By Jackson Amacher
Colton was a cross-country runner. Colton grew up in a small town in Alabama, where the only exercise facilities available to young boys were a football field and a couple of miles of unpaved roads, so Colton took to the roads. He liked running, and didn’t mind the flat stomach and lean body it gave him.
Colton liked guys. But Colton was raised to be modest. He’d see other guys running shirtless, but he wouldn’t do that himself. It was indecent, Colton was taught. Colton never let anyone see his body, not his chest and certainly not what he kept under his underwear. At the Academy some guys would walk back from the showers wearing towels; Colton would wear a bathrobe over t-shirt and underwear.
Now, Colton was forced to wear just a jock strap in front of most of his class. He could feel everyone’s eyes on his bare skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about how small and undeveloped his body looked, compared to these muscular, shredded guys.
Jock straps weren’t new to him. When Colton was twelve, he went running with a new pair of running shorts his mom had bought him, shorts that had a built-in liner so that you didn’t need to wear underwear. It felt uncomfortable; his dick was too free, like a third leg. A few people smiled when Colton ran past them like that. Colton’s dad saw what they were seeing, stopped Colton immediately, and sent him home. “You’re flopping,” his dad had said, and Colton didn’t know what he meant. But Colton’s mom bought him jock straps after that. And Colton would wear them, with his normal underwear over them, and then his shorts. It felt much better.
