blank-boy-zeta: wedge-shaped calves, tree trunk legs, blocky midsection, bull neck and bulging arms
blank-boy-zeta: wedge-shaped calves, tree trunk legs, blocky midsection, bull neck and bulging arms topped with a square jaw and broad cheekbones the ideal of the male form expressed in a series of rectangles, exaggerated to the point of near deformity by the padding of the football gear if a bro were to, in the secret frenzy of their unconscious yearning, approach the gear with a psuedo-medieval degree of psychological regression approximating abiogenesis, you might think wearing the tank-like armament of the gear builds a tank-like body. that it contains some innate essence which reshapes mild-mannered boys into functionally muscled beastmen sculpted for power, speed and brutality. rather than the inverse, the rational mind’s more scientific awareness that it’s the associated sport of football–the tackles, the sprints, the drills, the activity–which builds a body that comes to mimic the gear it’s being vs. doing, in other words. psychological reality vs. lived reality doesn’t stop the want in your eyes tho, does it bro? the stirring in your loins? the need to put those pads on, feel their weight, heat and encasement. the helmet so fuzzy, holding in all your thoughts, making you go ape. bet you can almost feel that body swelling up. protein diffusion seeping through your pores as you marinate in that game fresh stink. the alpha football jock essence consuming you like the hard plastic petals of a carnivorous plant as your head begins to swirl and you fall deeper into your new role, it don’t matter much what’s rational or real, does it bro? you’re in uniform now. numbered. trapped. your cock squirming around inside the prison of your hard cup, the strap held in place by girdle and laced-up pants. so many layers. compression base. the pads. jersey. maybe even a hoodie in there somewhere if you’re playing when it’s cold. bench warmer. second stringer. don’t matter what they call you, as long as you get to be meat filling up the gear. slotted into your assigned role on the team. if your coach or your bros were to padlock the helmet to your skull, bolt the pads around your humiliatingly lean flank, pulling the straps extra tight to keep em on, would you hesitate? you wanna play ball, bro. want the gear to change you. get you in that head space. make you a big burly brute, running and scoring if you’re in the gear, day after day, month after month, on the field, cause and effect become matters of speculation. play long enough, you’ll be top dog. be in gear at the periphery of the field, you’ll play long enough. time and effort is transformation. you smell like a man. you move like a man. you dominate like a man. it’s becoming who and what you are. really isn’t a whole lotta difference between being and doing when you get right down to it, is it bro? embrace the change be a football jock for life -- source link