All Male Fiction: The Mysterious Jockstrap Exchange

By: Unknown Author

My health club was well equipped with every machine known to ever pull or push a muscle. In a medium-sized city in the South, it was as much a social center as it was a fitness center, and just about everyone you knew was a member of the club. I worked out there, not strenuously, but consistently, each day of the week.

My locker was in a corner, and across from it, there were a couple of lockers that were not assigned and had remained unused ever since I first joined the club. At least no one ever used them while I was there. One day, however, I noticed one of the locker doors slightly ajar, and it looked like there was something in it. Out of curiosity, I opened it, and inside there was just one single item… a jockstrap.

My initial reaction was to ignore it, and I softly closed the door, almost as though I did not want to be caught looking at a jockstrap. However, some curious urge inside of me caused me to open the door again. I picked up the jockstrap and examined it, looking around and over my shoulder to make sure that no one could see me doing this. It had been worn, and it looked as though the wearer had left a load in it. Yes, I sniffed it. Then I stuffed it into my gym bag.

At home, I retrieved the purloined article. It had an almost magical spell over me, and I did not have any idea why. Holding it was giving me an erection. The scent of it was heady and erotic. I was intrigued by it, and I had to wear it.

Once I had stripped and slipped the used jock on, I admired myself in the mirrored closet door. My erection was as full as it could be, restrained only by the supporter's fabric, and I could feel my pre-cum oozing and wetting the material.

I rubbed myself through the jock for a bit, and then peeled it off and tossed it on the bed. Getting on my knees, I lowered my upper body and shoved my face into the smelly, cum stained jock, and inhaled repeatedly as I beat my meat. The fact that some other man had worn it, and I could smell his cock and ball sweat, and his cum, brought me to an orgasmic conclusion, and my hot cum sprayed all over the bedspread.

I put the jock (and the bedspread) through the wash, and I took the jock back to the club with me the next day. I didn't know if the owner had misplaced it or had lost it, but I had stolen it and I wanted to return it. I waited until the coast was clear before I opened the locker door to return it to where I had found it.
 
When I did, I was startled to find another one in the same spot, the same brand, style, and size as the one I had taken. It had also been worn, and apparently used in the same manner. I picked it up, sniffed it, and confirmed my suspicions. My cock started to twitch; again I was intrigued. Did these two jockstraps belong to the same guy? Or was it a coincidence of extraordinary proportions? Who was the owner? Could anyone possibly know that I had taken the first one? I took the used one, replaced it with the one that I had laundered, and headed home.

At home, I repeated the private actions that I had done with the first jock, but I was even more turned on with this second event. I used this one for several solitary jack-off sessions over that one day, wearing it and sniffing it while conjuring up images of the other cock that had been in the same jockstrap, a rock hard dick that stretched the fabric, the prick that spurted heavy puddles of cum right where my nose was buried.

I laundered that jock too, and when I opened the locker door at the club to put it back, if I thought I had been startled before, I was almost in shock when I opened the locker door this time. Just as before, there was one lonely jockstrap, obviously worn and showing the residue of a male. A third time was no coincidence. This was a pattern and had to be quite deliberate.

I did the exchange again, wondering if this was a game that some mysterious stranger was playing with me, or if this was just an enormous coincidence of some sort for which I had no explanation. Did this person even know it was me, or were they doing this completely anonymously? Though the game was driving me slightly mad, it was also providing me with some of the most erotic private sexual sessions that I had ever had in my life.

This time I came on the jock and decided not to wash it before returning it, and as I pulled the jockstrap from my bag in the locker room, it was definitely displaying my dried cum load along with the residue of the other's dried load. For some strange reason, I was slightly titillated with the knowledge that I could actually leave this stained jock in the locker with my own cum stains. After all, I was receiving the jocks with obvious wear and cum stains. Why not return one in like fashion?

Inside, I felt that this was all terribly naughty and adolescent, but I did it anyway. I could hardly wait to get back to the club the next day to see if there was a measured reaction to my leaving a stained jockstrap for my unknown jock collector.

