YOU’LL NEVER UNDERSTAND ME! I AM SO TIRED OF THIS SHIT! WHITE PRIVILEGE IS NOT A THING, I WORKED HARD TO GET WHERE I AM. YOU ACT LIKE, BECAUSE YOU’RE GAY, YOU HAVE IT SO FUCKING HARD!!!
This was most of your conversations with your dorm mate, you still don’t understand how this happened. Trey was blind as a bat when it came to social issues. Always throwing out micro-agressions and not even realizing it, a basic white asshole. You two seemed to be always arguing, and it was getting old, you had the rest of the year to deal with this fuck. The worst part was, you were so attracted to him, and it pissed you off.
Trey was your typical straight white frat-boyesque tool, and he should have repulsed you, but something made you so hard. Maybe it was his ignorance, looks, or general dumbass nature, you didn’t know but you knew he was on your mind while jerking.
You were jerking one day, and your best friend, Emilio stopped by and decided to walk right inside. He was quite amused that your were rubbing one out, until he pried the picture of Trey out of your hands. Emilio’s ultra liberal personality flipped a switch and he lost it on you.
Cussing, swearing, angry as fuck, Emilio activated something deep down within himself, fully unaware.
“I hope you’re happy with that fucker, you two must have so much in common,” was all Emilio needed to say and his anger dissipated.
He simply turned around, crumpled the picture, through it over his shoulder, and left.
What neither of you knew is that Emilio had lineage to ancient gods, and a power that was hidden deep within. As the day went on, you found yourself daydreaming about Trey, more than usual. You were thinking about how good he looked and how you wish you could look like that.
Shaking your head, you silenced the foreign thoughts and went on about your academic business. Sitting in Advanced Theories of a Macro World, you found yourself bored, where you were normally quite enthralled. It was weird, but the discussion seemed stupid and pointless. YOu couldn’t understand why people kept talking about other races and how they were oppressed. People had to make their own way, it takes hard work.
“Fuck,” you thought, what am I thinking.
The day went on and all of your classes went similiar to the first.
YOu headed home and went into the bathroom, to splash water on your face and take an aspirin for the headache that was ensuing. Yet you became quickly distracted when you saw Trey’s clothing. He must have left his polo, boxer briefs, and shorts in the bathroom. Not even thinking, you put it all on and looked at yourself in the mirror.
You noticed, your hair had lightened, and your face seemed more defined. YOu looked like Trey and it was really weird. You found your self exploring your body, as your hands ran over your skin, it felt different, your muscles felt like they were getting stronger by the second.
“What the fu…,” your voice cracked and fell like a stone. YOu grabbed your throat in surprise. All of this was turning you on, this excitement was making you hard. You grabbed your swollen and long cock and began to jerk again, trying to think about Trey, but for some reason, hot naked women came to mind.
You were both disgusted and turned on and your hands wouldn’t stop moving. It felt so good, but you were imagining that it was a tight pussy.
Suddenly you stopped, horrified at what was happening. In a state of panic, you went to the mirror, only to see a face that looked like it could be Trey’s brother looking back.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you said, the more you jerked the more you seemed to change. You took the clothing off, but you were still hard and looking this blonde looking frat boy reflection wasn’t helping. You tried hard to think gay thoughts, to reclaim your sexuality, you started to think about how you could help other in need, but it wasn’t going well. Conservative, thoughts, arrogant confidence, and ego-centric beliefs were burning into your head. Whatever was happening was killing your empathy, turning you into a rich, white, tool.
YOu realized your hands were jerking you off again, your head was pounding and you couldn’t stop any of it. You felt like you were drugged, your brain felt slow and words were difficult to grasp. Memories of being a business major, frat boy, and president of the young conservatives on campus, pushed their way to the front.
Your cock felt so good, and you were so close to cumming. Moaning you felt the last of you changing, you couldn’t fight it anymore. As you erupted, your new life locked into place, you became Ryan Stillman, younger brother to Trey Stillman.
Your dad paid to make sure you and Trey got into school and were dorm mates. Trey was the fucking best and he totally got you. You both loved to party and fucck chicks. Neither of you would go very far in life, but that didn’t matter as long as those stupid fucking liberals stayed out of your sexual conquest.
‘Holy shit this thing is tight. Do I have to wear it?’
‘Yes boy, now that you have taken the himbo potion and you’ve dumbed down enough this will be your uniform while you clean the house for me. I have to earn money for us. Your job is to maintain the household and look good.’
