#kenergy

"Ajith" meant "the invincible one". What a silly name. Ajith thought of it regularly. But what could he do, he couldn't help his name. Ajith was one of those IT nerds that everyone needed but no one took seriously. Ajith was the first to arrive in the morning and the last to leave in the evening. At some point, his hard work would pay off. He was sure of that…

It was already quite late when Ajith walked towards the cafeteria. The coffee machine in his department had already been cleaned and switched off. And if he wanted to keep going for another two hours, he urgently needed a coffee. The corridors were deserted. He heard footsteps coming from somewhere. A giant was heading towards the exit. A muscle-bound guy with a shaved head. Obviously one of the janitors. He was carrying a bin liner. Suddenly Ajith saw something fall out. A box. And although it would certainly have been sensible to point it out to the janitor, Ajith didn't. Instead, he walked as inconspicuously as possible towards the box. Ajith immediately recognized the box as a prototype toy. Professionally made. But clearly not a product that would be on a toy store shelf in this packaging. Or in a sex store, Ajith thought to himself. The young man on the packaging didn't look as if Ajith would let his daughter, whom he didn't yet have, play with it. And definitely not his son.

But Ajith was clever enough to realize that there was a market for this type of prototype. Fags were certainly willing to spend a lot of money on something like this. And Ajith could more than use the money. He cursed not having a jacket or a bag with him. But there had to be paper bags in the cafeteria for the sandwiches you could get there. And even if he had just found a treasure, he still had a few things to work off and he needed a coffee to do so.

Ajith's leather pants creaked with every step he took. He loved the feel of the unlined black leather hugging his thighs. As expected, the cafeteria was deserted. Only a young guy sat bored at the cash register, playing with his cell phone. When Ajith put the tray with the Coke and pastrami sandwich down at the till, the impressive bulge in his leather trousers had to be almost exactly at eye level with the young man, who was lying more than sitting in his seat. The young man's eyes widened in shock as the sight and smell of the leather snapped him out of his daydreams. Ajith asked with a grin if he liked the sight. The young fellow grinned and said that he had seen worse. He kneaded the bulge that appeared in his jeans. Ajith was sorry, but unfortunately he had to work. But he would be at Boxers HK from 22:00. If he felt like it, he would be happy to welcome him there.

Kevin wondered why he was actually sitting here in the cafeteria eating a really bad sandwich instead of eating at the store where he worked before his shift started. Shit, where was he anyway? Oh yeah, right… He had hooked up with the guy working the register for a quick blowjob via Grindr. And the boy had blown like the devil. And that had made Kevin hungry. But now he was late. If he wanted to be on time for his shift, he had to take an uber. Fortunately, there was one available nearby. The driver also seemed to like the passengers getting into his Prius. And Kevin wasn't exactly disgusted either. He liked Indians. They were polite and pleasant customers. And submissive and docile in bed. At the next red light, Kevin moved from the back seat to the passenger seat. And his driver didn't necessarily reach past the gearshift more than once by mistake. No wonder with an automatic gearbox. And with the pole sticking out of Kevin's pants. Shit, after the driver had operated the wrong gearshift a few times, he had to pull over again. And suck the pole next to the gearshift.

Sebastian strolled through the flea market. He didn't really have any particular reason. No particular destination. Just to have a look… The stall with the young Arab was a real eye-catcher. Not necessarily because of the goods. But because of the Arab. A giant, a muscleman. Tattooed, short-cropped hair. Masculinity oozed from every single one of his pores. All the more astonishing was his merchandise. Lots of junk. But in between a small army of dolls. In the style of Barbie's Ken. But somehow also different. Many far removed from what you would expect to find in Barbie's dream house. Surprisingly, hardly anyone seemed to be interested…

"So, stud? Which Ken do you like?" Shit, the guy's voice went through Sebastian's bones. The guy pushed up his T-shirt and scratched his hairy chest. Sebastian's cock licked Precum. With a dry throat, he said he was interested in the ice hockey player. "I see. They're real men. Sports with a lot of physical contact. Makes every guy horny." The Arab laughed boomingly. "Twenty-eight dollars for you. Because I like you!" Sebastian had no choice. He was far too excited to negotiate. He already had 30 dollars across the wallpaper table and took the doll. And he knew what he wanted to do with it. He wanted to give it to his son. His son from a relationship from ages ago. His ex-girlfriend didn't want his son to meet his father, the damn faggot. But Sebastian had secretly watched him from time to time. He knew that he played ice hockey in the juniors. He hoped he would be happy about the doll. But Sebastian had no idea how to present the gift.

