You study at the kind of university that has a whole separate dorm for all the jocks that study there. It’s the kind of university that has always prided itself on its athletic accomplishments while paying lip service to the idea that a university should foster the academic development of its students first and foremost. So to begin with, your gifts are being somewhat squandered considering how little funding the Science department gets and how you’re expected to spend your time tutoring jocks who can’t be bothered to take notes during class with the encouragement of the administration.

Still, you suppose that getting a degree is the most important thing. You have good enough grades that you’re pretty sure you can go anywhere if you decide to do post-grad studies. And you’re studying in a field that’s pretty hot at the moment so there won’t be any shortage of career opportunities. All in all life seems to be good. But the past few weeks have thrown a bit of a wrench into your plans.

For whatever reason you’ve been finding it more difficult to focus on your schoolwork. By no means is it tanking your grades, but it’s like your attention tries its best to skip away from your studies as soon as you sit down to go over the day’s notes. If anything your brain turns to things like sex and exercise. Hardly anything from your lectures sticks in your brain. You chalk it up to stress and the lack of sleep that you’ve been getting, but in the back of your mind you’re worried that it’s something else.

On the way over to your tutoring session, it becomes worse. A lot worse. It’s like there’s a fog in your head. It’s hard to think, but pretty soon it becomes all but impossible. For a moment you forget where you’re headed and why. You remember you’re headed to the jock dorms, but somehow your brain tells you that it’s because you’re going to hang with your bros. God forbid. Thankfully you remember you’re going there to tutor them. No hanging intended.

But as you walk down the cobbled footpaths of your college the fog in your brain thickens even more. You head into a dark alcove, the light suddenly too bright, your shirt too tight and hot under the collar. You strip off your shirt, revealing the sculpted muscles under it. You grab the snapback you’d been meaning to return to one of your bros and hang it over your face to shield it from the light.

You step back onto the paths, your chemistry materials forgotten in that dark corner of campus. You hardly notice the lustful stares from both the girls and the boys that pass you by, nor the way that your sweat pants tighten around your ass to show off that tight little jock butt. You don’t notice how your thoughts have practically stopped altogether, either, nor do you realize that the precious knowledge in your head is popping away like delicate soap bubbles, facts and figures learned over a lifetime evaporating in the space of a few minutes.

By the time that you get to the jocks’ dorm you’re just chuckling dumbly to yourself, entirely vapid, completely stupefied, hot, horny, fuzzy, and foggy and ready to have some fun. No chemistry got done that night, except for the chemistry that happens between sexy jocks. And you ended up filled up in both ends, the emptiness in your head replaced with bro talk, cock, and cum.

A week after that and the school’s athletic program had completely collapsed because the athletes were too dumb to figure out strategies and too busy fucking each other to care, anyway. Needless to say, Coach, as you knew him now, took advantage of the situation, quit his job and started up a new porn company. You’re too stupid to figure out how much money he makes now, but given how you and your bros are all given pretty cushy apartments, you’re pretty sure it’s a lot.