The Clifton Jocks 2

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Daxton Abus Farmsworth was special. He just knew it, he could always feel it inside himself. He was different than everyone else, special, superior. He was such a conundrum, a confusing mix of light and dark amid a wash of stoic exterior. That's why he told everyone to call him Knight; it drew attention to his dual nature. Strong, yet deep, he knew he was the envy of everyone. At 5'10”, he was of genuinely average height, and his 160 pounds put him at a fairly average weight. But the physical normality didn't stop Knight. No, no, he was determined to make sure everyone knew just how different he was, that he wasn't like the other kids at school. He was a gem.

Daxton had just moved to this country-ass town to live with a distant aunt and uncle. The Knight changed schools almost every year. He was so special that he couldn't stay in one place for long. Never mind that at this point he was being shuffled between his most obscure relatives, each waiting for the day he was legally his own damn responsibility. Clifton wasn't his ideal town - a little too "Leave it to Beaver" for his taste. But it was a new place to show the world how much better he was than everyone else.

He was late the first day. His aunt hadn't woken him up, apparently she thought he needed sleep. He got dressed in his usual uniform: first, a pair of boxers with a guitar or some movie quote on them; he had tons of pairs of different boxers. Then black jeans or maybe cords, certainly none of the blue jeans kids normally wore. That would be too common for Knight. The last part was his favorite. He had a plethora of t-shirts, each one different from the last. They weren't plain or filled with some crappy company logo, no. His shirts really expressed who he was, what he was thinking. Knight always wanted to show how different he was.

He selected his newest, "How do I block you in real life?" He had found it online, and it perfectly expressed his disdain for people. They were so ordinary: conforming little drones. Why didn't they want to be more like Knight? He didn't even bother styling his hair. A curly mass of unkempt brown hair perfectly highlighted his aversion to codes and rules. He was his own man. Besides, mirrors never really did him justice. His brown eyes, medium sized nose, and mildly square jaw made him look…plain. But that wasn't who Knight was. Knight wasn't concerned with society’s opinions about looks and bodies. He was his own man, and maybe he looked plain, but he certainly didn’t have a plain mind.

Oddly, the first day went by fine. Physical education was required for all students, which seemed a little odd, but even Knight had heard of the obesity problem. Country Clifton wanted to be ahead of the curve on something. There was a pep rally first day to cheer for the jocks. Some girl commented that this town was supposed to be hot guy central and Knight was annoyed that she was so superficial. Still, when Adam, first-man-top-jock, walked in, even Knight had a moment’s hesitation. Adam was more muscular than most teenagers, and Knight had seen a lot of jocks since this was his fourth high school in four years. But none could have competed with this slab of jocky muscle in khakis and a letterman’s jacket. Knight made a mental note that khakis wouldn't be acceptable to him at this school. The other jocks in the front wore them too and made them too commonplace.

He had a pretty average schedule: math, history, science, English, phys ed, and a music elective. Knight wasn't big on music but it gave him more chances to express himself than other classes.

And boy, Knight loved expressing himself.

The whole day was going really well. No one had fixated on Knight and he didn't cause any problems.

Then came math class.

It was a classic behavior pattern for Knight: a sort of pissing contest between him and the world. And since the world at Clifton High seemed likely to revolve around Adam, that was who he needed to piss on.


Mr. Umar Kazmi usually surprised people. It was the name. He was born in Pakistan, but raised in the US, and was just about the most "All-American" that someone could be. He was a jovial sort of fellow, with a big smile and big, big arms. And really large legs. He had played football in high school and joined the crew team in college, and now he was teaching math in Clifton. One of his favorite parts about teaching high school math was the varying levels of students. He had sophomores who were way above the curve, mixed with seniors who needed to pass in order to graduate, so he always tried to make the class instructive but useful.

"One thing we'll talk about this semester," Mr. Kazmi began, "is one of my favorite topics and one of the earliest. Cost-benefit analysis. Oh, there won't be any real analysis and I won't make it difficult. I just want to all to have an understanding of gains versus expenses. It's balancing a checkbook. People way overspend and it costs a lot of money."

"You mean like the money wasted on the huge football stadium?" Knight shouted from the back row. Mr. Kazmi's mouth immediately pursed together a bit. A couple of the jocks were in the class, specifically Adam, and turned to glare at him from the front row.

"Say what?" Adam asked.

"I said the school way overspends on football. That stadium's a monster, must have cost tax payers a lot of cash." Knight could feel the tension rising, feel everyone's eyes turning to him. He smirked inwardly.

"Actually, Mister…” Mr. Kazmi glanced at the roll sheet that included pictures. Daxton ‘Knight’ Farmsworth stood out with the mop of frizzy brown hair. “…Farmsworth, is it?"

Knight became annoyed but didn’t allow it to register on his face. "I go by Knight."

"Oh, do you?" Mr. Kazmi drew out the words, giving himself a moment to calm down. Attacks on the football team still felt personal, and since high school Umar had taken great delight in the upcoming debate.

"Actually…Knight," Mr. Kazmi punctuated the name intently with a small smile. "The Clifton Spartans football team is a profitable program. You know what profitable means, right? Yes, the stadium cost money. Money the program had already generated from donations, ticket sales, and fundraisers. In fact, the surplus of funds from the football team are what allow the school to offer arts programs despite the state budget cuts."

Mr. Kazmi smiled at Knight, whose eyes were glancing around desperately piecing together what his teacher had just said. Adam let out a big deep laugh in the front. Umar wasn't sure if the other jocks had understood, but they laughed when Adam did. The jocks turned around to the front, content with Mr. Kazmi's routing of the opponent.

Knight's brain was churning. He was fucking pissed that this foreign asshole had just called him out in front of everyone! Making him look like a fool. The guy was probably making all the shit up too, just to take attention away from Knight.

Kazmi turned his attention away from Knight and was returning to the syllabus and the direction the course would be taking this semester. The jocks had turned their attention back to Mr. Kazmi along with the rest of the students. Knight was left all alone in the back, his brain sputtering uselessly against the verbal beat down. Something had to be done.

“That’s bullshit!” Knight suddenly yelled out, running out of arguments. Umar, who had been writing on the board, let out a gentle sigh and turned around. He had been expecting this. After a few years, every teacher could just sense these kids. The little stars of their own world. He had hoped that it wasn’t going to be like this, he always hoped that he had read a kid wrong. But yet again, he’d gotten it right.

He got two words out. “Mr. Farmsworth-”

“Knight! It’s fucking Knight, like in-shining-armor knight, like the fucking sky- Knight!” Knight had risen out of his chair and was standing as the words poured out of his mouth. The energy of the yelling caused his body to heave up and down. The kids in the class were wide-eyed. Some stared, some laughed, a few just rolled their eyes and ignored him. The football players looked pissed except for Adam, who gave him a look that adults gave him. The “oh, kids” look. It really bore into Knight that this uber-jock didn’t even think of him on the same level, didn’t even consider him an equal. He was just some dumb child to the football player.

“Knight,” Mr. Kazmi said, addressing the class while keeping his eyes on the student, “go to the principal’s office.”

“Fuck no!”

“Okay, are you finished interrupting, then?” The room was quiet at the challenge.

Knight just stood, sputtering, suddenly feeling rather exposed and abused. He didn’t understand why people would treat him this way, why they were out to get him. It wasn’t his fault that they didn’t understand him. Huffing and puffing, Knight grabbed his bag and trotted towards the door.

“Fuck this,” he spat as he headed out, before he heard Mr. Kazmi’s deep voice again:

“Mr. Griffith, could you escort Mr. Farmsworth?”

That stopped Knight in his tracks, his eyes wide with horror at the directive.

“Sure thing, Mr. Kazmi,” Adam said, standing up from his desk with a noticeable smirk. The jock nudged Knight on the shoulder and closed the door behind them both.

Walking down the hall, Knight was pissed and slightly fearful that, since they were alone, Adam might try something with him. Knight was pretty sure he could pull some ninjitsu on the bigger man, but it would still be quite a fight. Adam didn’t say anything while walking quickly towards the principal’s office. He just walked, with his chest proudly out and his shoulders rolling. The smirk on his face wouldn’t go away.

“Kazmi thinks I’m some sort of genius; I need an escort or else I’ll just run away I guess,” Knight finally said, nervous from the silence.

Adam didn’t even look over at his charge while he spoke. “You’re new. I bet he just wasn’t sure that you knew where the office was.”

Knight mentally brushed off the comment. Surely Kazmi thought Knight was special or he wouldn’t have made the football star ensure Knight’s obedience. You only send your best to deal with the best after all. Lost in thought, he didn’t realize they were standing in front of the office. Adam hesitated a moment and looked at Knight. Finally, he just shrugged his shoulders.

“Here we are,” Knight snapped out of his self-exalting thoughts to notice where they were. “See you tomorrow, I guess,” Adam said, pivoting around and heading back to class. Knight went inside the office, and Powers’ secretary sent him back immediately. He shuffled through the doors and found Powers sitting at his desk, reading over some papers. When Knight walked in, Powers looked up and gave him an almost confused smile. The secretary had followed and closed the door behind Knight.

“Daxton, take a seat,” Powers ordered. Knight sunk into the armchair. He was torn between his desire to look confident and the fact that he was actually quite scared. Here he was, in the principal’s office, on the first day of school. This didn’t bode well for the rest of the year.

“I go by Knight.”
The correction was ignored. “Mr. Kazmi already called me to let me know what happened.”
“It happened. So?”
“So, want to talk about it?”
“Are you a therapist?”
“No, I’m your principal.”
“My fucking pal?”
A big sigh. “No, Mr. Farmsworth.”
Powers released an even bigger sigh. “Okay. Knight. I think it’s fair to say that no fucking will go on between us.”
“That…what? That’s not what I meant.”
“It was a joke, Daxton.”

That really confused him. What was this douchebag doing, trying to level with him? Make him think he was his friend? Probably just trying to fuck with his mind. Or maybe he saw how awesome Knight was, maybe, like, he was talking to Knight because he could tell just how freaking special he was.

“Dax…Knight. Each year, the school is a little different. We always have new students who are from new places and bring new experiences. It’s a better experience if we can get along. Do you understand?”
“No, I didn’t fight with anyone. I shouldn’t even be here. I’m getting singled out.”
“You yelled at Mr. Kazmi.”
“‘cause he was shitting on me!”
“He corrected you. It wasn’t an attack. He wanted to educate you.”
“He wanted me to look like a fool.”

Powers put his elbows on his desk and began rubbing his temples. “Knight, the whole world isn’t out to get you. In fact, most of us became teachers because we want to help, to be there for you. I know you’ve had some bad school experiences in the past, but I’d like this year to be different for you.”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“Well, I know you’ve gotten into fights at other schools and been suspended-”
“Not my fault! Those asshats just had to take me on.”
“Knight, I don’t care,” Powers snapped. “I really don’t. All I want is for you to finish the year and live a happy, normal life.”
“What if I don’t want a normal life?”
“Knight, I’m not trying to be confrontational.”
“Yes you are!”
“No, YOU are. You are the confrontational one. I’d love to see you get involved, make some friends, have fun. Did you ever think of joining the football team? It’s a great experience for young men, you’d get to meet other guys.”
“Fucking jock assholes treat me like dirt because I’m better than them.”