‘I do look good, hehe. Me dumb. Me strong, Me horny.’
‘I see the dumbing down is finished. I will fuck you later boy. Now take that shirt off and go iron my clothing.’
You just can’t help showing off now, can you? It’s like you’re constantly looking for ways to show off your new body, to put it on display, to give everybody a show…
It’s gotten to the point now where just want to wear as little clothing as possible when you’re out in public.
You just want to wear whatever will show the most skin.
“Alright dude, welcome to the Amalia Aquatics Center. We have been looking for more surf instructors and you are the man for the job. The name’s Kellan and I’ll be your boss.”
You look at the tall surfer guessing he had to be about 6′7″, almost a foot taller than you. His muscles are lean and his skin is tan. He looks like a stereotypical, but tall and slightly more built, surfer. He even spoke like one. Hardly the professional you were expecting from what you saw at the front desk.
“I’m just here to help you get used to your job. I’m sure it won’t take long for you to fit in, brah.” He chuckled, “Now why are you wearing a shirt?”
You look down, a little embarrassed for even trying this. You look back up at Kellan and he his simply looking back at you with a smirk on his face. Your eyes look down at the beginnings of moobs and gut pushing at your shirt.
“You want to be a surfer or what?”
You grip the hem of your shirt in frustration. Struggling to pull it off, you finally do, red in the face. Kellan is just chuckling, “See that wasn’t so hard.”
A blush fills your cheeks again. You look down at your lean, tanned torso wondering why you wouldn’t want your shirt off. You love going shirtless.
“And we like our surfers to be blonde. Longer hair is preferred.”
You run a hand through your hair, remembering you got it died a few weeks ago.
“Oh and the clients usually like a big cock. From your swimsuit I see no problem there.”
You smirk, thinking of the 7-inch soft torpedo in your swimsuit.
“And our surfers always love getting fucked as a tip instead of cash.”
Your ass suddenly feels very hungry and your cock grows to a full 9 inches at the idea at your prospects for sex. Not that your brain even knows what a word like “prospects” means anymore.
“So dude I think your ready to start.”
You smile dumbly, not even realizing you had changed, “Awesome dude.”
“This your first day in Texas?” The man behind the counter asks.
You grumble. Not only is it your first day, but it might be your last. You’ve only been on the ground two hours, and already your cell phone is dead, your driver neglected to show up at the airport, and now they can’t find you luggage.
Typical, you think to yourself, these southern pricks don’t know what the hell they’re doing. But if they don’t find your baggage soon, they’re going to be sabotaging more than your night. After all, there are some important materials in that bag necessary for your promotional meeting tomorrow, or as you see it, the whole reason you came to this hell hole in the first place.
That’s when you see it, like a small black beetle crawling on the corner of your vision: your bag. Alone on an empty, spinning carousel, almost as if someone intentionally placed it there…
You don’t even think to alert the man behind the counter, who’s still on his computer probably doing something else. You quickly rush forward, grab the bag, and head out to the street to hail a cab. You can cover the cost later, you tell yourself. Right now, there’s one priority and one priority only: getting the hell out of there.
Back at the hotel, you flop your bag onto the bed and immediately head for the closest outlet. You plug your dead phone in. Nothing. Shit. You keep trying, but whether its the outlet or the phone, you know something isn’t working.
You walk back towards the bed. Perhaps you packed a spare charging cable in your bag, you try and convince yourself as you unzip the front. You flip open the bag, and your heart stops.
This isn’t your bag. At least, you don’t remember packing a mouth guard, shoulder pads, and a cropped t-shirt with a Texans logo on it.
Your brain goes into panic mode. You dive for your cell phone, only to find out the dead black screen hasn’t changed at all. The land line? But you don’t know the airport’s phone number. Worst of all, you’re starting to feel queazy, and not because of those pretzels you had on the plane.
Suddenly, your phone “dings.” Finally. You pick it up to see several text messages from people you don’t recognize.
Coach Bill says: Where the hell are you? Game is tomorrow night.
Someone named Kealia with a heart emoji next to her name says: Sweetheart, you feeling okay?
Who are these people? You ask yourself. But just as you do, your queasiness goes from bad to worst. You run to the bathroom, thinking you’re going to throw up, but instead, the nausea just turns to soreness. And not just in your stomach; in your whole body.
