The Jockening

Fletcher stumbled back onto the track and speed-walked around the bend to where he saw the Coach and – oh shit, Adam Griffith. The ultimate jock. Even though it was just the first day, Fletcher had already figured out that he was a fucking loser compared to Adam Griffith – every guy at Clifton was, really. Adam Griffith was physically perfect. Once he’d waltzed into the assembly, it was game over. Every girl’s eyes had been locked onto the rippling V-shape of Adam’s back, hunched casually in the front row. None of the girls had been able to see the annoyingly cocky smirk on Adam’s very aware face. He couldn’t see the hundred eyes, but he’d known they were staring right at him.

“I just-” Fletcher stopped when he saw Adam staring at him with an unreadable expression, and he got the distinct impression that he’d just interrupted a conversation in which he, Fletcher Haskins, was the main topic.

But why the hell would they be talking about him?

“I just threw up, can I take a seat for a second?”

Coach Thornton looked at him but didn’t answer. It was Adam who stepped forward and said, with his big, gleaming, dimpled, perfect smile, “Let’s go get you some electrolytes, dude. Come with me.”

Fletcher looked at the coach, who nodded that it was okay. Wow, Adam Griffith was taking him to get some Gatorade. The coach had probably told him to, but still, that was a really nice thing to do.

Fletcher obediently followed his muscular peer through a side door of the school, heading past the supply closets and a back entrance to the cavernous gym. “Wait here for a second,” Adam ordered, and Fletcher nodded. Adam walked into Coach Thornton’s office – was that allowed? – and headed to the minifridge that sat in a corner. Through the office door’s foot-wide glass pane, Fletcher could see Adam crouch down and…wait, was he unlocking the fridge? Why would a refrigerator have a combination lock on it? And why would Adam know the combo; were he and the coach really that tight?

Adam grabbed a bright blue bottle of sports drink and headed back toward the door before he looked down at the bottle. Fletcher saw Adam tear a piece of masking tape off the bottle. There was something written in black marker on the masking tape, but there was no way Fletcher could see what it said, other than being able to deduce that it was a label of some kind. Adam breezed out of the door, which clicked shut behind him. “C’mon, you can drink this in the locker room, there are benches in there for you to sit.”

Fletcher wanted to rip the bottle out of the veiny hand and guzzle its contents right down. He knew that would be an awful idea, so he didn’t. Adam’s stride was primal, one shoulder moving after the other as he stalked toward the open door of the locker room. After Fletcher had followed him through it, Adam allowed it to close.

“Here you go,” Adam said, casually tossing the bottle to Fletcher, who fumbled with the catch for a few moments before the bottle fell to the floor. Embarrassed, Fletcher bent down to pick up the sports drink he so desperately craved. Trying to maintain some of his dignity, he decided to make a joke out of it. “Can’t believe I just botched a catch in front of the best catcher in the state.”

Adam looked confused. “What?”

“Y’know, you’re the quarterback. You catch…footballs……right?” Oh shit, do quarterbacks not catch the football?

“Oh Christ, you REALLY need this drink.” Adam walked up, practically ripped the lid off the bottle still in Fletcher’s hand, and even began tipping the drink upward before Fletcher brought it to his lips himself.

SO good. Fletcher guzzled down three-quarters of the bottle before he took a breath and licked off the liquid left around his lips.

“You drink like a fucking pussy.”

Fletcher looked at Adam with hurt confusion. He went speechless and suddenly didn’t want to drink anything more. But he was so thirsty. He turned to the side, hiding the bottle slightly and wondering if maybe it was his wrist or something that made him “drink like a pussy,” as Adam had said. He finished off the rest of the drink and as he took the bottle away from his face, he noticed the remains of what looked like an “F” left from the marker bleeding through the tape. F for Fletcher? That didn’t make sense.

“You gonna just sit there like a lameass, or are you going to say thank you?”

“I…thanks, I guess.”

“You guess? Fucking pussy, don’t even know if you’re thankful for something. I’ve met little girls who were more man than you are. Fuckin’ pussy.”

Fletcher’s lip curled. “Stop calling me a fucking pussy.”

“Oh yeah?” Adam smirked defiantly – triumphantly. “What are you gonna do about it, pussy?”

Fletcher leaned a hand on the bench. “I…fuck, I…I dunno, I…” His other hand rubbed against his temple. He winced.

“Feeling it activate? You’ve been waiting a long time for that drink. All that prep, all those supps.”

“Wh-what…”

“You should let it activate, you’re such a pussy, it’s not like you can hold something like that back anyway.”

“STOP.” Fletcher staggered to his feet, and Adam immediately rocketed onto his own, towering over the gangly nerd. “Stop calling me a pussy!”

Adam laughed cruelly and placed two fingers in between Fletcher’s bony chest. “And like I asked, what are you gonna do about it? Fight me? Fucking pussy, I’d kill you.”

“You’re such a…a…fuck! You’re a fuck!”

Adam’s chuckles crescendoed into a genuinely amused laugh. “I’m a what?”