Powers didn’t actually have a response to that. He just started at the kid, an average little man with a huge ego and big disconnect from reality.

“Knight, I want you to be happy. All I’m trying to do is help you. As I said, all the teachers here are.”
“Losers who couldn’t leave high school.”
“Young man,” Powers said, in an even tone that offset his swiftly reddening face. “I can only help you as much as you help yourself. Don’t yell or curse at your teachers again, do you understand me?”
“Whatever, yeah.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Farmsworth. You’ve missed the rest of Umar’s class, so go ahead to your next period.”
“Yeah, okay.” And with that, Knight schlupped out of the office, leaving Powers to his papers. The principal shook his head and puffed his cheeks out with a big exhale. Then he turned his attention back to his work.


Mr. Grant had just begun his teachings on the history book’s first chapter when one of those weird kids – the ones who wore black and smoked like chimneys just off school property – burst into his room. Grant had never seen the creep before.

“Hello. Are you in this class?”

“Guess so.” Knight took a seat in the back, the only one that was left. He felt a gaze burning the right side of his face and looked over to see a hulking jarheaded jock in a letter jacket, staring at him with supreme indignation. Knight’s lip curled up in a sneer, and the jock – Stone Price – mimicked the expression. Knight was unfazed and forced a mocking laugh, but he didn’t like it when Stone did the same.

“What’s your name?”

Knight realized the teacher was addressing him. “Name’s Knight.”

“That’s not what it says by your picture.”

“It’s what I am. My name is Knight,” Knight responded with an angry edge to his tone. Mr. Grant smiled, to his students’ surprise, and merely ticked off the attendance box.

“This would be a good time to mention,” the teacher continued, in a voice that indicated he was speaking to the whole class, “that we’re adding a new history class next week once we get the curriculum worked out. It is just as comprehensive as this course but will move at a slower pace, for the students who have a genuine interest in history but find our current classes a bit too overwhelming. Anyone can transfer without penalty.”

“Will there be less homework?” Stone’s voice rumbled through the classroom, the heavy bass smacking into Knight’s ears. Knight rolled his eyes at the sound of it.

“I can’t say that I know. I’m not the teacher.”

“Who’s the teacher?” Slade, sitting next to his best bro, had entered the conversation.

“That is undecided, although at this point I can’t conjecture, as all the current history teachers already have full schedules.”

“But wait, didn’t you say you’re…not gonna teach it?” Slade clearly did not know the meaning of the word ‘conjecture.’

But he did know the meaning of the laughter he heard coming from two seats down, and he exploded out of his chair, his enormous muscles pumping up inside his shirt as he heard someone mocking him. “SOMETHING FUNNY, LITTLE FUCKER?!”

Stone half-stood and placed a big hand on Slade’s puffed-up chest. “Save it for the field, dude, we can’t get suspended,” he whispered, but Grant was within earshot. “I’d follow Mr. Price’s advice, Mr. Haskins, and reserve your aggression for someone more worthy.”

At this point, Knight realized that he too had been insulted, and the question-mark curve of his spine – the position it seemed permanently lodged in – immediately straightened into an exclamation point. Sitting ramrod straight, he met eyes with Slade, whose square jaw was locked in full rage mode. Knight would have smirked, but he was too angry with Mr. Grant to bother antagonizing Slade further. He didn’t react when Slade bit his teeth together, one last gesture of fury. “You ain’t worth it,” Slade growled.

As the class wore on, Knight kept trying to slouch in his seat, but it felt funny. The straight line of his spine was surprisingly comfortable. No wonder all the authority figures were always telling him to straighten up – it felt better. Maybe some people really WERE looking out for him.

He hated this class – and all classes, and everybody, and everything. He hated those two dumb blond football dipshits next to him a lot more than Mr. Grant, though. Grant was just makin’ a buck, just like everyone else. Knight had to admit that he found some of what Grant was saying to be kind of interesting, but he didn’t want to look like he was paying attention, he had an image to keep up, so he moved his butt lower in the seat while still keeping his spine uncurved, and consequently he had to look at the ceiling. It was perfect – he could listen to old Grant without anyone ever knowing.


“Need the usual,” Knight grunted to Dwayne, a dark-eyed, wiry young man who stood behind the counter of the gas station. Hook-nosed, with a dried nest of black hair, Dwayne had one of those faces that mothers called “unique,” but Knight liked that. They had met having a smoke in between DJ sets outside of the one bar that allowed Knight inside. During a discussion of how shitty the music was – no one actually DJed anymore, they just put their fuckin’ iTunes on shuffle - Knight had discovered that Dwayne worked at the 7-Eleven, and soon it was established that Dwayne was willing to sell cigs to underage kids. Gone were the days where Knight had to ply people with commissions in order to get his fix. They struck up a pseudo-friendship. Despite being based solely on their shared negativities, it was as close to a real relationship as Knight had or desired.

“’The usual’ is sold out,” Dwayne said as he rummaged behind the counter for a trashcan liner. “Guy came in this morning and bought every single pack of Luckies.”

“Are you fucking serious? Any Cloves?”

Dwayne stood up, looking quite serious indeed, and shook his head. “Look.”

Knight followed Dwayne to the other side of the circular counter, where the cigarettes were kept.

The plastic-covered case was completely empty. “He bought every single cigarette that we had.”

Knight smashed his fist into the counter. “The fuck am I supposed to do?! I need a smoke, man, you got any I can bum?”

“Just at my house. It was really weird, actually,” Dwayne said, a strange look coming over his face. “This huge muscle guy came in – that’s not the weird part,” he said, seeing Knight’s expression. Muscle guys were par for the course in Clifton. Dwayne had dropped out of school in ninth grade and had seen a ton of “muscle guys” in his days. “But I’ve never had a big muscle guy buy smokes, they’re usually all into that health shit. Anyway, he looks around, makes sure the place is empty. I knew he wasn’t gonna rob me, he was too clean-cut looking, but he definitely cased us. He asks me, he says, ‘I want all your cigs,’ and I asked which kinds, and he goes, ‘Like I said, all of ‘em.’ And I said that it was really gonna set him back, and THEN he pulls out a wad of hundreds like an inch thick. My eyes fuckin’ bugged out of my head, dude. I called my boss out and she handled the rest of it but the guy wound up leaving here with all our cigs. And he left us a $500 tip.”

Too preoccupied with his annoyance, Knight hadn’t really been listening too intently. “I want my cigs,” he muttered petulantly.

“Gonna have to go without for once,” Dwayne shot back, annoyed with Knight’s ingratitude. The pouting teenaged customer stalked out of the store without saying another word.

Knight’s eyes lit up when he saw a sorority type of girl sparking up a long, thin cigarette as she exited her car. He headed over to her and was pleased to see her eyes register his presence.

“Can I bum one of those?” The sentence was like one long word.

She handed one over, probably just happy she wasn’t being accosted somehow. Knight took it and nodded his thanks, and he could hear her exhale as he walked away. He looked at the cigarette – it was a brand he never smoked, a girly brand, but he’d reasoned before he’d gotten it that at least it would satisfy his craving. Now that he was holding it, though, he didn’t want it at all. It was so embarrassingly weak that needed this little white tube to get through the day. He was stronger than that, he could go a day without sucking some fucking tar into his lungs. Knight, at the moment, could think of nothing more badass than fighting through his addictions for a couple of days before he got his grubby hands on his usual brand.

He tossed the cig into the glove compartment of his car and peeled out for some destination. He wasn’t sure where, yet, but he didn’t want to go home. He really only slept there.


The next day was Tuesday. Knight had spent all day at school with an invisible board strapped to his back, his spine as straight as a needle. Every time he walked past a mirror – or a surface that offered any kind of reflection – he would push his frizzy hair back and try to keep it out of his eyes. He told himself that he didn’t care too much, but he needed to see, for God’s sake.

All the fussing and fidgeting with his rat’s nest – along with the discomfort he had with his new posture, discomfort that was decreasing but still irritatingly present – soon took its toll on Knight.

He was watering down his hair in the bathroom when the broadest, burliest man he had ever encountered stepped out from one of the stalls, zipping up the fly of his khakis. The man’s chest looked big enough that an x-ray would reveal a full barrel on the inside of it.

“Hello, Daxton,” the silver-haired muscle freak purred, and Knight shot a glare over toward the hulk. “Name’s Knight,” came the correction.

“Ah, of course, Knight.” The man extended a giant hand toward Knight, who didn’t take it. Mr. Muscles kept flapping his gums. “I heard about your little altercation with Mr. Kazmi, and with Powers. You sound feisty.”

Knight chortled at the word choice. Chihuahuas were feisty. Little girls who played minisoccer were feisty. But Knights…Knights were gutsy. Bold.

“Who’re you?” Knight didn’t even look away from the mirror as he pressed the curls out of his vision.

“I’m Coach Thornton.” Thornton wiped his hands and tossed a paper towel in the trash. “You’ll be seeing more of me, I’m quite sure. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Thornton crossed behind the boy, about to leave, but stopped and looked in the same mirror as Knight. “Oh and Daxton? Cut your hair.”

Knight felt a chill shoot down his spine as he heard the door to the bathroom swing shut. That was not a piece of advice, but an order, from a man who he had never met before. Something about the coach’s deep, commanding tone and no-nonsense stare had intimidated Knight, if only momentarily. Soon, the familiar anger rose up again: who the fuck was that old grey roided-out Bluto? Who did he think he was, God? Just because he helped some dumb teenagers smash into each other on Friday nights and after school?

Knight was seething for the next hour. He was angry as he walked to his car, angry as he drove. He was still boiling over as he opened up the door to the first barbershop he found.

Inside, another customer was just finishing up. A small boy hopped down from the chair and his father stood up from the waiting area to meet him. Except, Knight realized a second later, the muscular man in the form-fitting white polo shirt was far too young to have reproduced. His body was a perfect example of the young masculine form: pecs looking a little too big thanks to the flatness of his ripped stomach. Arms bulging, ass high, a back like a double-wide. He probably came out of his mother clutching a tiny dumbbell and wearing ankle weights.

Knight took a seat as he waited for the man to pay. He listened to the conversation happening.

“Well,” the barber said, rubbing his small client’s head and giving him a sucker, “which brother is this?”

“This is Braden, he’s seven.” The hunky muscle jock had a pleasant baritone voice that gave away his young age. “Brother number 6.”

“We’re like Tribbles, right Trev?” The small boy’s voice was partly obscured by the sucker.

Trevor’s pretty eyes darkened. “No, we’re not. Tribbles suck.”

Braden looked crushed by this pronouncement. Trevor softened his tone, realizing that he wasn’t speaking to one of his bros, but to one of his true brothers. His little brother who admired him. “Y’know what doesn’t suck? Our family. It’s great to have a big family.”