You groan. Bones creak and crack as you glance up at yourself in the mirror. Your thinning hair, your acne scars, and your pathetic frame of a body. This isn’t exactly how you thought things would turn out, and you aren’t just talking about this disastrous night.
But what’s that? It can’t be. You lean in closer to see if your eyes are just playing tricks on you. They’re not; your hair really is turning blonde. Even more than that, it’s coming in thick, and starting to dot your previously clean shaven face.
“What the h—“
But you keel over again. Something is going on under your shirt. You can feel your skin bubbling and your muscles exploding like someone poured acid all over your chest. You tear off your tie, your jacket, and finally your shirt, expecting to find a mess of charred skin underneath.
Instead, you find the chest of a god. Colossal pectorals, six bricks of abs, two hard lines leading down to your crotch. You gasp. This is not your body. What the hell is happening to me??
The feeling spreads up your arms. You watch in astonishment as your biceps bubble and bloat in an almost cartoonish fashion, the muscle jiggling before it hardens as solid meat. Your forearms harden as well, and you feel callous begin to grow on your fingertips. Impossible. You haven’t done anything physical since 9th grade PE. But these are the hands of a pro football player.
You barely even notice your ass stuff itself with muscle, or thighs harden and grow, or your calves inflate like two large apples on the back of your legs. But you do notice as your feet explode through your brand new shoes, two large clompers dusted in the same shade of dirty blonde hair. There’s a loud rip as your pants can no longer hold the sheer volume of leg muscle now staring to solidify and mature.
Back up in the mirror, you look over your ever expanding body. You’re at least a half foot taller now, breathing heavily through your obscenely large chest as the features on your face start to shrink.
You rush to the telephone. The hotel telephone, and call 911. An operator picks up immediately. “911, how can I assist you?” the calm female voice on the other line says.
“Yes! I’m at the— the Four Seasons and I’m… something’s happening to—“
You can feel the timbre of your voice chancing. It’s becoming deeper with every word, more stupid. More hard.
“May I ask who I’m speaking to?” The lady says.
“My name… name is… JJ— UGH!”
You drop the phone. You fall back onto the bed as you feel all the energy and heat rush towards your pelvic region, specifically towards your cock. You tear off the tattered remains of your pants to see that your penis, previously a measly five and a half inches, is now encroaching on what looks like ten.
Higher and higher, it rises up above your sweaty, muscle body. Your balls balloon out as they churn out manly fluids that pump themselves throughout your veins. You vision blurs, you start to loose your grip on the space inside your head. Of the little things, like your meeting, your flight, your life back home. Your own name.
“GAAAAAAGHHHHH!” You bellow loud enough for the people in the next room to hear. You surrender to the pleasure as your cock erupts with milky white spunk. It shoots as high as the ceiling, falling hard and hot on your thick, muscular body. It continues to flow like a broken water mane as you loose consciousness, falling back into a deep and empty slumber.
“JJ? JJ can you hear me? JJ??”
You jolt awake. “Where the hell am I?” You ask as you rub your eyes. “Why the hell am I naked?”
The man above you laughs. “Hell if I know, son. I’m just happy we found you in time.” You smile, as you recognize the man as your coach, your mentor. Next to him is someone from the hotel, your publicist, and you girlfriend.
She smiles. “You sure you don’t remember anything that happened to you? They found you in an awful mess. They say you even called the cops!”
“Well,” you say as you get up, “must not have remembered what happened. Whatever it was thought made me very sore.”
“We’ve got physical therapists for that,” coach says, “now come on, we’ve got a game in less than 48 hours. Put some clothes on and we’ll meet in the lobby.”
Your girlfriend gives you a kiss as they all give you some privacy. You exhale deeply. Everything up there is still a little bit foggy. Like your memories of growing up in Wisconsin, being drafted to the NFL, and meeting the girl of your dreams, are all mixed up with someone else’s lame life.
But it doesn’t matter. Your football superstar JJ Watt, and you’ve got a big game coming up. You delve into your suitcase and put on some well fitting briefs, jeans, skinners, and finally your favorite cropped Texans t-shirt. It falls comfortably over your hot, huge linebacker body, immediately growing heavy with your sweat and cum.
“Gotta love Texas,” you say with a dopey smile, and head out the door.
