Sudden bursts of roars and cheers startled me. I suppose it was another touchdown. They were all drinking while watching a football game on TV and behaving the way dominant men do.
"Get me another beer, Faggot!" One of them yelled across the room. He was drunk.
"Get me one too, Fag." They laughed at me knowing full well I would obey. My skimpy cheer leader outfit and five inch high heels put me in my place among these masculine, demanding jocks. The intimidation was overwhelming. Smacked on the ass every time I walked by. An endearing derogatory slur reminding me of who I am and what my role is in life. To serve big, strong, aggressive men. Fetching beer. Cooking food. Showing off my smooth, soft legs and bunns. Getting them all riled up and reminding them exactly what I was. A PussyBoi.
I brought back several chilled mugs fresh out of the freezer filled with cold brew. They grabbed at me, they grabbed at the mugs. Grabbing, grabbing. Spank.
"To the six, to the five, the four . . . Touch Down!"
I was tossed aside as the room erupted in testosterone. I carefully made my way back to the kitchen where I was safe from all that masculinity and roughhousing. This was a good time to prepare the tacos. They would be expecting me to serve them food and beer all night. As well as serve them in oh so many other ways. The lettuce and tomatoes were fresh from the farm. The cheese was divine. And I bought very lean beef at the grocery store. The men loved my cooking but I think they loved me more.
"It smells good in here." Joey and Steve walked in, startling me yet again. I turned around quickly and smiled at them. They both walked over, closing in. Joey in front, Steve behind me. I could feel him lifting my mini skirt. Joey grabbed my hand and placed it over his cock outside his pants. I gently caressed his manhood which made an indent in his jeans. A rather large indent. Steve pressed up against my ass. His manhood was just as firm. "It's going to be quite a party tonight."
They both pushed me aside and left the kitchen. Sometimes people ask me why I put up with such harassment and indignity but they just don't get it. Every jock in this house (aside from Billy, he's a bit of a jerk) will always stand up for me any time I am in trouble. I can't even tell you how many times I have been cornered by some bully who was ready to beat me to a pulp and suddenly fell to the ground while several of these men beat him into an unrecognizable pool of bigotry. And how many times my car would break down in the dead of winter, sub- zero temperatures and after one phone call have my car surrounded by pickup trucks, mustangs and warm blankets in less than 2 minutes. Or when I am very upset emotionally about anything a sissy might be upset about I am always surrounded (Yes, I use that word a lot. It is the perfect verb). These men do not harass me, they love me. They love me in their own way which others are unable to see.
"Get your ass in here, Faggot!"
"Yo, PussyBoi, food!"
"Now! It's halftime."
"Coming." Oh dear, they were getting all riled up. I picked up the serving platter and brought the tacos into the living room. Instantly, as usual, I was surrounded. Hands grabbing taco shells, hands grabbing my legs, hands grabbing my bunns. Spank. All kinds of groping. Oh, my.
They ate like starving wild dire wolves ripping and shredding, so disgusting. Spilling beer, not even considering using napkins, growling. I was going to be cleaning up all night for sure. I just got out of the way and stood against the wall with my feet together and hands behind my back. You have to be careful feeding these jocks. It's very easy to lose fingers and toes. Then, when the eating was finished . . .
They focused all of their attention on me.
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