The College Jock - Chapter 1 (Patreon)

College was supposed to be different.

I used to say that to myself almost every morning while I walked across campus. Backpack straps digging into my shoulders. Headphones in. Eyes mostly on the ground. I tried to look like someone who had somewhere important to be. Computer engineering was harder than I thought it would be. The classes moved fast. The people felt distant. That big sense of freedom I had imagined never really showed up. Instead of becoming someone new, I just ended up carrying the same problems into a different place.

I ended up with Jackson.

Jackson Pierce. Twenty-one. Captain of the football team. Still stuck in first year after failing two years in a row. He had one of those faces that made people cut him slack — a younger, blonder version of Mark Wahlberg with a permanent half-smile and the kind of body that only came from living in the weight room. Broad shoulders. Thick arms. The walk of someone who still believed the entire campus belonged to him. He moved through the halls with the same group of tall, athletic guys who laughed too loud at everything he said.

And for some reason, he had chosen me. I guess I scream “gay boy” when I walk into a room. I’m not even fem, I’m just shy, more quiet and slim. I mainly talk to girls because they are friendlier and not intimidating.

It wasn’t the loud kind of bullying. Jackson was careful. He never pushed me into lockers or shouted names in front of professors. He did it quietly, in ways that were harder to prove. Late at night he would send me Instagram DMs. AI-generated pictures of my face placed onto other bodies. Me in lingerie. Me on my knees. Me with tears on my face while something thick stretched my mouth open. Sometimes the caption was just one word. Faggot. Bitch. Cocksucker. Other times there was no caption at all. The pictures didn’t need one.

During lectures he would fold small pieces of paper and toss them onto my desk when the professor turned toward the board.

Faggot.Pussy.Little girl.You like taking it, don’t you?

I bet you like eating cum.

I never answered any of them. I never reported him either. What was I supposed to say? That the football captain was sending me deepfake porn of myself? I didn’t have solid proof, and the last thing I wanted was more people looking at me. I just wanted to get through the semester without becoming more visible than I already was.

That afternoon I went to my locker after the last class to drop off some notebooks. The campus was only a fifteen minutes drive from my parents’ house, so I still lived at home. Most days that felt like a small relief. Today it just felt like I had never really left high school.

I spun the combination and opened the metal door of my locker.

A folded piece of paper was sitting on top of my books. Big, uneven letters on the front said:

Read me please! Dead serious!

I stood there for a few seconds without touching it. My stomach tightened the way it always did when something connected to Jackson appeared. I already knew it was from him. Another compilation of insults probably. I could feel that familiar mix of irritation and something else I didn’t like admitting. I hated that he still got a reaction out of me. I hated that my pulse changed just from seeing his handwriting.

I picked the paper up and unfolded it slowly.

It wasn’t another insult.

I need your help. It’s serious.Call this number tonight.

A phone number was written underneath in the same messy writing. I don’t have Jackson phone number but I guessed it was his. What else could be?

I read it once.Then again.Then a third time.

What the fuck?

I closed the locker and walked to the car with the note still in my hand. The whole drive home I kept glancing at it on the passenger seat. It had to be another game. Jackson didn’t ask for help. Jackson didn’t write the word “please.” This was probably him and a couple of his friends sitting somewhere waiting for me to call so they could laugh about it later or record it…

I got home, said a quick hello to my mom in the kitchen, and went straight upstairs. I barely touched dinner. She asked if I was feeling alright and I just told her I had a lot of college work to get done and left to my room. Then I sat on the edge of my bed with the note in one hand and my phone in the other, staring at the number. Should I call? Try to end this annoying bullying? Stand up for myself?

I stayed like that for a long time.

Part of me wanted to crumple the paper and throw it away. Another part of me — the same part that never deleted his DMs right away — wanted to know what he was doing. I kept turning the note over in my fingers. The handwriting was uneven, like he had written it quickly and without much care.

The room felt quiet. Too quiet. I could hear the low sound of the television downstairs and the occasional car passing outside. My thoughts kept circling the same things. The pictures he had sent. The notes on my desk. The way he looked at me sometimes in the hallway, like he was waiting for a reaction.

Eventually I unlocked my phone and typed the number in. My thumb hovered over the call button longer than it should have. I almost closed the app. Then I pressed it before I could change my mind.

It rang once.Twice.Three times.

“Hey.”

His voice sounded deeper over the phone than it did in person.

I didn’t speak right away. I just sat there holding the phone to my ear, listening to the low idle of a car engine on the other end.

“Who is this?” I asked, even though I already knew.

There was a short pause.

Er… Jackson, who are you?”

“Finn… You left a stupid note inside my locker.