Braden’s face brightened a little, although he still registered a little hurt. Trevor turned to the barber. “Say hi to Mrs. Ames for me, would you?”

“Of course.” Knight began noticing that the barber was quite a large man himself, large in the Clifton way: sheer muscle. “She loves that family of yours. Good to see you making something of yourself, Trevor. It’ll be great to watch you play this season.”

Trevor smiled a pretty smile as he walked out the door, his little brother by his side. Knight rolled his eyes as the door shut, he couldn’t keep his mouth closed any longer. “Is there anyone in this town who cares about something besides football?”

“Well,” the barber said with a tone of patronage, “I care about cuttin’ hair a little bit.”

“Good. I need a haircut.”

“I assumed as much. Although I should warn you, I played some ball of foot back in my day.” It was hardly a shocking revelation: the barber had the build of an off-season bodybuilder, giant shoulders and a huge chest that were big enough to minimize the size of his generous belly, which jutted slightly over the brown leather belt of his olive-green Dockers. The collar of his well-fitted polo shirt couldn’t be buttoned thanks to the size of his upper body, and a good amount of chest hair was visible through the opening. His masculinity had taken the hair off of the crown of his head, but the remaining follicles on the sides were neatly combed, and the top of his head gleamed with polish. “So, if I’m too far beneath you, you may want to go somewhere else for that haircut.”

Knight didn’t respond. He didn’t like being scolded, but he needed a trim, and he really didn’t feel like wandering around this bumblefuck town looking for another barber. “I think I can manage with you,” Knight finally said, and the barber smiled.

“Well, good. Now, don’t wanna keep you waiting any longer, but I’ve done four haircuts in a row and I need to piss somethin’ fierce, and the bathroom in the back is in need of a little maintenance, so I gotta run next door real quick. Grab a drink from the fridge under the counter.”

It was interesting, the way people framed sentences in Clifton. Like Coach Thornton’s not-suggestion about getting a haircut, it was clear that the barber was telling Knight to get a drink, not asking. And when the barber left, all Knight could think about was how thirsty he was. So – hell, it’s free right? – Knight found himself walking behind the small counter, which was more like a table, and opening up the tiny, old fridge.

He was expecting options, but there were none: just a single bottle of red Gatorade. Knight had wanted water – sports drinks were so jocky – but hell, this was what it had to be. He twisted off the lid and was still chugging when Mr. Ames, the barber, walked back in.

“Thirsty!” The barber grinned as he snapped the sheet open and indicated for Knight to sit in the chair. Knight tossed the empty bottle in the trash and walked over.

“So, we buzzing this all off?” Ames picked at the thick curls with big fingers. They shook as Knight whipped his head to the left and to the right. “No, no no, I like them. Everyone in this fucking town has short hair.”

“This fucking town, huh? I hear you don’t approve of the football stadium. Sounds like you don’t approve of a lot of things. It’s pretty rare that we get someone who doesn’t worship at the feet of the Clifton jocks.”

Knight actually felt a thrill of joy run through him. He was different, and people were noticing…people were talking! Talking about HIM!

Maybe this town wasn’t so bad.

Ames continued on. “So you keep marchin’ to the beat of your own drum. Alright, so you just want me to trim it up a little?”

“Yeah. I like it long, not homeless.”

“Gotcha. Up, up, we’re gonna wash it. I’ll probably do a wash after, too, to keep you from itchin’.” Knight eased down in the chair in front of the sink and leaned back. “I normally don’t do washes beforehand, but damn boy, your hair is frizzy,” Ames continued. “Gonna get some keratin in there, a little de-frizzing shampoo, makes it easier for me to cut it without needing a weed-whacker or somethin’.”

Knight took offense to this remark but let his mouth curl into a smile. After all, Ames was not the man to piss off – he held the scissors, and bad haircuts were hard to fix.

“I’m putting a hot towel over your face, it’s good for your skin.”

“Better not be too hot,” Knight warned, and Ames just chuckled in response. The towel was not too hot; in fact, it felt glorious. Knight breathed in a floral scent that made him feel quite peaceful, almost sleepy.

“Is there some aromatherapy stuff on here?” The words were muffled because of the towel, but Mr. Ames seemed to understand. “Yessir, and the shampoo has a little bit of a scent too. It’s the good stuff.”

Minutes went by. Knight felt the hands stop rubbing and he sat there, drifting in and out of consciousness, for what felt like a while. “Sleepy?” He heard Ames ask, and Knight nodded slowly. “’sbeen a long day…”

The blow dryer went on and the low hum was all the more lulling to Knight. He felt a brush running through his long hair as it was aired out, the tangles coming loose. Knight was all but asleep when he felt something clamp down on a chunk of his hair. The pulling sensation was mildly jarring, and Knight, in his sleepiness, didn’t really know why a curling iron was being used. His hair was already curly.

A curling iron was not being used. Knight just couldn’t think of anything else that would produce the feelings he was getting from his head.

Ames led the teen back to the chair, spinning it away from the mirror. Knight just sat, spine still straight but mind hazy, unfocused. He saw small bits of hair falling to the floor – the light made them look real dark. His hair was sandy brown but looked so much darker when it was wet. Oh, right, that’s why his hair was dark: it had been washed. Except it got dried too, right? Did he just imagine that?

“Well, there, initial cut’s done. Let me run a razor over it, make it easier to style.” Knight’s head was yanked back as Ames took a straight razor and lightly ran the blade over the long tendrils, slicing off split ends and frizz. Knight could feel that the comb was moving with ever-increasing ease through his hair – no more tangles or catches. It felt like silk on his head. He practically was purring.

“Well, no need to wash it again, really,” the barber said happily, pumping some gel into his large hands. “Let’s style this bad boy.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want-”

“Shush,” Ames said as he sent globs of styling product into the follicles. “It’ll look ridiculous without being styled.” Knight could hear the sound of a hairspray can being shaken, and felt Ames’s hands guiding each hair into place.

“Therrre we go.” Ames spun Knight around, who stared at the mirror, horrified.

“What did you do?!”

That wasn’t his hair – it couldn’t be. On top of his head was the style, and color, of hair you’d see on a model on a Just For Men box. It was the hairstyle of politicians, CEOs and businessmen. Tapered on the back and sides and longer on top. The part was on the left side and very pronounced, and the top was combed over, brushed back from his forehead. It looked like a little too much had been cut from the temples, because they were further back than Knight’s hair normally started, and made his forehead look bigger.

Not only was the conservative style all wrong, so was the color. Knight didn’t have dark, dark brown hair, nearly black. His eyebrows were that color, too, which made them much more prominent. “What…I…NO.” He couldn’t form a sentence, he was so furious. “THIS IS NOT WHAT I WANTED, what the FUCK…”

Ames didn’t seem to be listening. “I guarantee you, kid, NO one in your school has hair like this.” Which was true, because this was the style of a grown man, not a teen. “Think of how different you’ll look! How much you’ll stand out!”

“What happened to my curls?! Why is my hair so dark? What dye did you use…”

“I didn’t dye anything. Your hair’s really straight, kid, I had to texture it up a little bit.”

“Wh…what…” Knight was sputtering with rage. He was red in the face and couldn’t calm down – not that he wanted to. “WHAT. NO. I look like the fuckin’ Governor! I’m not paying for this shit! I just asked for a trim!”

“Not satisfied? Okay, it’s on the house. Guarantee you’ll love it soon, though.”

“Fuck! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it so much.” Knight just kept expecting the business cut to explode back into his mass of curls, but as he touched it, the hair was so light and bouncy…no kink or frizz at all.

He stormed out, livid.


Knight woke up stiff as a board. He was laying flat in his bed, legs about shoulder-width apart, arms at his side, head directly in the center of the pillow. He didn't notice the peculiarly rigid form of his body. Moments after waking up with a jolt, he glanced at the clock. “Whew.” His alarm wasn't due for another half an hour, but excess energy was coursing through his body. While part of his mind wanted to turn over and roll back to sleep, Knight's body was already stiffly getting out of bed and walking toward the shower. His legs were jittery and his heart was racing, there was no way he was going to fall back to sleep. He decided to rinse off.

The previous night, he had attempted to cleanse himself of the senatorial haircut that twisted barber had given him. Glancing in the mirror, Knight saw that his hair laid flat against his head, no trace of the unruly curls that had been his trademark until yesterday. He wasn't as concerned as he thought he should be. His mind kept addressing these irregularities, recognizing them, and then instantly dumping them into a file in his brain labeled 'unimportant.'

He soaped his body off, continually noticing gentle ridges in his body that had once been flat. Curves of flesh pulled at his skin in ways he was unaccustomed to. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling – and once again, it just didn't seem like something he needed to care about.

Out of the shower, he dried off and stood in front of the mirror with the towel wrapped around his waist. Knight idly looked at his body. The dim light was making his skin look darker, sort of sun-kissed. And the shape of his body was different. Instead of a generic male form there were curves in this body, and not in the feminine sense. His waist looked a little bit smaller and his back seemed to spread out as it climbed to his shoulders. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his hair dry with a towel. Admiring himself in the mirror - the strong jaw and roman nose - Knight didn't even pay attention as he scooped up some gel from a container and began to apply it to his hair. He hummed gently as he took and comb and parted the hair on the side. Then he grabbed a bottle of hairspray and gave his head a gentle burst.

Once the style was completed, life seemed to come into focus. Knight noticed that he had perfectly replicated the anchorman haircut from yesterday. His dark hair was now set in a strict side part. The hair still looked lightweight and mobile despite being shaped and held to a very specific standard. A high standard. And that made Knight smile.

Knight walked back to his room, discarded the towel, opened a drawer and began sifting through his underwear. Boxers with target signs or mistletoe over the crotch, or covered with phrases like “Hot dog needs bun” or “I’m with stupid” all covered in garish colors. He recoiled, his eyes trying to block the brightness. The strange part was, he recognized these, knew which ones were his favorites, but right now they were all so...loud. So brash and so very attention getting. Utterly obnoxious. He dug through the drawer a bit more, finding a few pairs that he hadn’t seen in awhile.

Shoved back in a corner, he found something different.

Plain white, old-fashioned tighty-whities. Briefs, men’s briefs. Knight wasn’t really sure where these had come from. He certainly couldn’t recall getting them. But they looked smart, simple and classic. He was already pulling them out of the drawer and stepping into them without a second thought. It was odd; he felt sort of off balance trying to shove his leg through the opening. The movements were just a little off. He felt heavy, especially up top and he couldn’t balance unless he spread his legs out a bit further.

With the underwear firmly clinging to his body, Knight stood in his room, trying to steady himself. He pushed his legs out a bit more apart, planting his feet firmly into the ground. He sucked in his stomach and tried rise up, imagining his spine was actually being stretched upwards. He felt taller and fuller and much more balanced. His chest was out, his shoulders rolled back, and a part of him wanted to hold his hands on his waist and flash a Superman smile. He just felt so grounded.

