My roommate is a pretty stereotypical jock. He is hairy, always sweaty, always reeks, buff as hell, and dumb as shit.
He keeps trying to get me to work out with him, which is understandable, but the weird part is he always tries to get me to wear his sweaty old clothes.
He gave me some old smelly boxers and a tank top stained with sweat from when he started lifting. He said his coach “made him wear it.” Do you think something will happen if I wear his reeking old clothes?
The clothes sit in a pile of laundry in the corner of your room for a good couple of days. You can’t bring yourself to wear them, but you can’t quite muster the motivation to wash them, either. For hours on end, as you do schoolwork at your desk and study for your exams, the musk in the workout clothes diffuses into the air. The thick, intoxicating aroma of distilled masculinity and sweat is intoxicating.
It makes focusing on your tasks difficult. When your thoughts turn to anything other than pumping iron and working out at the local gym, you find yourself growing quickly bored. No matter how much you try to bury yourself in your books or in your project, you’re always distracted by the sweet siren song of temptation. At first you’re repulsed by the smell, but over the days, it becomes a craving.
The first time that you put the clothes on, you feel a surge of confidence, of testosterone. You feel better than you’ve ever felt before, and you know just how addictive that sensation can get. It takes nearly all of your willpower to tear the tank top off your torso, but it’s already left behind a faint sheen of sweat on your ill-defined body.
The second time comes easier. You’re looking for something to wear to the gym. You figure you should try and get a workout in since you can’t concentrate anyway. You grab the tank top. You pull on the boxers. Hours later, you snap back to consciousness, sitting on your bed with a hand down the front of your underwear, scratching your balls.
The haze of pleasure and mindlessness from the repetitive nature of workouts comes to dominate your mind. More and more as you sweat at the gym, you feel your intelligence leaching out of your body and into the clothes you’re wearing. You can feel yourself getting dumber, your IQ plummeting, your grades taking a proportional dip.
Concepts that once came easily become hard. And workouts that you once found tedious are now a sort of meditation, distracting you from how sluggish your thoughts feel in your now mostly-empty head. By the time that “Coach” shows up to pop your cherry, you’ve completely forgotten the old you, and you eagerly line up next to your bro, bending over and presenting your muscle ass for the man who showed you what you were always meant to be.
