It couldn't be. Had he done those things to Dustin? He needed to try again, to see what would happen.
His lip trembled, worried that he might be going crazy. He took a deep breath, and then, without thinking, he said... "I wish I had Paul Jackson's jockstrap."
The warm scent of musk wafted up towards his nose. He looked down and screamed. In his hands was the white, musky, jockstrap of Paul Jackson, his high school bully. He started in disbelief, holding the jockstrap up in the sunlight. It was unmistakable: the XXL size, the stretched out pouch, his jersey number “13” written in black marker above the bulge. For a moment, he stared on in horror, confusion, and then - instinctively - he brought the jockstrap to his lips. He kissed the pouch and breathed in. It was utter bliss; the smell of a real fucking man.
The reality was setting in and it was setting in quickly: he could want anything, get anything, do anything, be anything - all with a simple wish. “I wish I could taste his cum,” Ty said, once again, the words pouring from his lips, thoughtless, immediate, like some primal need that had always been there, finally set free.
Instantly, the pouch began to dampen in his hands, the pungent smell of jock cum filling the room. Ty held the jockstrap above his open mouth and rung the fabric tight, great globs of cum dripping down into his mouth and on his face. He swallowed the cum and collapsed back onto the bed. He laid there for a long momment, feeling content, feeling happily. He brought the jockstrap up to his face and kissed this miracle once again. It wasn’t just the jockstrap, but everything it symbolized - the realization that he could do anything.
“What the fuck…”
He opened his eyes. It had happened so quickly, so automatically. He looked down in horror at the jockstrap in his hands. In that surreal moment, when confronted with the possibility that by wishing for something, it might actually come true - without hesitation, without thinking - he had said, “I wish I had Paul Jackson’s jockstrap.”
He could have wished for anything. A cure for cancer. World peace. A big mansion in the country side.
And what had he asked for? His bully’s dirty jock.
His face felt hot. His heart raced.
But it wasn’t as though he was completely clueless… There had always been some half-conscious part of Ty that had secretly wanted Paul: that adored his strength, his displays of dominance, his cockiness on the field and in school, that wanted to worship Paul’s alpha male muscles and cock… But that part of Ty had been repressed, locked away, and denied in order to preserve his pride, his self preservation, the will to go on. It was too shameful to acknowledge his true feelings: that not only did Ty desire his bully, but the fact that Paul bullied him, actually made Ty want him more. The truth of his unconscious had been set free. He loved his bully. He loved being weak. Submission to powerful men was the primal motivation that drove him, all he wanted to be. This revelation hit Ty like a train and was inescapable.
He sat up in bed, positioning himself so that the warm rays of light fell across his face. He smiled and appreciated the irony of the situation. In the exact moment that he gained all the power in the universe, was the same moment he realized, that all he wanted to be was weak.
“Strong men are meant to rule, to be powerful. Not somebody like me…”
He knew what he had to do.
“I wish…”