Knight went looking through a pile of his shirts, hills of ironic t-shirts and silly phrases. His lips pursed together as he looked at the mess. He just wasn’t feeling it today. And besides, he had already styled his hair, he thought as he gently rubbed his hand on top of the pristine style. Couldn’t mess that up now.

Instead, he opened his closet and found what he was looking for. It was old, and he hadn’t worn it in a while, but the light blue button down shirt was definitely was he wanted. He had always thought that the shirt was scratchy, but today it felt soft yet rigid, and smelled like dry-cleaning starch. The shirt would maintain a classy look all day. As he was pulling it on, Knight tried to remember how long ago he had gotten the shirt. It had been awhile, since his arms practically filled the sleeves, and the top few buttons were tight against his chest. Knight felt proud the moment he had buttoned it up fully. Without thinking, he grabbed a tie. It was the only one he owned, a simple black tie. But Knight was filled with a strange, calm happiness that simply insisted on the tie. And although he hadn’t tied a tie in his life - he always had to have an adult help him - he effortlessly knotted the tie around his neck.

Now he felt really good. Centered and stable, and in control. And since he was already in a dress shirt and tie, Knight decided he might as well go the whole way. He located a pair of khaki pants, double pleated with cuffs on the bottom. His aunt or grandma had made him get these, said he’d need dress clothes sometime. He pulled the pants up, feeling the light fabric getting caught against his thighs - had it really been so long? Had he grown that much that all these clothes were so much tighter? He could have sworn they were months old at the most. Still, that thought trickled out of his mind as the pants were pulled up over his waist and buttoned tightly. His butt pushed out proudly from his backside and Knight gave the curve a loving rub. Unconsciously, he looped a belt through the pants while admiring himself in the mirror.

Gosh, he really looked great. The hair made him look more masculine, maybe a bit older, but with that age came manliness and maturity. And the clothes - who knew he had this body? Knight hardly looked like the average adolescent he thought of himself as being. His thighs were wide and his stance was strong. His ass wasn’t gently pushing against the pants, it was thrusting backwards. His waist was tiny - he could tell based on where the pants sat - but his chest expanded outwards from there, and although the shirt sort of hid his form, a developing V shape was obvious. He looked like a man. A strong man, the kind of proud adult who took control. As he thought that, Knight flashed a big grin in the mirror. He was handsome, really. Knight had never really admired his body before, but now he could see that there was something really special about it. A sort of energy it gave off that nothing else could replace.

“I should start working out,” Knight said to reflection. The bright smile on the image seemed to agree. If he looked like this right now, it was hard to imagine what he could achieve with just a little effort and dedication. Bigger muscles, deeper cuts. And if he really dedicated himself to it, Knight could only imagine the strong muscular form his body would develop. Sure, it might mean sacrifices on his part, along with intense dedication, but he felt inspired and filled. This odd strange emotion he had been feeling all morning was suddenly at the breaking point.

He had a goal. That, in and of itself, was a new thing. But it made him feel better still, more grounded and centered and dedicated now that he had something to focus his time and energy and attention on, something that would require a lot of planning and focus. Could he do it? Of course he could. He was a man! “I’m a man,” he said to his grinning reflection, puffing out his chest proudly. “I’m a man.”


“I’m a man, I’m a man,” he muttered happily to himself as he strode across the parking lot into school. The soles of his loafers were like springs, putting an extra pep in his step. His hair had just the right amount of bounce without moving a follicle.

Principal Powers was standing at the front door watching the students stream in. He held a steaming cup of coffee in his hand and took a sip as he watched Knight walk confidently in. “Ah, Mr. Farmsworth, I see you’re taking our little chat to heart.”

“Huh?” Knight looked down on himself and remembered his more formal dress. “Oh, yeah, guess so. Just felt like it today.”

“Well, you look good.” Powers took another swig of coffee. “I hope to see more looks like this in the coming days. Perhaps it will help in the classroom.”

Knight gave a chortle. “Yeah, psh, maybe.” Fat chance. As he walked away, he could feel Powers’ gaze boring into his back. Knight flared his back and strutted like a rooster, relishing the tight feeling of his shirt and pants. If that guy was gonna watch, he’d get a show.


“Dude, check out that kid.”
“Is that the guy from yesterday?”
“What’s he wearing?”

Knight could hear the questions filling the room as he took his seat in Kazmi’s class. His heart soared to its customary height as he realized that he was the main topic in the room. But when Kazmi walked in, Knight felt a twinge of jealousy. The handsome, cinnamon-skinned teacher was wearing a polo that hugged every curve of his broadly muscled body. Kazmi’s arms, especially, were calling Knight’s attention, and when the teacher picked up his math guide, his biceps flared out of the sleeves dramatically, a big vein bulging up out of his elbow. Knight felt his hands clench into fists – and then the pencil in his grip snapped, and he realized he’d been staring at his teacher, wondering how Kazmi got that spectacular body, wondering how long it would take him, Knight, to get that big. Or bigger. Oxford shirts looked best when they were crammed full of muscle. Tree-trunk necks were twice as beautiful when there was a tie knotted around them.


Knight was trying to shake his head free of all the thoughts. Something in him was just fucked up today. He hadn’t had a smoke in forever, maybe that was his problem, he didn’t need to work out, he needed to have a-


His back was already stiff as a board, which minimized the size of his jump. “Sir! Yes!”

Some girls in the front giggled. Knight swallowed and looked at his teacher’s pecs, the unbuttoned polo shaping itself around the solid - no, fuck, cut it out! “Did you want something?”

“I was calling your name for attendance, but I found you before you found yourself, apparently,” Kazmi said. “Please focus.”

Fuck off! Stop picking on me! “Yes sir.” STOP PICKING ON ME!

He couldn’t make himself say it. He wanted to, but it was so disrespectful. It was so…“ouch,” he grunted under his breath, suddenly feeling a stabbing pain in his groin. Knight reached down and pulled on the crotch of his pants, pulling it up and letting his package assume a natural placement. The aches he felt made him think of what he’d heard of ‘blue balls,’ but it was more like something was twisting his ballsack. His underwear was just too small and it was hurting. Knight found a position, with his legs spread a little further apart, that didn’t hurt so badly. They stayed like that for the entire period. He couldn’t shake his leg like he normally did, or pull one leg up under his seat – those movements were all incredibly painful. Knight had a brief thought that maybe his dick was growing - and that would be AWESOME - except for now it hurt like shit and that wasn’t quite as awesome.

Kazmi kept looking over, almost in surprise that the young man with the poseur-hair was staring at him. Every time Umar Kazmi raised his eyes from his book, he was thinking that that would be the time that the little narcissist would be rolling his eyes or laughing inappropriately. But every time he looked up, Knight was sitting straight and still, eyes focused though maybe a little numb. And every time he saw that student staring at him, Kazmi was more surprised, instead of less.


Kazmi was having an unusually good teaching day, Knight thought as he listened. Everything Umar said made sense. His voice conveyed utter command of his subject and Knight couldn’t help but pay close attention. For once, it wasn’t hard to focus. The bell came as a jolt, a surprise – Knight hadn’t even looked at the clock.

He stood up quickly and was wracked with pain. “Oooooorgh,” he groaned unbecomingly, doubling over and bracing himself against his desk. It felt like there was a vice twisting itself around his balls and severing their circulation. With his body still bent at a 45-degree angle, Knight shuffled to the back of the room, against the flow of exiting students. He leaned against the back wall, mostly out of sight, and re-arranged his genitals in his underwear so that they weren’t stuffed in between his legs, as they had painfully been.

That was when he noticed his bare ankles sticking out of his pant legs. Knight’s face went white with horror. No wonder his pants didn’t fit – they were too small! WAY too small and short, with the crotch digging in so deeply that it was agonizing.

He loosened his belt and pushed the pants down as far as they would go on his hips. It did a lot to stem the high-waters, but there was no hiding them completely. As his cheeks went red with both shame and hurt, he walked awkwardly toward the classroom door.

“Hey, Knight, good class today,” Umar said with a matinee-idol smile. “Thanks for paying attention. Maybe you should dress like that every day, it seems to work for you.”

Knight smiled weakly, his rebellious spirit nearly broken. He raised two fingers in an acknowledging wave as he left the room – and collided directly with Adam Griffith, who was lingering outside the doorway.

“I was watching you during class,” Adam said, his mouth twisted into a knowing smirk. His perfect form radiated dominance and confidence. This time, unlike the day before, Knight shrank from it. He was in too much pain to fight. But he could still toss off a comeback.

“Oh yeah? Like what you see or something?”

Adam chortled. His voice was needling and malevolent. “You look really different today.”

Knight’s frustration was boiling over. “Everyone keeps SAYING that…”

“Too bad your pants don’t fucking fit, you look like a fucking slob.”

Knight didn’t understand why this enraged him so much. He knew he shouldn’t care, but his eyes registered hurt before he could hide it.

“Awww, sorry, but it’s true.” Adam leaned in closer. “Your shirt’s looking a little tight too,” he whispered. “Might wanna look into that.” Then he turned and backed down the hallway, swinging a backpack over one bulging shoulder. “I’ll be seeing you later.”

Knight didn’t have time to worry about Adam before he was cornered again. He heard someone calling his name but couldn’t find them.

“Knight! Dude! Knight! Hey, Knight! Hey!”

Knight looked back and forth down the hall, surprised. With all the faces whirring by, he couldn’t quite tell who was talking to him. When he did finally lock it in, he couldn’t hide the disbelief in his voice.


“What’s up man?” Dwayne bounded across the hall and put his arm around Knight’s shoulder. “Feelin’ pretty thick, dude, you been working out?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I go here!”

Knight felt his knees buckle a little. Confusion physically manifested itself in his body language. “You…what, uh, you do?”

“Yeah man!” Dwayne was being unusually friendly and outgoing. Almost bubbly. It was weird. “Decided it was time to finally get my diploma, do something with my life, y’know? I didn’t want to miss out on all the good times.”

“What good times?”

“You’re funny man. High school’s already awesome.” Dwayne leveled a yellowed grin at a cute blonde as she walked past. “The girls here are so hot.”

Knight opened his mouth but no sound came out. He was, for maybe the first time in his life, rendered speechless.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, man! Hey, gotta run to class, I’ll see you next passing period, ‘kay?”

Knight watched Dwayne strut down the hallway. He hadn’t seen Dwayne walk much – they usually talked with Dwayne standing behind a counter – but he had never noticed how bouncy Dwayne’s step was. And he hadn’t known that Dwayne knew so many guys who rocked letter jackets. Knight stopped counting Dwayne’s high-fives with lettermen after he reached seven.

As he rounded the corner and walked into his history class, a hand slapped on his shoulder. “What’s up, brother?”

Knight’s jaw clenched. He recognized the voice immediately.

“Fuck off, Stone.”

“Whoa, man, don’t be so, uh…” Stone’s eyes glazed over as he flipped through the dictionary in his head. “Hostile! Yeah, don’t be hostile. I’m just supposed to give you these.”

