kuggets
Jockstrap Fan
I want you to be the guy whose car would be a mess, but only that aspect of life is overlooked, and I need a ride home.
While you’re driving and going on about this fantasy football league of yours, I spot your gym bag and the musky workout gear that has been crudely bitten by the teeth of the stubborn zipper that never seems to meet its counterpart for a secure closure. Overlooking the t-shirts crumpled into balls and countless pair of black Nike socks, with and without a their mate, it was the gym shorts thrown toward your bag rather than inside the duffle that got my attention. Seeing that one pant leg was still inside out created an image of you getting out of your athletic attire in a confident, gentlemanly way, as to not break the concentration of the other naked man who was elaborating in great detail on his latest sex charged week.
Routinely, we need to take the backstreets due to the risk of being pulled over because, this time it is the passenger side headlight. It was raining hard and the dark clouds were assisting on the disclosure of the uneven production of the headlights. For the time being only a quarter of 7 that evening, I only could get glimpses of your bag, and the sweet nectar of manhood that would soon consume my senses with each inhalation, as the oncoming traffic’s headlights were on. Three blocks past High St. was my final destination so it was now or never. I intentionally throw my phone into the back seat at next bump in the road and complained as if you ugh hit the pothole on purpose.
You laughed when my phone hit a mysterious container on your backseat that gave a low hollow metal sound similar to a gong. As I’m searching the dark and littered backseats with my left hand behind my back, I’m discovering Huel shakers, Deer Park water bottles, a torch, and that first edition Jaws novel that you insisted on getting because “chicks’ll dig it”. I’m eventually reunited with that familiar shape and weight of my iPhone and I get a fingers grip on the nearest piece of fabric I felt. Swinging my arm upfront where it belonged I forcefully pushed the contents of my hand into my backpack. I pretend to fumble with my phone and double check all of my belongings were with me, my adrenaline is off the charts and now panic sets in. Whichever article of clothing this is, you would notice it missing and soon because this amount of worn gear scattered throughout your vehicle, indicates laundry day was imminent.
“I’ll keep them for tonight only and I can manage to sneak it back onto the floor and blend it into the chaos without you noticing,” I thought to myself.
I check at my destination if I have my phone, my keys, and my wallet. Fastening my backpack completely, I’m being careful not to expose the fabric that’s now being held captive. As I’m folding and maneuvering with my hand inside of the backpack, I’m starting to see my thievery with my hand. Mesh covered elastic, sharp Champion embroidery, damp…. thick elastic waist band, pouch made of 88% Polyester, 12% Elastomer, and that classic logo on the front… these have to be your BIKE® #10 jockstrap! I managed to get my hands on your free balling gym shorts and your favorite jock, and now they’re all were mine?! Well, at least for tonight.
Thanks for the lift.
While you’re driving and going on about this fantasy football league of yours, I spot your gym bag and the musky workout gear that has been crudely bitten by the teeth of the stubborn zipper that never seems to meet its counterpart for a secure closure. Overlooking the t-shirts crumpled into balls and countless pair of black Nike socks, with and without a their mate, it was the gym shorts thrown toward your bag rather than inside the duffle that got my attention. Seeing that one pant leg was still inside out created an image of you getting out of your athletic attire in a confident, gentlemanly way, as to not break the concentration of the other naked man who was elaborating in great detail on his latest sex charged week.
Routinely, we need to take the backstreets due to the risk of being pulled over because, this time it is the passenger side headlight. It was raining hard and the dark clouds were assisting on the disclosure of the uneven production of the headlights. For the time being only a quarter of 7 that evening, I only could get glimpses of your bag, and the sweet nectar of manhood that would soon consume my senses with each inhalation, as the oncoming traffic’s headlights were on. Three blocks past High St. was my final destination so it was now or never. I intentionally throw my phone into the back seat at next bump in the road and complained as if you ugh hit the pothole on purpose.
You laughed when my phone hit a mysterious container on your backseat that gave a low hollow metal sound similar to a gong. As I’m searching the dark and littered backseats with my left hand behind my back, I’m discovering Huel shakers, Deer Park water bottles, a torch, and that first edition Jaws novel that you insisted on getting because “chicks’ll dig it”. I’m eventually reunited with that familiar shape and weight of my iPhone and I get a fingers grip on the nearest piece of fabric I felt. Swinging my arm upfront where it belonged I forcefully pushed the contents of my hand into my backpack. I pretend to fumble with my phone and double check all of my belongings were with me, my adrenaline is off the charts and now panic sets in. Whichever article of clothing this is, you would notice it missing and soon because this amount of worn gear scattered throughout your vehicle, indicates laundry day was imminent.
“I’ll keep them for tonight only and I can manage to sneak it back onto the floor and blend it into the chaos without you noticing,” I thought to myself.
I check at my destination if I have my phone, my keys, and my wallet. Fastening my backpack completely, I’m being careful not to expose the fabric that’s now being held captive. As I’m folding and maneuvering with my hand inside of the backpack, I’m starting to see my thievery with my hand. Mesh covered elastic, sharp Champion embroidery, damp…. thick elastic waist band, pouch made of 88% Polyester, 12% Elastomer, and that classic logo on the front… these have to be your BIKE® #10 jockstrap! I managed to get my hands on your free balling gym shorts and your favorite jock, and now they’re all were mine?! Well, at least for tonight.
Thanks for the lift.