His son trained on Wednesdays at 4 p.m. in the ice stadium Sebastian knew that much. There should be some opportunity… With the doll in his coat pocket, Sebastian strolled on through the flea market. After a few minutes, he had forgotten about the doll, his son and the hot Arab. Sebastian was hungry. Shit, he was actually always hungry. Anyone who consumed as much energy as Sebastian did had to eat a lot. And Sebastian consumed a lot of energy. An hour's run in the morning. At least an hour of gym in the evening. Training on the ice three times a week. The next time was Wednesday at 18:00. Before that, he trained the juniors as a temporary coach.

The trip to the flea market was a nice change of pace on Sunday afternoons. But now it was time for the gym. And then early to bed. He had to be fit again in the morning. Sebastian had left his gym bag at his buddy Kemal's stand. He was eagerly awaiting Sebastian. It started to drizzle, Kemal wanted to dismantle his stand and no more customers were coming. Sebastian helped his friend to stow away the goods. The prospect of lifting weights with Kemal and relieving pressure in the shower after training was worth postponing the workout a little longer.

You have to hate your coach. And today Baschy, as his teammates call him because of his Swiss roots, hates his coach. Shit, if Baschy is at the end of his tether, it's been a tough training session. And after the youth training session, there was another training session on the schedule. Baschy tries to focus his anger on his stick and puck. And he sends the puck towards the goal. His colleague in goal has to take a real beating. And by the time the juniors, some of whom were barely up to his belly button, come onto the ice, his anger has been vented.

Elliott was your classic number-crunching bro—first guy to jump on anything free. Soccer? Pfft, last thing on his mind. Dude used to be a total jock—high school QB, Navy (yeah, supply officer, not that hardcore stuff). Now, mid-30s, still killing it. Dude had a sculpted body, still rocking that Navy flattop, zero gray hairs. Constant gum-chewing made his face all sharp and clean-shaven. Suits always tight, showing off that perfect ass.

Okay, yeah, that Ken doll sticking out of his chest pocket looked kinda dumb. But it was cool, his niece was hardcore into soccer, and she’d flip for it. Plus… free gift. Big W.

Meeting tanked and finally ended, and Elliott kinda wanted to bounce back to the office. Quarterly report still waiting, numbers looked solid—made working way more fun. But today? Sun’s out, almost 5 PM, finally leaving early. Quick stroll through the park to the station, pure vibes.

Some kids were kicking a soccer ball on the field. Not bad, but definitely could level up. One kid whiffs, ball flies straight at Elliott. Bro chest traps it like a pro, dribbles a bit, then smashes a clean cross right into a makeshift goal made from backpacks. Pubescent dudes just froze, jaw on the floor. Elliott was about to dip when one kid shouted, “Yo, you gonna show us some tricks?”

He didn’t even need convincing. Jacket off, shirt off. Office sneakers? Trash for playing. Suit pants? Tight AF. Didn’t matter. He still shredded the junior squad.

By the time the sun dipped, the kids were done. Elliott’s hair plastered to his forehead, chest gleaming with sweat, green-stained shorts and knees. Shower? Yeah, probably should. But nah… showers are lame.

Next morning, first lesson: math. Elijah wasn’t the sharpest with numbers. Honestly, school wasn’t his thing—sports only. Dude was one of the top soccer hopes, though. And at a sports high school, competition was brutal.

Teacher braced himself. Pubescent bros rarely smelled good. Elijah smelled like a locker room apocalypse. Puberty hit, fluffy fuzz on his face, first chest hairs popping up. Pythagoras? Zero clue. Grinning dumb, running sweaty fingers through greasy morning workout hair.