Stone shoved something into Knight’s hands and breezed past him, into class. Knight looked down and saw a pair of khakis, neatly folded, with a note pinned to the tan fabric: “You looked uncomfortable,” it read.

Knight remembered that khakis in this school were commonplace, and so he didn’t want to wear them, didn’t want to even touch them – but then he looked down and realized that he, inexplicably, had put on a pair this morning, and now they hurt because they were so tight. And he so desperately craved relief…

He was launching himself into a bathroom stall and tearing off his pants before he even fully processed what he was doing. “Ow ow ow ow, fuck, ow,” he groaned, peeling off the smaller pants like a snake shedding its skin.

His thighs had deep teardrop-shaped cuts, his calves looked like hearts. And his legs were so long.

He had to cover them up. They scared him. He didn’t want to look at them. He put on the bigger khakis and was pleased with how perfectly they fit. They hugged his ass like best friends, fell perfectly around his thick thighs, and had cuffs that rested delicately right on top of his shoes. The best part was that they didn’t give him blue balls.

Knight was about to jog back to class to beat the bell when he saw his reflection. Adam was right; his shirt was getting to be too small, too. The fabric around the buttons puckered over his chest. His arms were straining at the sleeves and the cuffs were just a liiiittle too short on his arms.

Knight sized up his broad-shouldered reflection. He did feel fear, but he shoved it away, compartmentalizing it right next to his want to get to class on time. He flicked one rebellious strand of hair back into place and ran back to Grant’s class, getting through the door right as the bell rang.

“Just in time, Mr. Knight,” Grant murmured, making a check on his clipboard.

“I apologize,” Knight said a little too loudly and a little too deeply. Awkward giggles rang out through the room. Knight’s cheeks went pink and he descended into his chair, his spine never losing its rigidity even as he bent down to take out his history textbook.

Knight smirked as they settled into yet another rehashing of Ancient Greek history. So predictable. All the usual shit was being taught; he felt like he’d heard it a hundred times. Knight tried to suppress the words he felt bubbling up through his throat, but his hand was already in the air.

“Yes, Knight?”

Just in time - as all eyes were turning to Knight, as he cleared his throat to speak - the cuff of his sleeve popped open and revealed a large, sinewy forearm. Knight quickly pulled his arm down and tried to piece the cuff back together as he spoke, but it was an impossible battle; the button had disappeared into the marled colors of the carpet.

“Mr. Grant, this textbook contains an illustrated inaccuracy.”

Talking hurt now. He could feel his voicebox smashing into the knot of his tie, and the skin of his thick neck spilling over his too-small collar. Even so, his tones came out measured and precise, their cadence an even rhythm.

Grant’s eyebrows rose in a challenge. The teacher’s forehead wrinkled up like a roly-poly. “Oh?”

“The Colossus of Rhodes is always described as straddling the entrance of the harbor, with the ships entering between his legs. This is a rather crass modification of history. The real colossus stood on one side of the entrance with his legs only slightly separated, and one arm outstretched. At 100 feet tall, he greatly resembled our own country’s Statue of Liberty, in both size and pose.”

The room went dead silent. Not even Stone or Slade could make a peep. Knight sat in the stillness, more than a little stunned by himself.

Mr. Grant paced the front of the room, heaved a little laugh and shook his head. “You are full of surprises, Mr. Knight. Thank you for that tidbit. I will never forget it, truly.”

“Me either!” Stone said bawdily, and Knight’s head twirled ninety degrees to stare down the jock. To everyone’s surprise – including Stone’s – Stone went silent immediately, stunned by the intensity of the glare. It held a surprising amount of authority.

Grant pushed on after the uncomfortable moment, with Knight burying his nose in the history text, desperately trying to stay silent. Halfway through the class, he turned a page of his book and saw his other cuff pop open. A “FUCK” gurgled up into his mouth, but he kept his lips clamped shut and made only a throaty growl.

The dictatorial glare now ancient history, Slade and Stone were comfortably giggling behind him. “Shirt a little tight, bro?”

Knight clenched his jaw and shoved it all out.

Unimportant, unimportant. Just roll up the sleeves and go for the casual look.

School shouldn’t be casual. Learning isn’t casual.

Why the fuck do I care about this shit today? Why can’t I just roll up my sleeves?

He reached for the hanging cuffs but couldn’t make himself roll them up. It was just too relaxed. It wasn’t him. He had passion and fervor and didn’t want his teachers to think he was taking a laissez-faire attitude.

But his shirt didn’t fit. He could feel the buttons straining over his chest as he breathed. The cuffs didn’t reach his wrists, and didn’t fit around them either. It was a miracle his collar hadn’t popped open. His tie was constricting, but he daren’t loosen it. Too relaxed, he thought again. Knight knew he was overdressed for school, but his rebellious nature welcomed it: he wanted people to notice him, and there was something counter-counter-culture about his clothes for the day, so un-teenager that it played into his trolling nature.

The bell’s ring brought sweet relief. Finally he could escape from Grant’s inaccuracies and the childishness of those two hulks, Tweedledee and Tweedledum. He still couldn’t believe Stone and Slade weren’t related.

It took a lot of mental overrides to get his spine to arch outward so that he didn’t burst the buttons of his shirt. Knight still managed to have decent-looking posture, even with his modified stance, but his confidence for the day was completely shot. He couldn’t think of the last time he didn’t feel able to take on the world…today was not his day.

He was wishing he had a blazer to cover up his ill-fitting Oxford when he heard that same eager-beaver voice from the last passing period. “Bro! Hey, bro! Knight!”

“Oh hey…Dwayne?! What the fuck are you wearing…”

“Bitchin’, right bro? I got hooked up. That other stuff was too plain.”

Dwayne’s old Wal-Mart t-shirt had been replaced by a royal purple polo shirt, complete with a little grey polo player embroidered on the breast. Instead of light Fubu jeans he wore stylish dark ones, with the brown belt’s end flopping out from underneath the hem of his polo. All items of clothing looked roughly two sizes too large. Every few seconds, Dwayne would yank up his pants.

Knight started laughing. It felt a little forced, a little unnatural to him, but he still thought Dwayne looked ridiculous. “You’re such a poser! That shit doesn’t even fit!”

Dwayne’s dark eyes glinted. “I could say the same to you, bro,” he said, his voice angry but still lilting.

Knight stopped laughing, his mind suddenly slamming back into mature mode. Dwayne smiled. “But don’t worry, Knight-o, I’m supposed to give you this!” Dwayne flipped his backpack down – it had been switched out, too, an old bargain-basement satchel for a mesh Adidas bag – and pulled out a men’s white dress shirt, still in its packaging.

Knight’s throat went dry. “Wh-who gave you this?”

“You sound so nervous, bro! Where’s the brave Knight?” It was Dwayne’s turn to laugh now. “It’s just from a friend. Catch ya later, bro, I got a meeting!”

Dwayne sauntered off, his shoulders and ass rolling in rhythm as he strode through the hallway’s crowds. Even though he didn’t want to, Knight ran to the bathroom and yanked off his tie, the uncontrolled flex of his neck immediately snapping the shirt’s collar button. His Oxford turned inside-out as he stripped it off his body.

He stopped for a moment to look at his bare torso. Square, cut pecs levitated above the flat ripples of his six-pack. His arms were shapely and covered in veins. And though he couldn’t see them, he could simply feel the power that his shoulders held.

It was just natural, that was all, Knight told himself. He was growing up and that was good. Knights had muscles anyway, it wasn’t bad to have muscles. Although lots of guys in the school were buff…so if Knight was going to be buff too, he’d have to be the buffest of all! Otherwise he wouldn’t stand out.

He’d hit the gym after school today, he decided. Show those dumb jocks how a real Knight lifts.

Knight ripped open the clear plastic wrap of the dress shirt, pecs flexing as he did so. He hated how shirts had all these little pins and tissue paper and crap stuck in them when you first took them out of the store. And as he buttoned up the shirt – man, the fabric felt incredible over his skin, despite the shirt being a little too large – he noticed the creases that had been left by the fold. Oh well. He’d iron them out later. A free shirt was a free shirt. He flipped the collar up and expertly knotted his tie in the blink of an eye.

The irritation of his thighs rubbing together as he jogged to class was a foreign concept. Likewise was the fact that when he walked in, he was looking down on every person in the class, even the teacher. It sure made him feel powerful, although it felt incorrect. But Knight dismissed that instinct as unimportant. Knights were tall.

And they evidently were handsome, too. Knight could feel feminine gazes lingering on him. Maybe it was the way his chest stuck out, the way his jaw clenched. He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was the way it made him feel, and the way he physically responded: his lips curling into the smallest of smiles, and his cock stirring in his pants. He had normally so detested stupid bimbo high school girls, but the feeling of being wanted was brand new and intoxicating.

It didn’t distract him from his studies, though. Knight was relieved to see his confusion breaking into moments of extreme clarity. The lessons today were very easy to understand. He already knew the answers to the occasional questions he asked; he only posed them to help out his classmates. The calm, pure bass voice that was asking the questions, however, was still rather alien.

He was just starting to notice that his thighs and ass were pushing at his khakis – again! – when the bell rang.

This time, he spotted Dwayne first. But the shock almost knocked him over.

The store clerk’s formerly-pockmarked skin was now smooth and tan, and his smile – which he was flashing at every girl within a 20-foot radius – was whiter than snow. Dwayne’s eyes now sparkled a crystalline blue, like the ocean in the tropics.

Something about Dwayne just made it easier for Knight to tap into his brasher side. “Take those dumb contacts out, you look stupid,” Knight said, but Dwayne just released a long, easygoing laugh and slapped his friend on the back. “You’re funny, man!”

Knight didn’t remember being so much taller than Dwayne. Dwayne wasn’t short, but Knight had five or six inches on him. That seemed new, but it made no sense, so Knight dumped that thought into the recycling bin with his other demurring ones.

“Coach wants to talk to you,” Dwayne said, that vapid smile finding its way back onto his face.

“Coach? Coach who?”

“You’re funny man. I gotta run, I have a meeting too. Lemme know how yours goes, okay?”

“Um…sure.” Knight raised his voice as Dwayne walked away. “Where did he say to meet?”

“Office, probably!” Dwayne called over his shoulder.

“Office. Right. ‘scuse me,” Knight said to a passerby, in a firm, dulcet voice. “Where’s the coach’s office?”

“Why?” The boy snickered. “You going to an interview or something?”

Knight’s eyes darkened. “Pardon?”

The kid immediately stopped giggling and turned serious. “Other side of the school, northern hall, by the blue lockers with the white stripe and the glass cases. Look for aaallllll the trophies.”

“Thank you.”

It was no time at all before Knight was knocking on the coach’s office door. With his long legs, any distance felt minute.

A slight cough emanated from behind the wooden door. Knight heard a chair moving against the floor. “Come in,” said an annoyed voice.

Knight jiggled the handle but the door was locked. He rapped again on the door with his knuckles.

