Physical Therapy
For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!
The last game of the season my Sophomore year in college, I leaped (levitated probably is a better word) about 4 feet in the air to snag a screaming line drive that probably would have driven in the game-tying run for our opponent. I came down hard and at a bad angle. The out counted,of course, but I did some serious damage to my knee. The baseball season was over for me and as soon as exams were completed, I underwent some surgery to repair a torn ligament in my knee.
My coach and the orthopod decided on a course of physical therapy.
Therapy started that summer, and my therapist was a woman named Julie, who was in her early to mid-20s, not too long out of sports medicine school. Julie was totally HOTT! Well, as you can imagine, our therapy sessions were spiced by a lot of teasing. The teasing led to flirting, and it wasn’t long before the flirting led to some serious fucking. Julie justified this, reasoning that it was important that she assure that full body functioning was restored, and that frequently (although certainly not always in our case) the act of fucking required the male to put a lot of stress on his knees. So the fucking itself was a form of physical therapy (!). We fucked in the therapy room. We fucked in motel rooms, in my room in the dorm, in the back seat of Julie’s car, and once on the campus green (pretty late at night after a prolonged “therapy” session). I suspect that my physical therapy lasted long after I had reached maximum recovery.
That autumn, after school had started up again, I ran into Julie at a Starbucks off campus. I had just finished my workout and was still in my workout clothes – spandex biker-type shorts and a sleeveless tee shirt. I was sweaty as hell and probably smelled. Julie smiled as I passed her table and invited me to sit down. She introduced me to the guy sitting next to her.
“Jake, this is Trevor, my husband. Trevor, this is Jake, the guy with the torn ACL that I had in therapy last summer.”
Trevor extended his hand. “Hmmmm,” I thought to myself. “How much about our therapy sessions had Julie told her husband,” I wondered.
Trevor tried to make small talk: “I understand you play baseball?” “What position?” That kind of stuff. It was awkward as hell making small talk with Trevor, knowing that at least two of the three of us knew that I had been fucking his wife 3-4 times a week over most of the summer.
But I quickly realized that both of them – Julie and Trevor – were coming on to me. I consider myself a pretty cool operator, but this was a unique and strange circumstance. While Mrs. Professor Fag knew that I was fucking Professor Fag, and Professor Fag knew that I was fucking his wife, here I had no idea how much about my “therapy” sessions with Julie her husband actually knew about. And now, in Starbucks, with both of them coming on to me, I was like a deer in the headlights – kind of frozen. After about ten painful minutes, Julie got up and went to get more coffee for the three of us. As soon as she left the table, Trevor turned to me.
“Julie says you are an awesome fuck, and that your cock is just magnificent.” He licked his lips. ”Thank goodness for open marriages,“ I thought. Mystery solved.
Trevor continued: “I know that she would love more of that. And I’d love to watch. And clean up your cock when you were done fucking her.” Then he added, “And maybe eat your cum out of her snatch.” Pressing his luck, adding, “And lick your sweaty body when you are done fucking my wife.” Trevor pressed on: “And maybe you could fuck me.”
Julie returned with three coffees. “Have you guys worked everything out?” And we had, or more accurately, we did. Julie and Trevor were an on and off thing for the remainder of my college career. I am a great believer in physical therapy.
