I thought I had it all figured out. I mean, I was a bright guy. Great organisational skills, lots of forethought and planning into a successful career I’d been starting as a pharmacist. I was analytical, logical, and really great with time management. So, unlike a lot of my peers, I had no trouble finding time, after graduation and obtaining my first job, to get a gym membership and work towards getting my body in peak condition. I wasn’t a scrawny guy, exactly, but nobody would have called me athletic. I really just wanted to be living my best life, and it took so little time if you were just devoted and committed to a few hours a week.
So, it wasn’t long til I did have my body in pretty much perfect shape. Anything bigger would have been in territory that would have made my job awkward and required pushing this bud further into the red. I just wanted the right balance. I wasn’t in it for the muscle. But since I’d worked so hard, I figured I might as well show it off a little, too. I told myself it was just to inspire other guys. So I had the Instagram selfies, but in the summer, more and more, I’d find that I liked chillaxing on the beach. I liked getting out on the water. I liked taking a jog after work, stripping off my shirt and putting on my headphones, noticing what stares I got.
And here’s the thing, man. Once you get your body to this level, you have to maintain it. You have more positive energy. Your sex drive is higher. And that’s how I noticed that when I was supposed to be filling my calendar with personal development goals, a reading group I wanted to join, working more on my cooking skills… I’d rather be looking in the mirror. Maybe flexing a little. I’d rather be on the apps, talking to other guys, and – just for fun, I told myself at first – I’d flirt with other guys just for their bodies, not for the sort of thing I knew I should. If they were a dumb jock type, I even found it kinda hot. And soon I’m beating off to those guys, and my convos with those guys, and hooking up with those guys. I’m acting dumber than I am when I hook up. I’m getting drunk with these guys. I’m loving feeling like I’ve got this alternate life as a hot dumb jock myself.
And soon, gotta be honest, it’s become more of a double life. Sometimes, at a long day of work, I’ll just be feeling through my lab coat how thick and firm my pecs are, now, brushing against the fabric, and feeling, kinda subversively, like ‘That’s the real you, bro. They don’t know it, but under these clothes you’re just a sex beast, dumb fuckin’ jock waiting to bust out and ride ass like a cowboy tonight after work.’ And it gets me half hard, even a full-out hardon at work a few times. I feel kinda guilty, but I’ve got it under control – I’m a really smart guy, at least everyone thinks so and my test scores showed it – so what if I have a little fun? And it’s true. I am riding ass like a cowboy now. That night I did pour a glass of brandy and have a bro over and, fuck, it was such a hot time. We went til almost midnight, shooting ropes of hot cum all over each other’s chests. Guy even licked it off my pecs and kissed me. Now that was hot. Something totally primal and uninhibited about that.
With all this fun going on, spring and summer, fall sneaks up on me and I realise I never joined that book club, and, to be blunt about it, there’s a lot of stuff I didn’t add to my calendar that should have been on there, and a lot of meetings and volunteer work that I missed, kinda half-assed through it, to be honest. My apartment is the messiest it’s even been, gym shorts on the table, mail just thrown in a box for later, inbox piling up. It’s not that I’m a messy person and I could probably all get it organised in a few days. It’s just that all this hot stuff has come up and I’ve had such a good time that, you know, you have to cut a few corners if you want to be riding hard til midnight on a weeknight. I’m still just as organised, and if I’m not, so what, haven’t I earned it by this point?
Gotta admit, sometimes when I’m stroking it in my apartment, thinking of how I *should* clean up a bit or how I haven’t read anything I should be for my job, I think of myself as a hot, out-of-control jock and that makes me hard. “Hot dumb fucking stud,” I tell myself, once, and just hearing me say it, knowing I have the whole body, the look, and that I’m currently living that life a little gets me so hard that I’m panting as I cum a hot stream all across my chest, shooting so hard I hit myself on the neck and the chin with it.