“Oh for God’s sakes…” muttered Thornton’s voice behind the door. After a few clomping footsteps, the door swung open. Thornton’s stern face immediately brightened. “Ahaaaaaa, good to see you, Mr. Knight. Take a seat.”

“Uhhm…” Knight cleared his throat as he walked through the door. He sat in the chair that Thornton had motioned toward, and the coach sat on the other side of the desk. They stared at each other for a few moments. Knight kept waiting for Thornton to speak, then realized that he – the bold knight – should have every desire to speak first. So he did.

“Why am I here?”

“That’s a good question. I could ask you the same thing. Why ARE you here?”

“Because you…uh…asked for me?”

“True. But you’re such a lone ranger, why did you follow instructions so immediately? That doesn’t seem like what I’ve heard about you.”

“I…uh, I…”

“Cat got your tongue?” Thornton smiled, chuckled and spotted a folder on his desk that he calmly but deliberately picked up and placed on his lap, out of Knight’s sight. “Moreover, why the new look?”

“Just felt like it.”

“Oh did you? You just felt like being a total square today?”

Knight’s eyes blazed. He pursed his lips and clenched his jaw. “I’m not a square!”

“You’re dressed like it’s your first day teaching Sunday school. Mr. Joe Perfect. No no, not Biblical enough. Mr. John Perfect.”

“I, I, uh, somebody gave me these clothes!” Knight’s deep voice was growing louder but not higher in pitch. Still anchored in a deep bass, just angrier.

“Oh right. Now who might that be?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You’re letting someone you don’t even know dictate how you look? YOU? The great John Knight?”

“I…I, uh…you’re twisting all my words around, it’s been a weird day, I don’t really care, I just…”

“Oh, you don’t care?” Thornton stood up and Knight, from his seated position, realized for the first time just how huge the school coach was up close. Pecs. Pecs, and shoulders, that was what he saw.

Knight felt jealous. Then he felt annoyed with the jealousy.

“No, I don’t ca-”

Knight stopped talking when the coach’s hands shot forward, straight into Knight’s hair. It wasn’t quite a noogie that Thornton gave; just a vigorous rub, like he was massaging some invisible shampoo into the follicles.

The younger man released a horrified roar. He toppled straight backward, somersaulting across the room, ending up in a crumpled ball in the corner. “No! NO!”

Thornton chuckled. “Bet messing up your hair wouldn’t have prompted that reaction yesterday, John.”

“My NAME IS NOT JOHN! What the fuck is wrong with you…what the FUCK…” Knight was whimpering and trying to get the strands of hair back into their regimented place. The carefully divided side part was ruined. The shorter hairs on the sides of his head were sticking out. He pressed down with his hands and tried to re-create the style, but he was going to need a mirror. “You can’t touch a student! You’re not allowed!”

“What if I told you you weren’t a student?”

“I…” Knight shook his head over and over, the looser hair falling around his eyes and forehead. “I need to go home…puh-please let me go home.”

“You seem a little wound up. Want a cigarette?”

“No! I want to go home!”

“Alright. You can go home. You gonna get a workout in later today though?”

NO. “Yes.”

“Good. Go home, rest, fix your hair, get a workout in. Clear your head. Ya look like hell.”

“That’s your fault,” Knight muttered as he looked into the side of the filing cabinet, getting his hair back to normal. Coach Thornton laughed.


“Hey, Mr. Knight! Hey! You ready?”

Knight looked down on the beatific face grinning back at him. Deep down, Knight knew that Dwayne had been totally, completely changed. The convenience store clerk had not been a handsome, square-jawed Cali boy with bottomless dimples and a smile brighter than the sun. Somehow, Dwayne’s eyes had gone from dark slits to big blue spheres that sparkled with irrepressible eagerness. Somehow, his hair had gone platinum blond. Somehow, his teeth had straightened into perfection and his skin had adopted a flawless tan. Even his voice was deeper – and happier sounding.

Knight couldn’t figure it out, so he ignored it. He was getting good at that.

“Am I working out with you, Dwayne?”

“Yeah, Coach said I could. That is if it’s okay with you…”

The tips of Knight’s lips turned up. “Sure. It’s fine.”

They were dressed similarly, both decked out in the school colors. Knight was more sensible, in a spotless white t-shirt paired with royal blue athletic shorts, an older style that went only to mid-thigh. The length of the shorts made his lanky legs look even longer.

Dwayne, the far more lax of the two, wore royal blue on top – a form-fitting athletic tank – and white on bottom, his shorts baggier and longer than Knight’s.

Dwayne looked at the lanky man and tried to gauge what part Knight wanted to work on. “What are you doing today?”

Thornton stuck his head into the room and said, “Full body, even all over.” As the door slammed shut, Knight parroted the instructions. “Let’s do a full body, hitting all the parts evenly. Your body’s a machine, everything needs to be in working order, not just your legs. We’ll start with bench.”

“There a reason for that?” Dwayne wanted to learn everything he could.

“I just like benching,” Knight said as he scooted under the bench. “Now, watch my form. Even up, even down. Remember to breathe.”

Knight’s form was perfect. He popped the bar up and then brought it down to touch his chest in equal rhythm. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. The world was comprised solely of him, the bench, the plates and the barbell.

He ordered Dwayne to add more weight, another plate on each side, then went back to work. And his muscles were working too – so hard that they had no choice but to grow. The barbell kept touching his chest but, with each rep, had a little less distance to cover. The pert shelf in his white tee was quickly turning into a set of identical twin mountains. Knight felt his sides spilling further off the bench as his chest stretched his torso into a more expansive V-shape. The neck of his t-shirt was starting to pucker from the strain of his chest pulling down on it.

Knight almost fell forward when he stood up. The weight of his chest was immense. His tee’s collar was pulled down to the middle of his pecs, like a scoopneck. He had pecs like tectonic plates, two giant flat boulders that had no jiggle, no give, squared-off even on the underside. His nipples pressed against his workout tee, stretched out level on the bottom of his pectorals. Knight wanted them big and balanced. Giant but fat-free and completely symmetrical.

He turned around to address Dwayne and almost smacked him in the face with his pec. “Oh, I apologize. Didn’t know you were right there. Take a plate off each side and press, I’ll spot you.”

From his high perspective, peering down over his pecs at Dwayne’s red face, Knight couldn’t see Dwayne’s flat chest rising up in the same manner his own just had. Just as Knight had had to do, Dwayne was forced to stop pressing for a moment so that he could get a wider grip, because his growing chest was pushing his arms further apart from each other. When his arms started to give out, Knight was there, holding up the bar and offering encouragements in his smooth, soft voice: “C’mon, Dwayne. C’mon. Get big. These last two are the ones that make you big.”

He had no idea how right he was. When Dwayne stood up, his new fit chest created a rock ledge in his tank, the sides of his pecs pushing the tank downward. It was an impressive pair of pecs for any man. On a high schooler, it was astounding. Dwayne bouncing them up and down and giggled at his own power. He cupped one and flexed it, feeling it fill his palm.

“Come on,” Knight commanded, and they headed through a cycle. Barbell rows for back, curls for biceps, rope extensions for triceps, squats for legs, and Arnolds for shoulders. Knight used heavier weights but Dwayne was able to keep up. Not only in volume of reps and weight, but in volume of body. After just one pass-through, both men were looking considerably more muscular: flared backs, with triceps and biceps swooping out in spheres; thighs starting to press together as they walked; butts bubbling proudly.

Dwayne plopped down on the bench, took in two deep breaths and positioned himself under the bar. Knight held his hands on it and shook his head. “Not yet, you need more rest. I like the attitude though. Eager.”

“Thanks.” Dwayne’s face radiated up from the bench, his cheeks flushed with pink; his eyes, never bluer. He giggled again – a masculine giggle, but a giggle nonetheless. “Heh.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“You saying ‘eager’ made me think of my dad. He called me BT when I was little, short for ‘bushy tailed.’ Y’know, bright eyed, bushy tailed.”

“It fits you. Drink some water, take a breath.”

Knight’s swollen glutes and thighs had pushed his shorts up even higher. It looked almost like he was wearing a pair of old-school briefs. More modest than an actual poser, but retro, like something Reg Park would’ve worn. When a more hydrated Dwayne fell back onto the bench, he was staring up at a full fruitbasket. It made him uncomfortable, but Knight didn’t seem to be aware of how much he was showing off, so Dwayne ignored it.

After Dwayne’s set, he swapped positions with Knight, although the older man – was he older than Dwayne? – was benching so much weight that Dwayne got nervous about spotting. He even had to bend over slightly as he stood behind the rack; if he stood up straight, he couldn’t see the bar from over his pecs. They were just too big now.

Knight made a noise of annoyance – a disapproving cluck – and Dwayne looked down to see a small tear in the fabric above each of Knight’s biceps. The perfection of his white tee was shattered. He had outgrown it.

“Ahhh, cool!” Dwayne reached down and grabbed the white sleeve. Knight jerked away with surprise, and the fabric tore off in Dwayne’s hand, exposing Knight’s now-gigantic deltoid.

Another cluck from Knight, and Dwayne began stammering, “I’m so sorry, man – sir, I mean, I’m so sorry! I just thought it was cool-”

“It’s alright.” Knight reached over and tore off his other sleeve, but he winced like it was a piece of his skin, like it took every ounce of effort to make himself ruin his garment.

“You don’t like goin’ sleeveless?”


“Why not?”

“Everyone is in here to get in shape, not look at me. It’s selfish to make it about myself.”

“Oh. Uh…” Dwayne looked down at his own granite pecs spilling out of his tank, the straps struggling to hold them in. Every brick of his abs was pressed against the tank’s ribbing. He suddenly felt self-conscious.

“No offense intended, Dwayne. I know you’re not trying to show off.”

Dwayne immediately broke back into his default easygoing grin, and helped Knight lift the bar off the rack.

It was funny how quiet Knight was when he lifted. Dwayne, like most men, gave out an occasional loud grunt or roar when facing heavy exertion. It’s natural to make a noise when hundreds of pounds are directly above one’s face, held up only by two jelly arms. But Knight barely ever made a peep. Just whooshes in and whooshes out, the calmest inhaling and exhaling imaginable, more suited to a yoga class than a weight room. His face went red but his hair never moved. When he sat up, allowing himself to smile from his accomplishment, not one strand was out of place.


Thornton was outside the weight room when the door to the weight room opened. Dwayne walked out first, his handsome, sunny face now matched by a stunning body. Broad shoulders that drew themselves back, capped by a wide, high chest. His taper was dangerously perfect, with an ass that pushed straight out from his lower back. He was a bodybuilding teen idol. Girl kryptonite.

Behind him walked Knight, an entirely different specimen. Far taller, with muscles so thick it looked like his skin was about to split apart like a baked potato. His arms had to be pushing 20 inches pumped. His t-shirt had gone translucent from sweat and showcased the physique of a full-on muscle fanatic, a bodybuilder of the truest form – not a heavyweight, what with his flat, rippling stomach, but twice as large as the average gym rat, with cuts that would make diamonds envious. A Greek statue shot up with testosterone. His ass and crotch were so big that it really did look like he was wearing a pair of skimpy briefs, a display of uncharacteristic immodesty.

