls and I hear the sounds of his videogames start back up.
I barely have time to worry about any of it. Has this curse gone too far? Will my dad make it to work tomorrow? Does Buck have a wife I need to worry about!?
It all goes away when I'm thrown on the bed. The intoxicated officer flips the lights down low, and stumbles in front of me. He may be drunk, but he is certainly not a disappointment. The cop stares down at me as he rips his state-issued hat off and unbuttons his dark uniform shirt, all the while moving his hips to the beat of gunfire from dad's videogame in the living room.
With his hairy chest exposed, he crawls on top of me and whispers in my ear, "Where do you want me to start? Us bros gotta look out for each other, don't we?"
baratheonpilled
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
2087
annaxmalina
stormborns
blakekathryn
areudirty
janainaart
