• Garg Fam

Harbaugh's Stake

It made his heart flutter, the condom.


He had found it on the sidewalk, just lying there, calling to him. When he saw it, he thought to himself, Huh, some pimply, teenage cult member must have dropped this, probably because he had just seen a pimply, teenage cult member drop it. Jim had picked it up, fondled it, felt its slippery plastic wrapper fold between his fingers. Size extra small, perfect. It must be a sign.

At home, Jim sat in front of his vanity, gazing into the eyes of his favorite man on Earth, yet wishing his second favorite, Tom Brady, was there beside him. He dabbed his cheeks with a rouge-covered brush and sighed with wanting.


Tom knew Jim inside and out, like how he knew Jim’s favorite food was raw hamster meat, or that he liked to have his toes nibbled during his nightly viewing of Cocomelon. Tom also knew that Jim always hides extra dip inside his foreskin on game days, because that’s a real thing that he definitely does.


However, Jim knew Tom just as well, and he loved every single quirk of his. He didn’t even care about his wide-eyed, wiry nature, like one of those dancing cactus toys or a cast member of a live-action Veggie Tales. He didn’t care, either, that he resembled, somewhat eerily, an Olive Garden breadstick that had discovered Touch of Grey for men. Without knowing, Jim must have uttered his name.


“You talking about me?” Tom said, stalking through the bedroom door. At the sound of Tom’s voice, Jim posed coquettishly in his direction, luring him over with that brutish sexual magnetism. Tom lifted Jim out of his chair and held him from behind, while Jim craned his neck back to let out a girlish moan. “Kiss me like one of your sons,” he said. But like a woman giving birth, Jim couldn’t feel a thing. “Tooooom, c’mon,” he coaxed, finally looking back at his lover.


Tom was still there, holding Jim, but suddenly, he seemed different. His gaze had changed from playful to fierce, and his grip around Jim’s waist was noticeably tighter.


“Tom, what’s wrong?” Jim wrestled himself from his grip and began retreating backwards.


“Y’know, Jim, sometimes you’ve got to learn to put the ball in your hands.” He held up something small, but Jim couldn’t quite make out what it was. Oh wait! Was that…could it be…Jim’s condom?


Tom continued, “Your shoulder pads are hard and stiff, but your hands are…are tender.”


Jim took one more step backwards until he was pressed against the wall.


“They can move and caress the ball.” That’s kind of gay, isn’t it? Tom unwrapped the condom with his teeth, but Jim could not be persuaded to stay. Not taking time to think, he slipped under Tom’s arm and began running towards the door–that is, until Jim felt Tom slip something cool and lubricated over his face.



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