You watched Jack pour himself a drink. New kind from “Rebel Breweries”. He had poured you one too, handing it to you. You took a few sips. Things felt…weird. Your body started to tingle. Your personality and free will diminished with every passing second. You started having weird thoughts. Like…Replace your puny smart car with a big jacked up truck. Fly the rebel flag. Love the South. Other things. Your body was changing. Your manbun was vanishing, your face sprouting some hair. Your chest got bigger and more developed. Your arms swelled. Your mind warped. Your clothes became jeans, big boots, a sleeveless shirt. Your smart car was now a massive, lifted pickup with a rebel flag flying. Jack smirked at you, and suggested turning on the Rebels game. They were playing a Yankee team and he was excited to see what brutalities the Southernized players enacted on the puny Yankees. And now you were too! You couldn’t wait to see Gronk pick up a Yankee by the throat and hurl him nearly 10 feet away, or Tebow to crush a Yankees balls in with a swift knee to the groin when tackling him from the front or side. It thrilled you to see former Northern players, now big Southern beasts.
Rob looked confused as he bounced his pecs, gazing at the skinny and tall nerdy looking guy that had stormed into the locker room only a moment ago and started calling him “Robert” and was telling him that he was “never on the sport team before”, not to mention how he looked so differently.
“Dude! Robert, what the hell? We were just talking yesterday before you went off to that frat party,” said Sam, glaring at the muscular and charming man in front of him, his eyes glancing down at the bouncing pecs. “And since when did you even go to the gym?”
“Bro, I don’t even know what you’re talking about, I’ve never met you and I’m always at a party, man, you should come along some time,” laughed Rob, as he met the glaring eyes of the nerd in front of him, only to bounce his pecs once more and watch the nerd as his cock twitched and he suddenly groaned outright, feeling himself cum. He started to feel hazy, staring at the pecs.
“What? What the hell was…?” started Sam. Rob’s smile grew wider, revealing his pearly white teeth despite Sam knowing he had braces there just last night.
Rob bounced his pecs. Sam couldn’t resist, gazing at them with a hypnotic infatuation, not even having the effort to groan as he felt himself cum again.
“Sorry bro, were you saying something?” Rob’s grin grew wide ash he peered in at Sam, knowing it was too late for the nerd.
“Rob…Dude, you’ve got to…got to…” Sam’s voice died off as he only stared at Rob’s pecs before they flexed and bounced once more, causing the nerd to cum again.
“There’s no stopping it now,” Rob smiled as he pushed Sam against the lockers. “I only need to make you cum once before it starts.”
“What did you do to me?” Sam tried to get away but couldn’t, his legs slowly growing numb.
“It’s my pecs bro, and my sweat too, here check it out,” Rob raised his arm and suddenly stuffed Sam into his pit. Sam felt the smell invade him, rearranging his mind into a hazy mess at the core as he felt his tongue automatically lapping to lick and worship the pit, starting to groan as he was unable to resist before his head was taken away and Rob started to get down on his knees. “Don’t worry man, I’ll help you.”
“R-Rob don’t…” Sam cried as he squirmed, trying to get away only his burning legs refused to move, petrified as they stood still. Sam started to see the palm of his hand slowly expanding, growing rough and weatherbeaten. “R-Rob! Stop!”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rob pulled down Sam’s pants quickly, revealing the thickening bulge that was already erect and snaking out of his boxers. “It’s gonna be great.”
“No- Rob, please don’t-” Sam groaned out loud as he felt Rob’s tongue at his dick, starting to rub against the length as the large hands began to slowly drag the underwear down, snapping against the thighs as Rob continued to lick against. “Rob- Oh fuck!”
“Don’t worry man, and the best part is if you cum again you lose all your smarts forever! But I’ll wager you this, if you don’t cum, I’ll turn you back!” Rob smirked.
“This isn’t fu-” Sam looked down, shocked and suddenly resilient in wanting to resist before he felt the wet and warm mouth of Rob take him in, starting to suck at his large dick as he could see the head poking against Rob’s cheek. His once burning hand instinctively grabbed at Rob’s brown hair, Sam felt the fingers on both hands beginning to stretch and grow, lengthening to match the size of the palm.
Sam looked down further as he saw his own toes begin to poke out of his shoes and socks, watching the toes continue to climb forward, spreading against the floor. With every thrust of Rob’s head on his large dick, he felt the feet thrusting forward, again and again, the growth was like breathing, it waited for Rob’s tongue to touch the head and exhale, letting all the muscles and body grow. The feet burst through the shoes completely tearing them away.
