High School Development 2 (hs mast musc AP)
by Aardvark
(c) Aardvark 2004. Enjoy, and give me feedback, comments, suggestions, whatever!
To call Owen’s morning traumatic was an understatement. Almost all his possessions were replaced or new – a new wardrobe, a new cell phone, a new car. He had grown four inches, and gained about fifteen pounds of sheer muscle, overnight. His mohawk had disappeared, replaced by a layered, jocky cut down around his ears.
The cell rang, blasting out a bass-heavy ringtone that would wake the dead. Owen quickly flipped it open to avoid attracting his parents.
“Hello?” Silence on the other end, but he heard someone breathing. “Logan? Logan, is that you?”
A slight pause, and then, “…yeah. Yeah, it’s me. I’m seriously tripping here. Like, everything’s… different. My parents, my clothes, everything. Even I’m different.
The last three words sent a chill down Owen’s spine. “Oh, shit, it isn’t just me… I thought I was dreaming. Same here – it’s like…like I have a new life or something. Just like you.”
“Yeah, I can tell by your voice.”
“I have a football game today. Dad kept talking about it and how proud he was of me and stuff. I have to get out of it.”
“Really? My Dad kept talking about my football game, too. I’ll call Coach.”
Owen looked around his room, absent-mindedly twirling a pen in his fingers. “Yeah, well, okay. I’ll talk to you later and we can figure this out.”
“’kay. Bye.” Logan hung up.
Owen shut his phone and stopped dead. He’d just woke up with this phone today, never having seen or used it before.
How had Logan known his number?
Logan pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, size small to showcase his lithe but gym-trained physique. Deciding to explore his new belongings, he opened his gym bag.
Greeting his eyes was a two-month-old issue of Maxim, lubricant, a football, a #44 jersey with MCBRIDE written across the back, car keys and a bag of white dust.
His eyes widened at sight of the last item, and he pulled it out of his bag. This was cocaine, no doubt about it. Pure coke. He reached in and ran it through his fingers; it was fine and smooth, and he realized that what they had snorted the previous night was definitely not cocaine. What had it been, then…?
He decided not to dwell on it, after all, they’d already snorted it, It wasn’t like it could be removed. He held the bag of coke in his hands. Why throw it away? It helped get him ready for a game.
He stuffed it back in his bag, threw away the Maxim (he had the new issue by now), and pulled out the car keys and hit the panic button. Loud, not-so-rhythmic noises resounded below him, and he ran down to the garage. In place of their old minivan and station wagon were two Porsche convertibles, one blue and one silver. The blue Porsche was honking and flashing its lights. Logan shut off the alarm and caught sight of the license plate: LOGAN 44.
Owen called the football coach, feigning a 24-hour flu bug. The coach griped about needing Owen for “the big one” but eventually gave in.
The day went by in a blur. Uncovering his new life was like a kindergarten treasure hunt--a parade of ex-girlfriends, enemies, and friends. He had a black Cadillac Escalade that he eventually discovered his parents had bought for him as a gift for being starting quarterback, and his whole house was overflowing with trophies and first-place ribbons for every athletic event in the city. He wasn’t minding being a jock as much as he had before.
Owen walked back up to his room, which seemed bigger than it had before. If he was going to go to school on Monday, he had to make sure his clothes fit. He took off his baggy t-shirt and jeans, rummaging through his drawers until he found a tight pair of boxer briefs and a silver tank top, cut perfectly to highlight his physique. He slipped on the boxer briefs, the fine fabric highlighting his maturing dick, and then put on the sleeveless top.
He looked good. He licked his lips at his attractive reflection. The tank top seemed a little loose around the shoulders and chest, as if he wasn’t developed enough to fill it out, but he knew he’d be up to the task soon. His fingers ran over his chest, lightly-defined pecs and abs. He flexed his arm. His bicep wasn’t big enough, he’d have to work on that. His hands worked their way down to his crotch, which sprang to attention at their touch. He moaned, stumbled backward and fell onto his bed, gyrating ferociously, moaning like an animal in heat. He was so hot… and he was going to become hotter.
