Dr. W. A. Frost's Ides of Revolution

  “What’s up, kids? Your God, Master James here. Just got back from playing ball with a few of the boys, worked up quite a sweat. What do you think, slaves? Have you all been good to your God lately?” James flexed his guns, sweat still dripping from his bushy pits. He smirked at the camera, kissing his bicep to the raucous barrage of hearts and eggplants fluttering up his screen. He’d started with only a few followers on Twitter, mostly guys who thirst followed a few of his traps. That humble little gaggle of gays grew exponentially in just a few months, and it wasn’t long until he’d had boys begging for his sweaty jockstrap after his basketball matches, or a pair of weeks-worn gym socks. Not only were they begging, they were willing to pay out. Into his mind popped a brilliant little idea to make some side cash. He was just finishing college, was gonna start some menial sales job that probably wouldn’t end up paying much… why not capitalize on the idea. Custom videos, to private c...

  “Hey boys, look who we got here!” Those words strike fear into every insecure man in a locker room, and for Franklin, this was no exception. Late night workout, 2 AM, no one there. The tubby gent slowly turned, and to his chagrin, three beefcake soldiers stood there, flexing and showing off their physiques. He had seen these three douchebags for the past week or so, taking up all the free weights and just being an all around noisy nuisance. But who’s going to tell three American Army soldiers to fuck off? Certainly not unassuming Franklin. “Hey guys, I’m really in a rush, so I’m gonna get in the showers and head home.” The three smugly exchanged glances, muttering whispers under their breath. Franklin meagerly tried to pass the three mountains, but to no avail. Every move he made to get to the showers was mirrored by the “heroic” bullies.  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why in such a rush, man! We’re shipping off in a few days, and we want some fun.” The color in Franklin’s cheeks flush...