Fletcher’s eyes were blazing with rage now. He’d never seen red like this. Flames seemed to circle his reality. “You’re such a fucking fucker! Fucking dipshit cockyass fucker…” The voice was getting harsher, louder…deeper. “FUCKING FUCKER, CALLING ME A FUCKING PUSSY!” And, without thinking, Fletcher balled his hand into a fist and hooked it toward Adam’s face. The jock didn’t flinch. Adam’s palm stopped the fist and crunched it back into the wall. Fletcher squealed in pain.

“There’s a little aggression,” Adam purred. “How about more where that came from, you little weakling?”

“Fucking cocksucker, I’m no pussy, I…mmmmrggghhhh, I, I, I, I, nnggrrraaaahhhhhhhh!” Fletcher buried his head in his hands and screamed, not a high-pitched shriek, but more of a roar. “GRAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

“Take it like a man,” Adam said, slapping the back of Fletcher’s red head. “Or are you not a man?”

The head snapped up, eyes now heavy and sleepy, as if Fletcher was stoned to high heaven. “I’m a fuckin’ man,” he retorted, but it didn’t sound like he meant it.

“Oh yeah? I think I’m a fuckin’ man,” Adam smirked, bobbing his pecs up and down, causing ripples all over his tank. The straps groaned from the weight shifting. “Where’s your chest if you’re such a man?”

“I…” Fletcher was finding it so hard to talk. “I have…chest.”

“Oh yeah, girlie boy? Then where is it?”

Fletcher grit his teeth together and flexed his chest with all his might, groaning like a man benching 700 pounds. “Grrrrrrrruuuhhhhh…” Adam smiled when he saw two tiny shapes suddenly push against Fletcher’s t-shirt. “That’s a pretty weak chest, pussy…matches the rest of you.”

Something snapped. Fletcher stood up and roared, the tendons in his neck standing out, his face going as red as a fire truck. His fists were clenched and caused veins to run up his forearms…then along his biceps, then through his shoulders…

Adam heard the guttural yell getting deeper, and suddenly Fletcher’s voice cracked and dropped a solid octave. A giant wet spot appeared in the nerd’s jeans, and Adam laughed at it. “Just cum in your draws, my man?”

Fletcher didn’t answer. He was still yelling himself hoarse. And as he did, every muscle in his body seemed to flex, and then tense and vibrate and grow. Biceps blew out of his arms. His chest filled in and started to tear his crewneck. His thighs touched for the first time, his calves filled up his pant legs. There was a crack as his shoulders broadened, and the yelling stopped as Fletcher squealed in pain, like a wounded puppy.

The changing nerd dropped to the bench and felt his firm ass for the first time, like a built-in seat cushion. Exhausted, sweat pooled on the floor in front of him as he huffed out open-mouthed breaths, his enlarging shoulders shaking. His eyes stared emptily at the puddle of sweat in between his legs. “Huh, huh, huh, huh…”

Fletcher’s head fell back against the lockers as he felt his body swelling out of his clothes. He looked down with his eyeballs, unable to control his neck, and saw his sleeve tearing from the mass of his biceps. Then his chest really started to bulk up, and his shirt was tearing more and more, shredding now as his back came in, and Fletcher just wanted to breathe, to understand, understand how he could grow a back like Adam’s – bigger than Adam’s – in a few seconds, understand why the hands resting on his knees were so huge now.

Adam watched the red hair shifting colors, as if the sun were shining brightly on it. The honey-streaked blond on Fletcher’s head looked so much better than those carroty curls. As his hair lightened, his skin darkened, turning the formerly pasty nerd whom the sun had exhausted into a man of the outdoors. “You’re looking good, bro, looking real meaty and manly, like you should look.”

Fletcher smiled. Sweat poured into his open mouth.

“You need to work your upper pecs more, keep your chest from looking like tits.”

Fletcher felt the now familiar anger and flexed. Muscle grew out farther from Fletcher’s collarbone, creating a beefy pair of square pectorals, chiseled from marble.

“Oh, and your shoulders, work on the traps more, need to keep that neck safe.”

There was something inside of him. A desire to please, to conform, to be exactly what Adam wanted him to be. Two hulking trapezoid muscles bulged out from Fletcher’s thick neck.

Adam was having too much fun. “That ass needs to be a fucking engine for your line of work.”

Obediently, Fletcher let his already-bubbly butt swell into a giant booty, splitting the seam of his jeans. As if they were connected, the zipper of his fly started to break from his penis growing longer and larger, the way a real man should be hung.

“Too bad you got that beta face, real alphas look-“

“Nnnnrggghhhh,” Fletcher interrupted, as his head squared off, with a massive jaw that looked stolen from an artist’s pen. His soft, saccharine face hardened into a tough maw. The fuzzy eyebrows arched into the most intimidating of stares. The lopsided mouth straightened into a solid, terse line, and the new jock’s chin grew out into a boxy cliff. Even his forehead had flattened, letting the brow ledge jut out over deeply-placed eyes.

“Aw, yeah, there it is. That’s a jock face, man. Fuckin’ alpha. I love how you can tell a dude’s a jock just with his face, that big jaw and the forehead and all that shit.” Adam smiled when Fletcher smiled. The nerd – what was left of him – breathed in and out through his mouth, panting desperately, his dim eyes staring straight at Adam. Fletcher wanted to say something, Adam could tell. His lips were moving the tiniest bit, trying to form the beginning of a word.

