Late-afternoon sunlight stretched across the college track as Alex finished his last sprint, twenty-two years old and reasonably certain he deserved a shower, a burger, and applause. Instead, Coach Bennett waved him toward the equipment bench, where a green mesh jock sat beside a stopwatch. Coach had the expression he usually wore before announcing extra laps. Alex approached cautiously. Anything that small, presented with that much confidence, probably came with instructions.
The Track Jockstrap turned out to be considerably more interesting than another resistance band. Coach held it up by its silicone-accented waistband, letting the light catch the mesh pouch. A single layer of mesh revealed a hint of skin through the fabric, giving the athletic jockstrap a look that was sporty, suggestive, and unlikely to go unnoticed. “Just enough to make somebody look twice,” Coach explained. “Think of it as a preview. You don’t need to show the whole race to fill the stands.” Alex nodded thoughtfully, as though this were a normal technical discussion and he hadn’t completely forgotten what to do with his hands.
Beside the Hyper Green version lay an orange mesh jock in Octane Orange, a color with absolutely no intention of minding its own business. Both had the same mesh pouch and bold silicone detailing over soft elastic. Coach described the support; Alex examined the waistband with the solemn concentration of a man reviewing his scholarship paperwork. He had questions about this silicone band jock, several of which seemed unwise to ask before stretching.
Coach set the see-through mesh jockstrap against a pair of training shorts, demonstrating how easily it belonged in an athlete’s kit. Then he mentioned that the same mesh jock could make an impression somewhere considerably less concerned with split times. “Support on the field, attention at the bar,” he said, smoothing the waistband across the bench. Alex glanced up to find Coach already looking at him. The pause lasted perhaps two seconds. Alex, who measured fractions of seconds for a living, considered that excessive.
He picked up the green mesh jock first. Hyper Green had a sharp, athletic energy that suited early practice and good intentions. The orange mesh jock looked more like the reason those intentions might unravel by Saturday night. Even Darkroom Gray, tucked beneath the other boxes, seemed suspiciously confident for a supposedly subtle option. Alex had worn plenty of men’s athletic underwear, but this was the first mesh jockstrap that appeared to have plans after practice.
He finally tucked both bright colors under his arm and announced that he believed in testing equipment thoroughly. Coach’s smile suggested he supported the scientific method. Alex made it almost to the locker-room door before Bennett reminded him that practice started at seven the next morning. Apparently, owning a gay jockstrap with excellent nightlife potential did not qualify him for a revised training schedule. Alex looked back, grinned, and promised to be punctual. Coach glanced at the orange box. Neither man looked entirely convinced.