“Finn?” He sounded almost surprised. “Fuck… you actually called. Thanks, man.”

I stayed quiet for a second longer than necessary.

“What do you want, Jackson? I need to study I don’t have time for your stupid bullying games. I’m hanging up. Bye.”

“Wait, please, bro… wait”

“Just… don’t hang up, okay?” His voice was different. Less certain. Kinda urgent. “Please. Just give me a minute.”

I didn’t hang up. But I also didn’t make it easy for him.

“Yeah, Jackson, say hello to your jock friends for me, are you recording this for you finsta? Prank calling the gay boy. So funny…”

I was mad, shaking but with courage to confront him. I was at my bedroom, a safe place.

“I’m alone, I swear to God, man.” he said after a moment. “I’m in my car right now. I can sent you a live video to prove it. Engine’s on, I was heading home, but there’s nobody else here. No friends. No speaker. Nothing. Just me. I’ll hang up and sending you the video; I want you to trust me on this, bro.”

The call disconnected and after a minute I get a video of him with his hoodie on inside a! empty modern car saying out load while filming the interiors:

“As you can see bro, no one’s here. I’m dead serious on this. Please listen to me.”

I saw the video and I answered his call.

“Okay,” I said. “And? What do you want? If it’s help with classes and homework forget it. I’m probably as lost as you.”

He let out a breath. It sounded like he was trying to decide where to start.

“No man, it’s not about college. I couldn’t care less about that shit, I wanna be a NFL player.”

Silence. I was waiting.

“Listen, man. I’ve been a real asshole to you,” he said. “The pictures. The notes. The laughing. All that shit. I know. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend any of it was okay.”

I stared at the wall across from my bed. 

“Then why did you do it? We’re not in high school anymore, you should get over that phase of your life, Jackson.”

The silence that followed was longer. I could hear him breathing. Somewhere outside his car another vehicle passed. He was stopped elsewhere.

“Because I didn’t know how to reach you,” he said finally. His voice had dropped. It sounded rougher than usual.

“Reach me?”

“Yeah, man. About my request for help. I wrote you a dozen of notes, DM’s, all that shit… but I never pressed send.”

“What’s, your request? Just say it.”

He cleared his throat. When he spoke again, the words came out slower, like he had to push each one.

“I’ve got a problem. A real one. But I need to ask you to keep this private, bro. Don’t rat me out.”

“A problem?” I was confused.

He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, man… I don’t know how to say this shit. I guess I just need to shoot it. So… I’ve got a big dick, okay? Like… actually big. Huge. Not the bullshit guys say when they’re trying to sound impressive. Every girl I’ve been with starts choking or tells me it hurts before they can even get halfway down. They never finish. They just use their hand or tell me to fuck them instead. But even while fucking I can’t put not even half inside their pussy. I’m so fucking tired of it. I’m just fucked up, bro. I can’t study, I can’t even get my head on my games and trainings. I thought I would find sluts in college that could take it; but it’s the same issues of high school. This is a curse.”

I sat there on the edge of the bed, not moving. I didn’t know what I had expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. I was paralyzed and nervous. What the actual fuck?

The silence on the line stretched. I could still hear the faint sound of him shifting in the seat.

“You still there, bro?”

“Yes, I’m here. So you have a big dick. And?”

“Man, this is a monster, I never had a proper blowjob. I know gay guys are better at that shit,” he continued. The words came out faster now, like he wanted to get them out before he changed his mind. “You actually practice. You take it deep. You like sucking cock. You don’t stop the second it gets uncomfortable. I’ve watched the videos, amateur stuff, not that porn rehearsed shit. You gag on the dick, you make love with the dick. You faggots.. I mean gays, sorry. You guys actually like big cocks. And you’re the only gay guy I actually know in real life.”

I let out a short, dry laugh. It sounded 

stranger than I meant it to. I was flabbergasted.

“So you spent months calling me a faggot and sending me those pictures because you wanted me to suck you?”

“Yes,” he said right away. Then he caught himself. “I mean—fuck. I didn’t know how else to get close to you without making it weird. I’m not gay. I’m completely straight. I like girls. Pussy. Tits. All of that. This is just about my dick. That’s it. I don’t want you to just suck it, I want a real deep throat, some face fucking if it’s not asking too much.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.” There was a slight unevenness in his voice, like he was working to keep it steady. “I’m not into guys, I ain’t no homo, don’t take it personally, man. I just need someone who can actually take the whole thing without quitting halfway. No complaints you know? Someone who knows what they’re doing. And every time I saw you in class I kept thinking about it. It pissed me off that I couldn’t just say it, so I acted like a dick instead. But I actually I just wanted to ask you to take care of my dick.” He laughed like it was the funniest joke in the world.