And with my hookups… man, sex is such a whole netherworld to explore, really, that soon I’m playing around with poppers, having did some research that they’re not as bad as I feared, and really playing around, drinking hard if it’s a Friday to really hit that deep, dark state where I’m drooling just like a legit jockbro, where my thoughts slow down and the other guy is just so handsome and masculine and all of the florescent lighting and tedious meetings of the whole repetitive workweek cycle I go through just fades away. I really love getting it as far out of mind as possible so I can truly enjoy my weekends and as much of the weekday as I can, too.
Even starting to drink with a bro on a Thirsty Thursday and to totally beast out the moment I’m off the clock on Friday, let this jockbod go primate, ride with the men like a real cowboy… fuck, it’s become a great way to live for me. My goals and scheduling can wait. I’m doing great and living life while I’m in my prime. There will be plenty of more time to be driven, logical, whatever, a dork with a strict schedule. And just knowing I don’t give a fuck right now feels liberating. Just knowing I think of how I’d been before I really got into this feels hot. Like I really am becoming a dumb jockbro and the guy I was was just a dork. The thought of losing myself feels hot. So I do, every weekend, bro.
Sometimes at work, because my job is so redundant and boring, I’m even arranging a hookup now when on break or getting away to the bathroom for a quick sec. Feels hot and illicit to give a few strokes when nobody’s looking, too. And I notice I’m not doing as detail-oriented of a job as I was before, but not really worried about that as I’m so good at my job that I’m probably just like a normal employee now, or even if I’m a little on the shirk side, still doing fine, really, I mean how many idiots in our country just phone it in on the job their whole lives? And I’m definitely not an idiot… well, except when I beast out and drool all over a guy’s chinstrap beard and say, ‘bro, I’m obsessed with this, bro, you’re so fuckin’ hot, bro…’ which has me hard just thinking of that, really. Looking forward to more of that. So many hot men in the world, guys. The amount of beauty out there is almost overwhelming at times.
Then, next summer, because I feel like I’m kinda treading water on the job, not really doing my dork calendar routine at all and don’t really need to because I am a success, I feel like I still haven’t gotten to experience what it’s like to really live. So I ask for unpaid leave for six months. My manager all talks that he’s really disappointed, it’s too early, and this may disrupt my career and chances at the firm, but he will grant it. I feel kind of irked at him, and annoyed at myself, too, but when I get home, knowing it’s set and that in two weeks, I’ll be free for six months, I am hard as fuck. I get out of my clothes almost as soon as I’m through the door. “You dumb fucking jock,” I say, grabbing my dick and stroking it, feeling so relieved to have my hand on the thing after that anxious meeting and another whole week of that shit, “fucking up your whole career, even, so you can be just another dumb jockboy, dumb piece of you meat, you like that? You like this? Fuck yeah you do,’ I go and moan, leaking pre, enjoying this moment.
I had worked for it, hadn’t I? It would be ok, as I did have a job to go back to, and six months off wasn’t gonna ruin me. Living, I had found out more and more, was just as important as being a responsible, career-oriented guy. Maybe even more important. And who really had the guts do to hot stuff like this, jock out just, you know, on purpose? A double life that was gonna get to be my real life for six months straight, now. I felt up these thick pecs, the pecs that I had originally gotten just to look my best, to be healthy, the pecs that now had me feeling like a dumb jock who lived for bodies, muscle, scent, sweat, and sex. I’d learned so much of the sterile life most people live in isn’t even natural. And this was more akin to the truth, wasn’t it? I flicked my nipple with one hand, recumbent on my back, as I stroked my cock with the other. My thick jockcock, I told myself. Fuck, I’m hot.
I start to wonder, a few weeks after being off work, if this would have even had happened if I hadn’t put that gym membership on there. Maybe it was hormones and this body that were driving a lot of this. A lot of times when I was fucking it sure felt that way, like it was my body that wanted this and it was just dragging my mind along for the ride. And to dull my mind, blunt it, definitely shut it off from work always felt hot. It was hard to escape that land of pills and spreadsheets, although drugs did help. And as a pharmacist, I knew enough about drugs to know what I was getting into, what was safe and what was only minimally dangerous – but the payoff was worth it, I was young and ate so healthy and knew how to recover and not overdo it. More and more, I wanted to overdo it, too, the thought of actually falling into a dumber, more rebellious and hardcore lifestyle, because I had so much brainpower to spare, not even bothering me. There was probably a ton to learn there that nobody had really had the guts to explore, I figured.