The next day, I finished my workout, and after showering I loitered by my locker, waiting for the locker room to empty. Of all days, there seemed to be a crowd of lingering, slow-to-dress-and-leave guys. Since I knew most of them and didn't want any of them seeing me stuffing another guy's jock in my bag, I left my locker and did the steam room thing, and then showered again to pass the time. Finally, the majority of the guys were gone. Only a few, who were in the showers, remained.

Now, pretty much alone in the locker room, I quickly opened the empty locker door to find the anticipated jockstrap. I picked it up. It was damp. I knew immediately that the dampness was fresh cum. The damp was so obviously recent, and it had that unmistakable odor that every man is familiar with, the heady perfume of physical release. My cock went to a full erection instantly, and I was glad that there was no one in my vicinity to see it like that. I stuffed the jockstrap in my bag, with great anticipation of getting it home and sniffing it while it was still damp.

I succeeded in that goal, sniffing the damp jock for a while as I stroked, and then I put it on and rubbed my cock through the fabric, filling the pouch very quickly with an orgasm of an extraordinary monstrous volume.

As the days wore on, I began to spend hours in front of the mirror, watching myself show off and strut and flex, and play with my hard-on, wearing these jockstraps that some other man had worn and cum in. I always seemed to cum so fast when I shoved my face into them, or lay on my back and held the jock over my face.

Soon I began to wonder why sniffing another man's jockstrap was giving me such highly charged pleasure. I was also aware that I was not the only one playing this game. Some other man was obviously deriving his own pleasure from this exchange, and I had no idea who that might be. Just as certain, I knew that whoever he was, he could not possibly know who I was, or what I was doing with them. Or could he? The mystery of it all was beginning to add stress to the pleasure.

Over the next few weeks, no matter what day or time of day I went to the club, there was always a jockstrap waiting for me in the mysterious vacant locker. The jocks were always the same brand and style, and always had dried cum in them, but were frequently different sizes.

The mystery of the 'Jock Exchange' was getting to me, driving me to agitation, if not total madness. I knew that there had to be some sort of explanation, and I wanted to know who was placing the dirty jocks in that locker, and what the explanation might be. In an effort to find out, I had run through many plans in my head as to how I might discover who was doing it, but came to the conclusion that it would likely remain a mystery.

I was unable to return the latest jock I had taken home and pick up a new one, as business took me out of town for a week. If I had been smart, I would have brought the jock with me but, stupidly, I hadn't thought to pack it in my rush to get to the airport. And let me tell you, it was easier quitting smoking than it was to give up playing the game for a whole week.

Without a jock to sniff and jerk off in, I found myself thinking about them all the time. All I had to do was close my eyes and pretend that I was inhaling the pungent pouch of one of the jocks, and I would get hard. One night I was at a restaurant, having a business meeting, and the imagery of my little bedroom ritual with those smelly jocks hit me, and I actually went to the men's room and shot a load right at the urinal.

I returned from my business trip late in the evening on Friday. On Saturday, I would have to skip my workout because I had volunteered my time with a local Walk-a-thon event, and the event was taking place that day. That meant I was going to have to go another day without a raunchy used jock to play with.

When the event was over, I was one of several volunteers left behind to help clean up. I was approached and asked if I could help carry some materials and food chests back down to the van.

When I looked up to respond, I saw that it was a guy named Mike, whom I had known for several years. Mike was the lead instructor of the police-training academy, and the charity had contacted the training academy seeking student rookies to volunteer their time as event security.

When he saw that it was me, he greeted me with a smile and a handshake, and once I happily agreed to help him out, the two of us chatted about what we had been up to as we carried the materials to the van.

Once we had brought all the chests and the goods to the back of the van, Mike hopped in the front of the vehicle and hit the button to unlock the back doors. I swung the door open and before I could catch it, a duffle bag fell out onto the ground.

Dozens of jockstraps tumbled out of the duffle bag onto the ground. My jaw dropped and my mind raced as I concluded immediately that this was the treasure trove that had been supplying my erotic moments for almost a year now. This was the connection; there could be no other explanation.

I scooped up a handful of the garments, well aware that they were not fresh from the laundry. I couldn't help myself as I brought that handful of the cock-and-ball scented supporters to my nose, reeling with the delicious fragrance that wafted through the air and tickled my nostrils.