Owen shut his eyes and began to drool, his throbbing dick hard as a rock and eight inches long. He could feel it thickening in his hand, becoming wider, longer, until it was at ten inches. He loved the changes to his body, his subconscious welcomed them, but he didn’t ever register them in his mind… ever since he was little, he knew he’d been raised to be the city’s best football player, and to be the city’s best football player, you had to be super popular. To be super popular, you needed to be amazing in bed.
His legs kicked out and his torso gyrated into the bed, up and down, up and down, over and over. His feet kicked out over the edge of the bed, his calves and thighs swelling. He could the feel the sheets beginning to get damp.
The tank top began to get tighter, his nipples hard and sticking out against the fabric, his pecs swelling, his abs firming up. He was almost there.
He moaned louder, and louder, and louder, until he was to the point of orgasm. He didn’t care who heard. His parents wanted him to have a good life, didn’t they? He deserved it…
“Feels… so… good… AHHHH…”
His eyes fluttered open and shut, then stayed closed, and Owen drifted off to sleep, totally exhausted. Even in sleep, however, he continued his session, his body swelling…
Owen was awakened by his phone ringing but reached it too late, and the caller hung up. He ran his fingers through his dirty hair and massaged his aching cock. The poor little guy had gotten quite a workout, but he was still horny as hell. Man, he loved sex.
He looked at himself in the mirror, his buck naked body caked with moisture. Wide, looming shoulders the size of bread loaves, eight-pack abs, two round pecs glittering with sweat, an eleven-inch cock that could satisfy the whole pom squad. And there it was, his present to himself after winning state, a tattoo of an “O” around his belly button, circling it perfectly in a medieval, black font.
He needed a shave; the two-day-old stubble poked out of his face and sounded like sandpaper when he ran his fingers over it. What had he been doing that day that he had forgotten to shave… his mind searched for what he had been up to, and he remembered nothing.
The stirring of sheets alarmed him, and he spun around to see an attractive blonde girl--and she was just that, no more than seventeen, at least a year younger than he was--waking up and pulling the sheets to cover her breasts.
“Hey, baby.” Her voice was high and peppy, like a cheerleader’s. Owen’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, and the day’s events came rushing to him. Her big blue bedroom eyes attracted him instantly, and he hopped back into bed. She grinned. “Last night was amazing. Did I warm you up for that big game next weekend?”
He grinned. “Oh, yeah.” He half-recalled that deep down, he was a fourteen-year-old freshman, but his body was that of a senior jock, and he liked it more. Plus, this was one sexy girl. He grabbed her, his large hands and rippling biceps easily pulling her against his body, and they kissed, passionately, until she broke it for air, giggling. “Wait a little longer, honey, I’m worn out!” She rubbed his chest, kissed his pectorals, then moved up to his shoulders, then his thick neck, until she was licking his unshaven face. “Mmmm, I love your whiskers.”
Owen grinned. “Really? I was just about to shave. I’ll shave it, and let it grow back for the game, just for you.” He smiled, and she smiled back. She had a great smile and cute dimples. He needed to find out her name.
The opportunity came in the form of her cell phone ringing. She picked it up, her face going pale at the display. “Oh, shit, it’s my Dad.” She answered anyway, delivering an innocent, not-very-convincing “Hi, Daddy!”
Owen listened to her side of the conversation. “Yeah, I’m with Owen… hm? Oh, no, we’re not at his house, we’re at Starbucks. Are you and Mom going to a movie? Oh. Yeah, I’ll be home soon, Daddy. Of course I’m being a good girl!”
She hung up the phone and turned to Owen, rolling her eyes. “'Be home by midnight, Brittany! Be a good girl, Brittany!’ They’re always on my case. I guess I should go, then.” Her eyes gleamed mischeviously. “But I had fun tonight!”
He laughed inside. He should’ve known her name would be Brittany.
She rolled out of bed and pulled on a top that showcased her considerable assets, pulled on some jeans and grabbed her keys. She blew a kiss, cooed a flirtatious “Same time tomorrow?” and was out the door.