“Rob…fuck what is…I can feel my legs growing…stronger,” Sam’s voice seemed to suddenly growl, growing deeper by the moment as all the fat from his thighs suddenly melted away, fading and turning into raw muscle that highlighted his strong calves and thick thighs. “Muscles…growing! Oh god p-please!”
Rob’s mouth popped off the drooling cock, spinning Sam around and shoving him against the locker.
“What are you do-?” Rob’s tongue invaded Sam’s hole, pushing his cheeks away as they started to grow in the jock’s hands, the tongue lapping and invading the hole, sending waves of pleasure throughout his body, his inflating and muscular body as his abs started to push out of his stomach, the pectorals deepening creating crevices of muscle on his thicker and broad chest that grew. Every single time Rob’s tongue continued to stroke against Sam’s hole, Sam felt his muscles growing bigger, his will fading.
Rob moved away from him, panting and standing up as Sam looked at him, his new muscular body was so hot but he knew this wasn’t right.
“Okay…I played your stupid game and I didn’t cum…Now change me back…” panted Sam as he steadied himself on the locker behind.
“Ah, ah, ah, you haven’t won yet bro,” Rob smiled, and for the first time Sam didn’t see the dumb jock in front of him, he saw something much more mischievous as the smile curled before Sam realise, his eyes wide.
“No, wait Rob please! I want to get-” Sam tried to shout but it was too late.
“What do you want?” Rob smiled as he bounced his pecs. “I couldn’t hear you. Was it this, bro?” Rob bounced his pecs again.
Sam couldn’t handle it as an eruption of pleasure ran through him.
He started to cum, gushes of hot sticky wetness spreading all over his head, like a fountain it continued to flow creating a pool on the floor underneath his feet, Sam fell to his knees from the pleasure watching his cock continue to cum endlessly, over and over again.
“No! Rob! Y-You can still turn me back, we can still be bros! I mean friends…We can still be…bros..still be…bros..still…bros…still bro…bro…bro…”
With every throb of cum, Sam felt his memories being drained away, his intelligence slipping, his face changing.
As his jawline sharpened, he no longer wanted to play videogames, he wanted to play football. As his eyes grew an empty grey, he wasn’t studying economics anymore at college, he had a sport degree to launch off his football career. As his hair transformed into a slicked back silvery blonde, he went to practice every week with coach and his team, and the rest of his time was spent at the frat house.
Before Sam knew it, he didn’t even remember much of his past life or his name, Sam turned around, grabbing Rob up with his strong arms and kissing him deeply.
“Now how about we go shower and clean off, bro?” suggested Sam, and Rob couldn’t refuse, admiring his work and knowing there would far more to “come”. After all, his bro Sammy was spectacular.
Its no secret that i like to get high every now and then. Like parties and lazy friday nights and stuff I’m usually kicking around with a joint in my pocket, ready to light up at the first oportunity.
I want to clear something up before we keep talkin about this tho. I’m not one of those lazy fucks who’s always just lying around playing video games or raiding the fridge. I just like using weed cause it turns my brain off for a few hours.
I still workout more than anyone I know. And I swim like six days a week. But I like the way I can barely think when I’m high – just chill out instead of talk talk talking all the time. Sometimes I get so high that I just forget whats going on half thru the sentence and…
Yeah. I luv that.
Where was I? Right, so like last weekend my buddy Paul corners me at Jess’s party and he tells me he’s got this bomber joint. Dude claims he paid a thousand bucks for this, and I’m just laughing along. No way right? Pauls always been kinda out there so just roll with it…
We go out on the deck and light up. Paul hands me the joint and tells me to take the first drag. I feel the smoke in my chest, hold it there, and release it in a long stream.
“Whoa…I said”. “That’s some good shit.”
It’s hitting me fast.
“Take another hit” Paul says handing me back the joint.
I do. Fuck yea, my brain is getting hazy already.
Next time Paul takes the joint, I notice that he doesn’t actually take a drag. He just waits, then hands it back to me…
So I take another
And another
Soon the joint is nearly gone, and Paul just keeps telling me to smoke more.
“You sure u don’t want…” I said
“Yeah bro,” he says. “I kinda got it for you.”
It’s hard to follow what he’s saying.
“It’s permaweed” he says. “You’re gonna stay this high forever. And with the sex drive it gives you, you’re gonna make me some sweet coin when I sell your swimmer ass to this rich fag that got me the joint.”