“Whuh…whuh-whuh-what…hah…happ…”

“What happened to you?” Adam finished the question. “You decided you didn’t want to be a pansy-ass little dickweed anymore.”

Fletcher’s hazy grin went from ear-to-ear. “Nahhhh.” He slumped forward, utterly exhausted, cock still leaking into his pants. One thick arm dangled between his knees, the other cradled his chin, which ached from the growth of bone.

“What, you think you’re done now? Guess you still are a pussy, deep down,” Adam needled, his voice not as cruel anymore, but he was still staying that word. In the haze of his cracked-out mind, Fletcher realized that two words were being repeated a lot, ‘pussy’ and ‘work,’ and he thought maybe they were, like, trigger words, because when Adam called him a pussy, he instinctively reared up and his eyes flashed all angrily, even though he was too tired to stand or say anything, and he felt his body aching, both from growth and from the desire to grow more.

“Ahhh, that got your attention,” Adam grinned. “But it’ll still take a lot of work before you hit 210. You’re probably gonna plateau at 200 because you’ll build your body up but you’re not enough of a jock to live that life, you’ll always be a pussy nerd, even with a halfway-decent body.”

Fletcher shook his big, meaty head vigorously, disagreeing with the assessment. He was only 6’1”, he could hit 210, he could hit 210 easy. Just had to work on his chest and shoulders, and his legs…

The muscles he saw in his mind began to match the muscles on his chiseled body. The crests grew out, the slopes deepened. Fletcher tiredly curled his arm upward and watched the last intact piece of his sleeve shred down the center, a big baseball of a bicep knotting itself onto the bone, all veiny and pumped. His thighs rubbed together painfully, his back was sore.

“Oh, okay, you lucked out, pussy,” Adam said calmly. “Guess your genes are better than I thought. But 220, that’d take some serious ethic…I mean…WORK ethic.”

Adam watched the outsized muscles in front of him swell even bigger. Chest was getting BIG now, not just big for a high school kid, but big for any man. Heavy, cumbersome pecs that could pull a man down if he didn’t have the back to hold them up. Good thing Fletcher’s back was as wide as about three lockers now, although his waist looked impossibly small. As his legs cramped up, Fletcher tried to stand, anything to alleviate the pain, but he couldn’t find the strength. He was frustrated with how weak he was. He was so big but so weak. Fletcher clenched his fists and released, clenched and released, clench, release, over and over, feeling the blood pump into his arms. Hands. Big. Big hands. Manly. Fletcher. Man.

In Fletcher’s empty head, Adam’s words seemed to vibrate and bounce around like an echo. He didn’t want to listen, but he heard every word. “You look good at 220, bro, but I mean, I’m 225, and that’s about as big as I can go ‘cause I’m the QB. You gotta be bigger. People will think you’re a pussy if you don’t work to be at least 230.”

Fletcher released a low, guttural moan as more cum poured onto the floor, mixing with his sweat. The muscles were just vanity, now. His arms plumped into extreme mass, his chest so big that he felt like he was standing on top of a mountain when he looked over it. He could see it peripherally. Fletcher didn’t want to sit, so he leaned his back – the shockingly huge back – against the locker and sweat streamed down the metal from it, like a waterfall.

“Fuck, dude, you’re such a jock. Bigass head, bigass body. 230 is awesome, I wonder how you’d look at 240? Not like anyone will ever confuse you for some pussy named Fletcher, but with your hard work, I think 240 would be a breeze.”

It was a good thing that the former Fletcher’s feet had cracked many sizes larger, because otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to hold up the precipitous mass of the confused jock. He wobbled on his tree-trunk legs, quads and hamstrings jiggling like jello. The strengthening of his core made it look like his stomach was only abdominals, and when Adam smashed his fist directly into it, the meathead didn’t even react. He just stood there and began to laugh, a high giggle at first that dissolved into a bassly chuckle, “Heh heh heh heh,” as he happily spurted shots of cum onto his stomach. The grooves of his abs looked like an irrigation system as the cum disappeared into them.

Adam got lazy and just said it. “Pussy work. 250.”

Big pink nipples stretched out into the size of Oreos as the meathead’s chest grew even more. His delts swelled as big as his square head, his arms just as large. Fletcher stared emptily into space as he cracked wider and bigger and stronger, the air reeking of sweat and cum, his flaring nostrils filling with the scent.

“Oh noooo,” Adam said in a syrupy-sweet tone. “You’re so big it’s kinda impractical. But you have to stay at 250, it’s good that you’re that fucking huge, you ain’t no pussy…just gotta work to cut out some of that fat.”

“OOOOOOGH,” the new jock squealed, his balls tensing as his body fat plummeted, the cuts in his muscles so deep they looked almost painful. Adam didn’t know it was possible for triceps to stick out so far that the edges were visible from the front. Or for a chest to be that big, pecs so large that Adam wondered if the jock could even raise his arms in front.