“Ah, John, your work is paying off,” Thornton said as Knight and Dwayne passed by. “Dwayne, in my office, please.”

“Yessir, coach!” He turned to Knight and extended his hand. “Thanks for the workout!”

Knight’s grip was a vice. “My pleasure.”

As Dwayne walked down the hall toward the office, Thornton hung with Knight. “John-”

“Please stop calling me that,” Knight said, his tone weak in contrast to his astounding body. “It feels strange. I feel like something’s happening to me.”

“John, I want you to go home and get a long night’s rest. You’re not completely well yet. Relax and watch some sports. Watch the news, unwind. Go to bed early and sleep.”

“I’ll try.” Knight looked down at his pecs, the haze parting as confusion set back in. “Wow…” He touched them, and they were burning hot. His body felt like a blast furnace. So big, so pumped, so manly. He was such a man now. Why didn’t he feel like one? It was impossible to deny. “I’m, like, a muscle guy…”

“A muscle man. Do you like it?”

“I think so. I just feel…”



“You didn’t have many friends before, John. You were too abrasive, but I can tell you’re working on it. That’s good. A man like you is not meant to be alone. You will not be alone.”

“I won’t be. Good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now go home, turn on some ESPN, relax. Okay?”


“I’ll see you tomorrow. Buy some razor blades on your way home, you’re going to need them.”


Knight ran out of the building, the hefty weight of his larger body making him feel slower despite the fact that he was running much faster than he used to be able to. His pecs pounded up and down with each step and he wondered if this was how the athlete girls felt when they ran track.

Breathing loudly, he quickly got in his car – smashing his head into the roof with a loud curse - and drove away, not even bothering to fix his now-messy hair. He felt itchy and nervous and really just wanted to calm down. His fingers drummed frantically on his steering wheel. A cigarette might make him feel better, he thought. He pulled over at the convenience store where Dwayne worked and hopped out.

Inside, the store looked different. A little shinier, a bit cleaner. Dwayne wasn’t behind the counter. At first Knight was shocked; Dwayne was behind that counter every single day. But he remembered that he had just seen him at school, and that Coach Thornton had wanted to speak with him. Those meetings usually took a while, so clearly he wouldn’t be here.

“Can I help you, sir?” The clerk asked.
“Uh, yeah, umm...” Knight’s head wasn’t really in the right place. He scanned the walls behind the counter, searching for cigarettes, but there were none. And then the thought of cigarettes caused him to gag a little inside. They suddenly seemed so repulsive.

“I’m looking for Dwayne,” he finally asked.

“Yeah, he works here most days.”
“Oh, no, kid quit. Going back to school. Good for him.”
“Yeah…good for him,” Knight muttered.
“I’ll bet it does him some good.”
“Yeah.” Deep in thought, Knight rubbed his jaw. Scratchy. And so defined. His fingers traced the thick dimensions of the angular bone.
“Need anything else?”
“Umm, sure, yes. Yes.” Knight grabbed a bag of razors and threw in a pack of ULTRA gum. He paid quickly and smiled at the clerk. As he walked out, he heard the clerk yell from behind him, “Go Spartans!”

Knight didn’t say anything, but he felt his heart cheer a tiny bit.


Knight stumbled into his house, his shirt torn apart and his clothes drenched in sweat. He had resisted the urge to change clothes before he left school. Deep down, he wanted to shower and dress up before leaving, but another part of him had a much stronger desire to just get the hell out there. Coach Thornton was freaking him out. Plus Dwayne…was it Dwayne? Was that blonde-haired, blue-eyed valley boy Dwayne from the convenience store? Oh shit, the convenience store…he’d gone in there looking like a sweaty, half-naked mess. How embarrassing.

There weren’t any other cars, so Knight knew that his aunt and uncle weren’t home. Just as well, he had absolutely no desire to talk to anyone. Sure, he felt a little lonely, but he also felt assaulted from the day and wanted to be alone.

He walked upstairs to take a shower and stood in front of the mirror. He really was a muscle man. Big, hard muscles that were more than just pretty, they were used. He had a bit of a farmer look to him, a salt of the earth kind of guy, but one who took care of himself and worked to look good. Real masculine and raw. Square jaw and a big nose, though he had some wrinkles under his eyes and his skin was starting to look a bit worn. But that was age for you.

Knight looked around conspiratorially and then, deciding that no one was home and no one would see, he grabbed the collar of his shirt and in one gigantic motion, ripped the white shirt in half. He let out a bestial roar and did a Most Muscular pose. Knight chuckled slightly at his reflection in the mirror as his cock bobbed up to full-masted attention. Some good vascularity was coming through thanks to the change in his routine, plus that Dwayne kid was a good sport. Knight remembered being louder and more aggressive in the weight room when he was younger, just like his protégé. But once again, that was age for you. He popped in the shower and quickly scrubbed down his body and rinsed his hair. After toweling off, Knight instinctively grabbed his clothes from earlier in the day. They were tighter. Much tighter. For a moment he remembered that he had been wearing even smaller clothes at first. Like he’d been growing in the day or something. Still, he knotted the tie and fixed his hair. Years of the same cut meant that he could style it in moments. Content in his clothes, Knight went back downstairs to make some dinner.

When that was finished, Knight walked over the couch and lackadaisically plopped down. Almost instantly he stood back up. Something felt off. He turned toward the television and bent back, almost like a squat, his butt lowering first. As he did, he was careful to bag his pants, pulling the fabric closer to his crotch so that they wouldn’t catch at the knees. That felt better. He grabbed the remote and leaned back into the cushion. His legs were spread wide and Knight couldn’t help but notice the rather sizable bulge in his pants. He had, what was it called, a mooseknuckle. His lips went up in a slight smile as he thought of that. Yep, good-ole breeding balls. The guys had called him that.

What guys…

The television was on MTV, but it was only a few moments before he was bored. He flipped through a couple of channels before stopping on a local station. It wasn’t a news station, just one of those weird local stations with special programming. It was a review of the upcoming high school football teams. Knight felt a sort of haze come over him, like the outside world didn’t really exist anymore and this program was all there was. It started with smaller schools that were in the area. Beggs and North Beaver would probably be the dominant teams in the 1A division. Walters had lost their quarterback and best wide receiver to graduation. They’d still be a special teams powerhouse though, and that made Knight smile. Pretty good punt returner. Not as good as Clifton’s, but no one’s ever was.

The smaller schools were fun to analyze. Less players and coaches made for a tight knit community. Clifton was a pretty nice town, not too big, but it boasted a large high school population. Which probably prepared them more for life as college athletes anyway. They got to 6A and Knight become even more entranced. The Dickson Cougars were looking sharp, they had a pretty good linebacker who was getting some recruiting attention. Chantcey Buccaneers and Maud Marauders (gosh, he hated that stupid alliteration) were going to be the bottom of the back. Clifton’s competition this year would be Oakane, Warner…possibly Hugo, their new quarterback looked pretty good and they had a strong O line. Still, it was unlikely Clifton would lose. Adam was a born-and-bred champion, they’d had plans for that kid before he’d even placed a foot in Clifton High. Not only was Adam laser-accurate, but the defense this year was gosh-darn huge. And special teams, ah, the all-powerful Clifton special teams. John’s speciality.

The half-hour program ended but John was still enraptured with the various teams and players, trying to decide who would be solid, who would have a breakout year, which teams would burn out and which would have Cinderella seasons. He was so in his own head, that he hadn’t even realized that a local Baptist church was broadcasting their Wednesday service. Yet he had been watching intently. They panned to the crowd and Knight was pretty sure he saw a few of the football coaches in the pews, their muscled bodies suited up in jackets and shirts and ties, unlike the polo-and-khaki business casual look of the high school. Absentmindedly, he watched the entire service. Once it was over, rather robotically, he got up, turned off the television and lights, undressed and went to bed.


John Knight woke up bright and early. He had ended up naked in bed, and for just a moment he admired his strong form. Lying down, his pecs almost blocked his view. He ran his calloused, meaty hands over his abs, still cut despite the fact that wasn’t as easy to keep them ripped as it was when he was younger. He forced himself out of bed and onto the floor and hammered out one hundred push-ups. Just the way to start the day.

He popped into the shower for a quick rinse, quickly toweling off and walking to the mirror. John smiled at himself. His reflection sported a nice, square jaw with a set of beautiful white teeth. He had a slightly small nose, but it was sort of cute. Pretty blue-grey eyes, with thick lashes right below a large forehead. Bit of a jarhead shape, but it was certainly a striking face. It was the nose that made it hot-masculine instead of neanderthal. And he loved it.

And there was his beard, practically waving hello as it made its daily appearance on his face. So much stubble. He remembered when he hadn’t had to shave daily – not knowing then how good he had it. Without thinking, John grabbed a canister of shaving cream and sprayed it into his hands. Working up a thick foam, he began coating his face in white. He hummed idly to himself, carefully covering each area of facial hair. Grabbing the packet of razors from yesterday, he began to carve away the foam, taking tiny bits of coarse hair with it as he went. John was a purist for the clean-shaven look. He couldn’t stand a single stray hair on his face. It was all part of the John Knight package, the good boy next door. He had more hair than he used to, and his skin was starting to show some signs of aging. You can’t hang onto youth forever, he thought to himself.

Still age was being kind to him. His body was still in killer shape, and he was developing the large muscles that high schoolers could only dream of. Plus, he had grown – and was still growing - into his looks. The lines under his eyes and the rough look of his skin made him look sexier and more mature. John was confident that he’d be handsome even in old age.

John walked back to the bedroom and opened a dresser drawer. He pulled out a pair of white briefs that matched every other pair he owned. He was a simple man, who liked things a certain way. He selected a white button down shirt. There was something about this one - was it that it was a little stiffer? - that he really liked. His big thighs were forced into a pair of black, pleated slacks. They sat high on his waist, there was no other way given the size of his gargantuan ass. The high pants also showed off the sizeable bulge in his pants. But there really wasn’t anything he could do about that. He didn’t even have to work for that.

John added some black socks and loafers before knotting a royal blue tie around his neck. He checked the mirror again, making sure his hair was perfect - not that it ever moved anymore, it was like plastic. He was buff and buffed and ready for work…school? Work at school.

Outside of his bedroom, the house seemed a little different. Everything was more spare than he remembered. His aunt’s decorations…why would his aunt decorate his house? John glanced down a hall to the second bedroom. It just contained some old athletic gear and a few odds and ends. Still, it would be a perfect baby room. One day.

The coffee maker had started automatically, and John hastily poured it into a navy blue mug. He didn’t bother to read it, he drank from it every day. Every day? There was this odd sort of shaky feeling in the back of his mind, but John refused to give into it. He was a man, solid like a rock. There was something missing, but he didn’t really have time to think it over. He needed to get to the school. Yes, get to school. He was out his door and to his car without another thought.


