#Rower

[the-bobbybee]

o Friday is ROWER DAY

[fafnir19]

Cocky Rowing

It all began when I stumbled upon a beginner's rowing course at my university. Initially, I thought it would be a casual form of exercise, a delightful change from the mundane routine of studying and lectures. Once a week, I'd take to the water, finding myself captivated by the rhythm of the oars and the gentle lull of the waves. On this particular day, however, my routine was about to take an unexpected turn. I found myself in the changing room of the rowing club, amidst the hustle and bustle of the competitive sports team getting ready for their training session. As I fumbled with my rowing gear, they approached me, a sense of urgency in their voices.

"Hey, are you a rower too?" one of them asked, eyeing me curiously. "Well, I've been taking a beginner's course. I'm not really at your level," I admitted, feeling a bit out of place among these seasoned athletes. "We're short one rower for the eights. Would you like to join us? You seem pretty fit," another athlete offered, waving me over to their group. I hesitated for a moment, feeling uncertain about joining them. "I'm not sure if I can keep up with you guys," I confessed, feeling a bit intimidated. "Don't worry, all you need to do is swing a bit. You'll manage just fine," they reassured me, their friendly smiles putting me at ease. Encouraged by their confidence in me, I finally agreed and followed them to the boat. As we rowed, I found my rhythm and felt a surge of exhilaration coursing through my veins. This was a whole new level of rowing, and I was loving every moment of it.

However, as the training session went on, I started feeling the strain on my muscles. I wasn't used to this level of exertion. "Come on, Leon, you've got this!" the coach hollered, pushing us to give it our all. "Exhaustion is all in the mind. Straighten your upper body immediately after each stroke. Envision yourselves as magnificent, erect cockes, proud and strong!" I couldn't help but find the coach's choice of words quite peculiar and frankly suggestive, but I tried to focus on the rowing, putting the strange words out of my mind. The training proved to be incredibly challenging, leaving me barely able to form coherent thoughts. The coach kept repeating the same mantra, urging us to think of ourselves as proud, erect cockes. It was becoming increasingly bizarre, but I pushed through the exhaustion, determined to prove myself. Finally, the grueling training concluded, and the athletes thanked me, commending my performance and expressing gratitude for stepping in as the missing rower was ill. It was then that they asked me if I could fill in for the upcoming weeks, not wanting to let the university team down. Without giving it much thought, I agreed. Now training nine times a week, any worries I had vanished the moment I set foot in the boat. My only thought was that of being a proud, erect cock, just as the coach had drilled into us.

However, things took an unexpected turn when the coach decided that I should row a double scull with Trevor, a handsome and accomplished rower who exuded an air of arrogance and smugness that I couldn't stand. "Great, now I have to deal with Trevor," I grumbled inwardly as we prepared for our first session together. True to my expectations, Trevor lived up to his reputation, making snide remarks and acting as if he was doing me a favor by rowing with me. "Alright, Leon, just focus on mimicking my movements. I'll do the thinking for both of us," Trevor declared, his overbearing demeanor grating on my nerves.

Despite our best efforts, our rowing didn't quite mesh. The trainer took it upon himself to explain gently: “Leon, imitate Trevor’s movements. He is the stroke and he decides what happens in the boat. Remember: you're just a cock made of muscles and sperm cords that can't think." I was taken aback by the coach's comparison, but I bit my tongue and tried to focus on improving our synchronization.

Over time, things improved between Trevor and me, and I found myself becoming incredibly athletic from the frequent training. As much as I disliked Trevor, I couldn't deny the positive impact the rigorous sessions had on my physique and stamina. After a particularly grueling practice, as we docked the boat, the coach posed a question to me: "Leon, what are you?" Without hesitation, I responded, "I am a cock composed of muscles and seminal cords," parroting the coach's words without a second thought. Later, as we grabbed ice cream, the vendor asked me what flavors I wanted, and suddenly, I found myself at a loss, glancing at Trevor for guidance. "He'll have strawberry and vanilla," Trevor decided, taking charge of the situation as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As we continued our intense training regimen, Trevor suggested that I would show off my muscles better if I shaved off my body hair, stating that cockes didn't have hair. I saw the logic in his words and proceeded to rid myself of any visible body hair. Before I knew it, Trevor's influence extended beyond rowing sessions. He began making decisions for me, from my workout routines to my diet and even my wardrobe. I was slowly but surely being molded into his image.

"Leon, what's our training goal?" the coach asked one day, directing the question to me. My mind immediately turned to Trevor, waiting for his prompt before responding, "Trevor should answer that." "Our aim is the Olympics," Trevor stated confidently, leaving no room for argument. The coach smiled contentedly, remarking that his methods had evidently been successful, and this time, Trevor's training partner wouldn't be bailing on them. Unbeknownst to me, I had become Trevor's perfect and obedient training partner, my thoughts consumed by the singular focus of growing muscles, obeying Trevor, fulfilling our shared ambition and to fuck.

As the days passed, I found myself drifting further under Trevor's influence, and my own desires and motivations became secondary to his commands. It was after a training session under the showers that Trevor made it abundantly clear just how deeply entrenched his hold over me had become. "You are mine, Leon. Mine to shape and mold as I see fit," he whispered, his words sending shivers down my spine. I couldn't deny the thrum of excitement that coursed through me, knowing that I was completely under his control, giving myself over to his every whim and fancy. With each passing day, I became more like an extension of Trevor, my every action and thought aligned with his desires. Finally, at the peak of our training, as we stood on the brink of our Olympic aspirations, Trevor's words echoed in my mind: "You are mine, Leon. Mine to shape and mold as I see fit." And as the final race approached, my only thought was to grow muscles, to obey Trevor, and to soar to glory together as a proud, erect cock devoted to my master.

In my mind I had become Trevor's virile cock, ready to conquer the world at his command. And so, I rowed on, driven by an unwavering devotion to my master, blissfully unaware of the depths of my submission.

[misterlemonzmen]

12-01-24 | MisterLemonzMen.tumblr.com/archive

[tightlycraguys]

[mypastnow]

[ex-frat-man]

[atna2-34-75]

C. Francis

Le champion d’aviron

Musée de la Marine, Paris

[yourdailyqueer]

Katarzyna Zillmann

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Lesbian

DOB: 26 July 1995

Ethnicity: White - Polish

Occupation: Olympic rower

[tanczysz-z-demonem]

Jebie mnie czym jeździsz. Czy palisz z wiadra czy lufki. Nie zaimponujesz mi, mówiąc, ile wypiłeś wódki...

[the-bobbybee]

o Friday is ROWER DAY

[colourful-men]

Follow @colourful-men for men in colour. Follow @menmonochrome for men in black and white.

[pedroam-bang]

Sisu (2022)

[tightlycraguys]

[mypastnow]

[yellowmanula]

Moja błękitna strzała! Kultowy Wigry 3, który dostałam na 8 urodziny. Pokonałam dziś na nim 15 km haha, gnałam jak wiatr

[ecbanda]