I rubbed a hand over my face and let out a slow breath. The note was still sitting next to me on the bed. I stared at the messy handwriting while he talked.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know,” he muttered. “Look… I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend or go on dates or any of that gay shit. I’m not wired that way. I just want to know what it feels like to have someone take the whole cock and keep it there until I cum. No complaining. No stopping. That’s all. Ass or mouth, since you don’t have a pussy unfortunately.”

The line went quiet again. I could hear him shifting. The leather of the car seat creaked faintly under him.

I didn’t fill the silence. I let it sit there.

After a few seconds he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’ve tried with different girls. Some of them tried hard. One even said she would practice for me. But the second it hits the back of their throat they panic and pull off immediately. They puke, they get mad at me. Shit, I paid hookers already, still the same bullshit, they say no money is worth the trouble. I need someone who won’t panic. Someone who can take it rough if I… lose control a little.”

“What do you mean, lose control a little?”

“Bro… I work out real hard everyday, my testosterone is off the charts. I’m afraid I can turn into Hulk or some crazy shit like that you know? If someone lets me just use their holes without complaints. I’m actually afraid of myself so I need to be with someone I can trust.”

I stared down at my free hand. My fingers were pressed into the fabric of my jeans. This conversation was getting into my head and into my dick. I was hard.

“And you want that someone to be me.”

“Yes.” He exhaled hard, like the word had been stuck somewhere in his chest. “You seem a nice kid… quiet, smart, no into frat houses and groups. I trust you to keep your mouth shut. I mean I got you were gay the second you walked in, and I just thought I hit jackpot. Like… that bro is my way of my misery. Bro, I’ll stop with the pictures. I’ll stop with the notes. I’ll leave you alone in the hallways. No more shit in public. I swear. Just… let me try. One time. If it sucks, we never talk about it again. But just let try, I know you will be better than all the girls I’ve been with. I just know it.”

My pulse was louder than I wanted it to be. I hated that my body was reacting at all. I hated that the conversation was getting under my skin instead of just making me angry.

“And if I say no? You’ll keep bullying me”

“No man, you know this secret about me. I’ll trust and I go your back. No more stupid suit. If you say no… I will be mad and angry with myself but I’ll still leave you alone,” he said. “You have my word. No more bullying. Nothing.”

Another silence stretched out between us. This one felt heavier than the others. I could hear him breathing on the other end of the line, waiting. He wasn’t rushing me, but he also wasn’t filling the quiet with more excuses.

I leaned forward a little, elbows on my knees, phone pressed to my ear.

“I’ve been thinking about your mouth for weeks,” he admitted, and this time there was a clear stutter when he said it. “Not in a gay way. Just… the idea of someone finally taking it all. It’s fucking with my head. I get hard in class sometimes just from looking at you and imagining just the possibility of you allowing me to put it all inside… and remembering those gay ass videos that I browse on my phone at night. They are crazy hot. It’s driving me crazy. Like it’s primal, man.”

I closed my eyes.

“Jackson—”

“I’m not gay,” he cut in quickly. The defensiveness was back in his voice almost immediately. “I’m dead serious. I just need a proper cocksucker for once in my life. And you’re the only person I can ask. Help me out, bro. I will owe you for life, no cap.”

I stayed quiet for a long moment. My thoughts were moving too fast and too slow at the same time. Part of me wanted to hang up and block the number, he was super disrespectful to me since the first month of college. Another part of me kept replaying the way his voice had changed when he started talking about it — less arrogant, more strained, almost careful… almost desperate.

I hated that I noticed.

I hated that some part of me was already turning the idea over instead of shutting it down completely.

“I need to think about it,” I said finally.

“Okay.” His voice dropped lower. “Think about it. But don’t take forever, Finn. My balls are so fucking full it’s starting to hurt. I need this. I’m tired of jerking off.”

I was quiet for a few more seconds.

“I’ll text you.”

“Alright.” A short pause. “And Finn… thanks for not hanging up. You’re cool, bro.”

He ended the call first.

I sat there with the phone still against my ear for a second after the line went dead. Then I lowered it and just stared at the screen. The note was still on the bed beside me. The room felt smaller than it had before the call. 

My skin felt too warm. I was slightly shaking. I set the phone down and leaned forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.

I kept hearing his voice. The way the usual confidence slipped when he started talking about his dick. The slight stutter when he admitted he had been thinking about my mouth. The way he kept repeating that he wasn’t gay, like he needed to say it out loud to keep it true.

I hated that it affected me.

I hated that my body had reacted to the conversation at all.

And I hated that some part of me already knew I was going to say yes.

All characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the characters.