Feeling up a jockstud’s giant biceps, fuck, he was so hot, as he put another drink under my nose, I couldn’t help but tell him what I did. “Dude, you’re not even gonna believe this, but I’m actually a pharmacist. I took off work for six months just so I could be a slutty jockboy and fuck around with studs like you.”
“Yeah, you buff little jock?” he goes as I slurp down the red eye he made me, guy has some serious jocked-up cowboy southwestern stud vibes going on. “I love you like this. You did the right thing. All those pills and shit, I wouldn’t want to do it either. It’ll feel so good riding my cock instead. I’ll fuck you til the slutty jockboy in you is all you remember. Here, take a whiff of this,” he goes, getting out his bottle of Jungle Juice and putting it under my nose.
“Aww fuck man, feels so good,” I slur, putting my hand to his jawline and deep-kissing him, twisting tongues – this guy really wanted to twist and tease me. So hot. “Hit me again, man,” I go, and take another hit of the poppers.
Soon I’m kneading his pecs, he’s positioning me above his cock, and he’s sliding it in. I’m literally drooling. “You like that, jockboy?” he goes. “Gonna be so fucking stupid by the time I’m done with you. You’ll never go back to that job. You have way more to offer like this. I like you like this. Gonna drink and fuck til we black out, and when you wake up it’ll be another red eye to get your day on. I got all weekend.”
“Oh, fuck yeah man,” I go. “I’m a buff fucking jock, it’s all I am now, all I want to be, can’t even help it. Just look at these guns man, look at these pits,” I go, flexing, as he grins at me, feeling up my biceps, playing with the hair in one of my pits with his meaty paw, lightly curling the tufts of hair he found there, obviously enjoying the tufts as he rubbed them, his eyes a vacant but intense gaze of sensuality, the drunken scent of our drinks intermingling in the air between us. I’m just riding his cock, feeling it complete me as he plays with me, as he flicks my hard nipple and kisses me, kisses the other nip, bathing it with his tongue, making me feel loved, dumb, slutty, fucked up, primitive… I needed this so bad. I need this so bad.
“Hey jockboy, open your mouth,” he goes, and I do. He leans over, looks into my eyes, and the spits into my mouth, fast and loudly. Then he grips me by the jaw and makes out with me, tonguing hard, practically feeling me out with his tongue, raw, primitive, a devouring beast of a man just wanting to get the most of out life, wanting to connect with me, my meaty, manly self, to taste the manhood I had to offer, to dominate it, to merge with it, to…
I couldn’t even think any longer, barely, as I was leaking pre so hard. “Fuck man, you make me so hard, man, I’m your jockboy, man, erase the worker drone I’d been, man, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, oh fuck…” I go, and he pulls out of me, quick, pushing me back on the couch, my meaty bod thumping back against the leather, and he’s got his lips around my cock as I start to cum, lapping it up, drinking the cum as I moan “oh fuck, oh fuck yeah, FUCK YEAH” and he’s slurping and slobbering it up, licking up and down the shaft, focusing on the tip, lightly, tip of his tongue to catch the last few drops without overdoing it – you know how you don’t want a cock on your meat after you’ve cum, and this guy knows it, total pro – and I’m panting, exhausted, drunk, staring as his amazing body and wondering how he’s gonna want to cum next. Any way he wants, that’s for sure, fuck if this jockbro cares. This stud – I want to ride with this one all week if he’s down. This stud, man. That’s all that matters in my life right now, and feels so amazing to know I finally got some priorities that feel like they fit the person I always must have been deep down inside. And so much further to go, I feel, this rollercoaster of a sex beast lifestyle I’m choosing, and that’s the part I’m really anticipating. I gotta remake my whole apartment, throw out all that lame stuff, appointments and … this is what I’m living for now, man. This is me. This is who I am, and I don’t know how I got here, and I don’t know if it even matters. I just know I want more of it, as much as possible. This aped out, jocked up bod – it’s me, man. It’s really me. Oh fuck. Oh fuck yeh.
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