“Huh?” I say. That didn’t really make sense. What was…what’d he call it. Whatever.
“Take the last hit…” he hands me the joint. So I do what Paul says. It’s easy to just follow.
I inhale deep, and a funny idea comes into my head. I grab Paul and kiss him deep, exhaling into his lungs. His eyes get wide…Lol, I know he can feel a buzz off the weed, even with just one hit
I tell him to take another…one long drag that finishes off the joint. This is so fuckin funny. He takes it.
We ended out the night in my bed like we sumtimes do. When I woke up in the morning tho…my head was still like this. Weird. Nothin is making sense.
“Hey Marc…” says Paul. He’s got this goofy gleam in his eye. “Go shower. I’ll come in and join you soon…”
Sounds like a plan. Fuck I’m still so fucked up I think I’d do just about anything someone told me to.
Paul and I scrub eachother down in the shower. I suck his thick cock while he stands there, just enjoying the water.
“Marc, just put on your underwear.” he says after we get out. So I do. Then we walk to the front yard…to be honest I’m really just following Paul.
There’s this black limo there. Paul tells me to get in, so I do.
“Paul…” says a voice in the dark of the car. “Did u smoke any of that joint?”
Paul lets out this giggle.
“Get in the car Paul,” the voice commands.
A year later, I’ve gained 20 pounds of muscle, but I probably lost that much in brains haha. My owner does all my thinking for me and Paul. Paul is my gym buddy and my fuckboi now, except for the nites when our owner wants one of our asses.
It’s the fuckin life, I tell u bro. I just gotta lift and swim and walk around in nothin but a speedo or a bright colored jockstrap. Paul has his own costume… our owner has him working as a butler in just a white thong and a black bow tie.
It took all of five
minutes but Kyle was finally able to get the information he needed. He didn’t
know what Coach Larson was doing but he knew something was happening. All he
had to do was get to some kind of authority and he’d be able to rat him out.
However Kyle hadn’t realized there was a mop bucket sitting right behind him.
His small lithe body
tripped suddenly sending him to the ground. “Shit… Shit… Shit…” He cursed
himself. By the time Kyle was able to even get his bearings, Coach was already
standing in front of him.
“See anything
interesting?” His voice boomed with authority.
“No… Coach, I didn’t
see anything,” Kyle lied. Maybe all he had to do was act innocent and then
coach won’t suspect him of anything. Before he could even say more coach
started laughing.
“Course not! Scrawny
kid like you ain’t never seen nuthin. Here. Let me help you out.” He leaned
over giving Kyle his hand.
The thought that he
was getting off scott free shot through his head. Maybe Coach didn’t really
notice. But Coach isn’t that dumb. He always knows when one other
players is lying to him. ‘Other players?’
“Well
I gotta get going,” Kyle smiled. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Not
a bother at all,” Coach’s laugh was creepy. “Love to see you around here more.
Can’t imagine you find a better place than ole Coach’s.”
It didn’t take Kyle
long to want to leave. He headed for the locker room door. Something kept
telling him to stay though. He rubbed his hand through his thick well-trimmed
beard. “What was I doing?” He asked himself. His hands scrapped through his
thick hair making it stand up a bit. “I know I was supposed to do something.”
His thoughts started slowing down.
Everything seemed to
be a little different. And his shirt felt so tight. That’s why he couldn’t
think. His shirt was practically strangling him while riding up his waist
showing off his sweet Adonis belt. “How’d I even get this thing on?” his laugh
was deep and shallow. “But, I know how
to get it off.” He quickly tightened all the muscles in his chest and
shoulders. The fabric quickly tore apart. Laughter erupted from his chest.
“Stupid shirt.”
Kyle looked at himself in the
mirror. “There was something I was supposed to do…” he pondered. “There was
something I was supposed to tell about coach. He was doing something…” His
thoughts started to get a little more groggy. He couldn’t think straight. All
he could do was admire his amazing body. Slowly his hand found its way to his
chest. He started rubbing and feeling the tight muscle.
“Damn,”
he flexed, “Making some gains today. Gotta tell coach. He’ll want to know.
That’s what I’m supposed to do. Tell coach bout my gains. So he stops thinking
I’m that scrawny ass fuck that started out a couple of years ago.”
Coach Larson stepped around the
corner holding a blue notebook. “That’s right Kyle. Tell me all about your
gains.”
Muscle Tf Lover 