John drove into the school’s parking lot as the sun came up. He didn’t know why there were almost no cars here – was school cancelled and he’d forgotten? He could see a few teachers walking in, though, so obviously something was going on. Maybe his clock was off, but oh well, better early than late.

He took a sip of black coffee from his insulated Clifton Spartans mug and inspected himself in his rearview mirror. Allowing himself another little moment of vanity, John recognized how handsome he was. His hair was perfect with every glistening strand in place. He had knotted his silk tie in a double-windsor, the knot as big as the square block shape of his chin. He set his coffee down to put a dimple in his tie and pulled at the points of his white dress shirt’s collar to make sure there was no white above the tie’s knot. John had bought this shirt because it had a slightly higher 2-button collar that stood above his rippling shoulders. He liked the way it looked as it hugged his neck, ropes of muscle wriggling their way out of the collar. Very dignified, with a dangerous edge of masculinity waiting to be unleashed.

He inspected his neck and jaw to make sure he hadn’t missed a spot shaving – he always kept a shaver in his glove compartment, just in case, but for the moment his tanned skin was even like a baby’s. It would only stay that smooth for the morning, he knew, but that was age for you.

John’s stride was confident as he walked into the building and toward his first class. He took small sips of coffee every few moments, feeling the caffeine gently waking him up. Every now and then, he felt a what-am-I-doing twinge, but one quick glance down at his big pecs, one sip of his coffee, one step made him feel better again.

He opened the door to his history class. The lights weren’t even on. One of the chairs was still flipped up on its companion desk, presumably from when the janitors had vacuumed the night before. John turned on the lights and heard them hum to life while he got the room back in order and spritzed the whiteboard clean. He took off his blazer and sat down in a chair in the front row, waiting for the rest of the class.

Coach Thornton stuck his smiling head in the open door. “Mornin’, John!”


“What are you doing?”

Knight looked at the desk in front of him. He wasn’t sure. “I…I’m waiting for the teacher to arrive.”

“You’re waiting for yourself?”


Thornton strode in from the hallway, a leather portfolio almost invisibly tucked under his huge bicep. “You left this in my office yesterday after our meeting.”

“I did?” John reached out and took the binder, flipping it open across his desk. “What is-”

It felt like something physically shoved itself against his brain. John leaned forward as he read. Inside the binder were syllabi, lesson plans, textbook guides, answer keys…he’d learned how to do this stuff in college. Just the word “college” made all his memories of school, and grad school, flood into his mind. Sweat started collecting on his flat forehead, and he reached up to loosen his tie but didn’t allow his hand to do so.

“Remember, John?”

“I…unnngh…” His first real teaching job, and he’d fallen into the honeypot. He wanted to teach high school, he loved that time in kids’ lives, it was so formative. Not only that, he loved history - especially American history - and dreamt of making it accessible to everyone. Most of all, accessible to his jocks. Jocks…not only was Clifton packed full of muscular jocks, but it also had truly great academics. He couldn’t think of a better place to make a career.

John turned a page and saw plays on the page, and the notes he’d scribbled for his special teams. It all burned itself into his brain like a brand.

“Sorry I left it, that’s not like me,” John said, shutting the book and standing up taller than his own boss.

“I know it’s not. Don’t worry about it. You left your ID too.” Thornton handed John a lanyard with a plastic card hanging from it. John looked at his picture – he wasn’t smiling in it, but he looked good. He was wearing his coaching polo, and that square jaw sold him every time. John put the lanyard over his head and let the card hang over the middle of his tie, dangling in the air from where his chest pushed it out.

“You nervous, John?”

“Not really. I’ve taught before.”

“You don’t have trouble getting students to respect you, I bet.”

John’s eyes sparkled. “No. No trouble.”


The first student through the door was wearing a skintight royal purple polo shirt. He was radiating infectious enthusiasm; big blue eyes beamed from a sunny, preppy face that counteracted the rock-hard muscles rippling across his 5’9” frame. Great chest – his best upper-body part – and arms fit to bursting with sinews. He had shaved his limbs to really show off their musculature. It was when he turned around to look for a seat that his ass really came into view. This kid clearly was a runner, with a giant engine of a booty and calves that strained for speed. His body looked designed to explode off the blocks, as simple as pushing a button on a toy car. “Hey, Coach K, how you doin’!”

John didn’t much care for the ‘Coach K’ thing – too informal – but this was the first time he’d been called it, so he let it slide. If it started catching on, he’d put a stop to it.

“Good morning, Dwayne.”

The compact, muscular man gave a big smile. “It’s Dayne, Coach! No ‘w.’”

“Oh, I apologize. Dayne. Why did I say Dwayne?”

“I dunno, but you better know the name of your star return specialist!” The former Dwayne bobbed to his left and right a couple of times, mimicking a serpentine run down the field. “I want ‘em all saying my name right as I run past ‘em!”

John gave a little chuckle. “I’ll be sure that they do, Dayne,” he replied, with great emphasis on the last word.

“Cool, bro, cool.” Dayne saw John’s mouth opening and beat him to the punch. “Sir, not bro, sir. Sorry sir!”

“It’s alright, Dayne,” John said, smiling with his teeth for the first time that day.

Dayne took a seat in the front. Next to him plopped Trevor, ever-fashionable, wearing a pink polo shirt that was as tight as Dayne’s tee. His pecs bulged out through the unbuttoned collar, and he fingered the opening delicately as he aimed smiles at passing girls. One girl ran her hand through his gently-mussed hair. He stood up – and up, and up - and gave her a hug, dwarfing her with his six-three frame. It was obviously not a just-friends hug, John observed. He always wondered what relationships these kids had with each other – so many jocks, so many cute girls…things were bound to happen. And Trevor was really exceptional looking. He had to be able to have his pick of any girl, regardless of whether she was technically taken or not. He was tall with a perfect set of shoulders, and by John’s guess, probably still had another couple of inches to grow, at least. And with all those brothers he had, and his competitive nature, he was going to keep working out, keep thickening up.

Two students shuffled through the door right as the bell rang. “Cutting it close, I see,” John said as he looked at pictures on the attendance sheet. “Alright, some of you I know…” He checked off the boxes next to all his jocks. “Glad to see all my guys are on time, let’s make that a habit, alright?”

Bassly mixes of “Yes sir” and “sure thing Coach” filled the room, with Dayne piping in a cheery “You bet!”

He called attendance for the names he didn’t know: all girls and non-sporting boys. It was clear who was in with the Clifton Jocks and who wasn’t. In the front, where Dayne and Trevor had set the trend, sat a line of clean-cut boys. Each one was muscular in his own way, some so thick that they barely had necks, others beautifully statuesque. Around them had accumulated a gaggle of sexy girls, many in cheer-branded outfits, like shorts with “CLIFTON” across the butt. Others wore top-name brands and showed off their beautiful young bodies.

Behind the muscles and babes were the other students of Clifton. A few skinny boys, a few dweebs, a few fatties. Some girls, none as pretty as the front-row crowd. In the last two rows there was a lot more acne and a lot less eye contact. John hoped he could bring some of his quieter students out of their shell. He’d been that quiet kid once, he remembered. It had just been easier for him because he’d happened to be really athletic, too. And really handsome. And able to put on pounds of muscle really quickly.

Slade Haskins raised his hand. “So this is the easy history class, right?”

John clenched his jaw. “Mr. Haskins, it will seem quite easy if you come to class, pay attention, do your homework and study for the tests. If you fail to do those things, this class has the potential to be very difficult.”


“I apologize for you all having to switch classes after a few days, but my hiring process got delayed a bit. Some of you I know already. If you are unaware, I am the special teams coach for the Clifton Spartans-”

“Are you a bodybuilder?”

“Don’t interrupt.”


“I’m not the strength coach, but yes, I enjoy fitness. You can often find me in the weight room here. I’ve done several competitions.”

A low murmur went across the room.

John pushed his tie knot higher and cleared his throat. “And that’s all I’ll say about THAT. Alright, here we go, as you can see, your first test is in three weeks and will cover…”


Two classes down, one to go for the day, aside from the practice and workout he had after school. John felt relief as he walked down the hallway. Not really any big hitches so far. Clifton was such a great school.

He heaved his dick out through his fly and pissed into the urinal, feeling his big ol’ breeding-balls spasm slightly. Gosh, if his jocks heard about that nickname, he’d never hear the end of it. Not that it was something to be ashamed of, but still, there had to be boundaries.

As he walked out of the bathroom, he heard a rustle and saw a piece of paper flutter down, hitting his khakis at the knee. Picking it up, he saw it was a test answer key, and when he looked to his right, he saw the back of a blond woman walking away, holding a stack of papers under her arm.

“Excuse me!” He took off down the hall, easily catching up since one of his strides equaled two of hers. “Miss? You dropped this.”

The woman turned around, looking slightly startled and not saying anything. John held the paper out. “You dropped your answer key, I think.”

“Oh!” She gave a bubbly laugh. “First day and I’m dropping the answers to tests in the hallway. Great.”

John glowed. “Is it your first day?”


“It’s my first day too.” He extended his hand. It was three times larger than hers, and three times as rough. “John Knight, I teach US History. And I coach special teams for the football team.”

“Sara Delaney,” she said with a big smile. “I do the Foods classes and coach cheer.”

Cheer didn’t surprise him in the least. She looked like a cheerleader. Compact and petite, with the cutest voice. Her blond hair was in soft ringlets around her head and shoulders, and she had big brown eyes and white teeth.

And she smelled incredible. Something about her just drew him in. He couldn’t resist. It was like they were made for each other.

He felt like he was staring down at her. John always forgot how tall he was until he was talking to someone a foot shorter. “So you must be a good cook?”

“I haven’t gotten complaints,” she said, her face scrunching into an endearing giggle. “It’s always been fun for me.”

“Do you cook a lot?”

She cocked her head stared at him for a moment, her eyes sparkling. “John, is this your way of flirting with me?”

His cheeks went pink, but he smiled. “It’s never been a strong suit.”

“That’s alright.” She gave him an obvious once-over, her gaze lingering on his shoulders stretching the seams of his white shirt, and the tie around his powerful neck. “You have other selling points.”

He stood up straighter and went the direct route. “Can I take you to dinner?” He paused and a line came to him. “I promise I won’t ask you to cook.”

He got a laugh with it. “Well, alright, you’d be the first,” she said with a grin. “I’ve actually got training meetings and tryouts for the next few nights, so tonight winds up being my most free…”

“That’s great.” John frantically went through his schedule in his mind. Work out, practice…was there time to go home and shower and pick out a shirt and a tie? Gosh, it had been so long since he’d gone on a date. Maybe he could push the time a little bit. “Is 7:30 too late?”

“Too late? No, hon, that’s right on time for me.”

“Can I pick you up?”

“I’d love that.”

He watched her walk away then looked down at the little scrap of paper she’d given him, with her address and cell written on it in total sorority handwriting. Externally he was calm, but internally he was cheering.

He was so glad he’d moved to Clifton.

To be continued