Doug Goes Out for Football

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By the second week of school, Doug was bored. He decided join the football team just to give himself something to do. He went down to the coach's office, and found the head coach at his desk, doing paperwork. "What is it?" grunted the coach, without looking up.

"I wanna play football," said Doug. His voice was already an octave deeper than any other kid in the school, which caught the coach's attention. "The season's already started, boy, you've missed two months of practice," said Coach Dalton, looking up. He could tell even through the baggy clothes that this was one solid kid. "What year are you?"

"Freshman," answered Doug.

"The freshman squad is already full, kid. Come back next year"

"I'd be playing varsity," said Doug flatly.

"Oh, you would, would you?" said the coach, impatiently. He picked up the file on his desk, stood, and turned to put it in the filing cabinet behind him. As he did, Doug stripped off his shirt, so that when the coach turned back, what he saw was the most heavily muscled kid he'd ever seen in his twelve years of coaching. Doug saw the coach scanning his torso, so he rolled his striated pecs casually, then clenched his deeply grooved 8pac abs hard and slow, each steel-hard ab standing out in freakish definition.

"How about now?" asked Doug. The coach had backed up against the filing cabinet for support. And then Doug realized something for the first time in his life. Adults could be intimidated by his body. This was different than his dad or the other kids. This was a full-grown adult man who was clearly shaken by Doug's superior muscularity. And Doug liked it.

The coach regained his composure quickly, though, and said," I can't just have you walk onto the team now, bud. The other guy's have worked hard for months getting in shape, getting the plays down. How would that look?"

With that, Doug noticed the smoke detector on the office ceiling. He crouched slightly, and then, with a powerful thrust, launched his left leg up high, and with a high-speed overhead roundhouse kick, blasted the smoke detector into pieces with his foot. Then he pivoted back down, landing solid as a mountain lion. He stood there smirking, his tight musclebody glistening.

The coach realized what he had standing before him was what all coaches dream of... a superjock kid. Intensely, powerfully muscled, and lightning reflexes. Still, he felt obligated to play by the rules.

"How about I start you on the freshman team, and we see how you do?" he said.

"How about I armwrestle you for it, coach," said Doug. "You win, I play freshman ball. I win, I play varsity."

Now I've got you, thought the coach. Coach Dalton was an avid armwrester, competing each year in the northeastern regionals, where he had taken 1st place in the heavyweight division the last 6 years in a row. The coach weighed in at a burly 235lbs and kept himself in excellent shape.

"Ok, boy, you're on," he said. He swiped away the stuff on his desk. Then he rolled up the sleeve of his tight polo shirt, exposing his thick beefy arm. He put his elbow on the desk, and flexed his fist open and shut a few times.

"Let's go," said the coach.

Doug stepped up and put his elbow on the desk, too. His rockhard teen bicep bunched up into the size and shape of a used softball. The skin over his arm was tight and thin as saran wrap. He'd never felt so pumped up. He was gonna teach the coach a new lesson in Power. He clenched his fist and rotated it downward, causing the muscles in his thick forearm to ripple and striate like bridge cables, and the veins showed thru like an overdeveloped road map.

"You say go, old man," said Doug.

"GO!" said the coach, and they went at it. The first lurch went to the coach, with his superior technique. Doug was surprised to find that his arm was headed down as the coach worked his wrist hard. But then Doug put his years of intense grip-work into action, crushing down on the coach's big beefy hand. The skin of the coach's hand turned white where Doug's powerful fingers pressed in deep, and Doug began to gain ground, forcing their arms back to the starting point. The veins on the coach's neck and forehead bulged out as he strained.

"That all you got?" said Doug, smiling. "Cause I got alot more."

Doug's biceps and forearm were swelling up huge, ballooning with musclepower. He knew he had more strength than the coach. A lot more. Slowly, he began to take the coach down. Down. Down...till his hand was half an inch from the desktop.

"YEHHHHH," growled Doug. He pulled their hands back up to the top, then SLAMMED the coach down hard onto the desk. Doug felt unbelievably strong. And he was raging with the power of taking down the bigger, older man.

"How about best two outta three?" said Doug, refusing to unleash his hand from the coach's. Doug lifted their arms back to the top.The coach tried valiantly to resist, but this time Doug took him down fast, and even harder, bruising the knuckles of the coach's hand with the force of it.

"Looks like you lose, coach, but what the hell, lets finish the third,"said Doug. He lifted the coach's limp arm back up one more time, this time slamming him down so hard, he actually cracked the thick oaken desktop. "You're like a girl next to this arm, coach," said Doug.Releasing his grip from the coach's hand, he hit a bicep shot. His brutally powerful bicep peaked out impossibly high, and his forearms would have made Popeye's look scrawny.

"Yeahhhh," said Doug proudly. "Guess I'll see you at the game, coach."

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