Just then, Mike turned the corner and looked me directly in the eye as I was pulling in a deep inhalation. I quickly dropped them to the ground, and Mike's look of utter amazement caused one of full embarrassment for me. I had been caught. It was an eternity, it seemed, before any words were uttered.

Finally, I managed to form some words. "You're the one, the mystery man leaving jocks in that empty locker at the club!"

"You mean you're the one who…" he said pointing at me, and then stopping mid-sentence and taking a look around. He then whispered to me to get in, with a motion to the back of the open van. I scampered to get inside, as Mike shoved the spilled jocks back in his duffle bag, took a quick look around to make sure no one had seen us, and then he jumped in the back of the van and pulled the doors shut. The tinted windows on the back doors let in enough light so that we weren't in complete darkness. "So you were the one taking the jocks?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, but I had no idea you were the one leaving them there. Why exactly did you anyway? Were they meant for someone specific, or did you just leave them hoping someone would find them?"
 
"Well, no, not exactly. The jocks are supplied to the rookies by the academy, and I am responsible for collecting them in order to launder them once a week. With twenty rookies training, and each being supplied with five jocks to last them through a week's worth of training sessions, I was handling a hundred or so sweaty jocks every week, and I had a habit of throwing them in one of the unused lockers each day and retrieving them at the end of the week for washing."

"I see. But if you throw them in the empty locker every day, and leave them there all week, how come there was only one jock in the locker each day, and not a growing pile?"

"Oh, once I have picked up the weeks' worth of dirty ones, the following week, I don't always throw them in the same locker. I just toss them in any empty locker I pass."

"I still don't understand. If you collected the pile from the empty locker near mine, and the next week you put the daily collection in another locker, why was there always one jock in that same locker every day?"

"Oh, well, when I collected the pile from that locker, apparently, I left one behind by accident, and the next day, when I found I was one short and went hunting for it, I found it in that locker, but also found that it had been freshly laundered. Perplexed, I left another dirty one, and the same thing happened. I had no idea what was going on. I thought I was losing my mind at first. But, when they started coming back unlaundered, and dirtier than they had been, I then figured out exactly what was going on and decided to leave a new dirty one each day."

I laughed and went on to tell him my story, and we both realized that the exchange had been created purely by accidental means. I told him how it had driven me crazy wondering about who was behind it all, and the why of the situation, and how I became addicted to it.

He confided that he, like me, had found that he had become totally addicted to the feel and the handling of the used jockstraps, and how he had become dependent upon the activities of the other and had also been perplexed as to who was making the exchange work.

I then joked that his student rookies must be a horny bunch since most of the jocks had dried cum loads in them. This time he was the one who laughed, and he admitted that he would often wear one of the jocks, turned on by the idea of knowing they had been worn by a bunch of hot, sweaty rookies all in their early twenties, and he would jack off in it and then leave it in the locker.

"So why did you stop taking them from the locker all of a sudden?" he asked.

"I was away on business until yesterday, and today I had to come here, so I haven't been to the club in the last six days," I explained.

"Oh, okay. I had just assumed that the other guy had opted out of the game, or had moved on. The supply that fell out of my duffle bag was an accumulation of the dirty jocks that you didn't collect over the past week."

"I bet they smell great," I said looking down at the bag, which was open, the jocks fully visible.

Without another word, Mike just grinned, reached into the bag, pulled out a jock, and brought it to my face. I instinctively inhaled.

"Well, does it?" he asked.

"Mmm, yeah. It smells amazing!"

Mike pulled the jock from my face and brought it to his own nose and inhaled. "Yeah, you're right, it does," he said as his other hand reached back in the bag and handed me another one of the raunchy jockstraps.

Both with a dirty jock to our noses and without another word spoken, we managed to work our zippers down and pull out our cocks. The two of us began jerking off with wild abandon as we worked our way through the pile of jocks, sniffing them, even trading back and forth. Soon the frenzied masturbation became too much for both of us, and we each blew our loads into a jock while we continued to inhale the one that was pressed to our noses.
 
Our mutual discovery was accidental, coincidental, and fortuitous, and we were both amused and amazed that we had never discovered each other in the process. We also agreed to continue playing the game even though the mystery had been solved.

Take a look in one of the empty lockers next time you are at the gym… you never know what you might find!

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