The Jocking: 3rd Quarter, 6:00 -- Running the Option

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“So, Brock headed off did he?” Moore turned to ask Briggs. The larger man turned to face the corporate executive, dressed in an expensive suit everyday despite the informality of those around him.
“Yep, had some work to do out west it seems.”
“And you’re not worried about this at all?” Jamie’s tiny voice rose above the metallic chill of the building. The two bigger men both turned in slight amusement at the smaller man voicing his opinion. After all, both men were surprised at the challenge. Moore cleared his throat before continuing.
“I actually have the same question. I mean, your star quarterback just up and leaves and you shrug it off. You are awfully calm for a coach at this moment. I mean, we’re at a crucial point in the game here.”
“You really don’t think I have a plan?” Briggs snapped at the two others. Both just stared at the ground and avoided the intense gaze of the coach. “I have a fucking plan! It’s not that hard. I’m almost at the end. How the hell do you think I got this far without a plan?”
“I wasn’t asking if you had a plan. I was asking why Brock left.”
“Brock will do as he does. That’s part of being the quarterback. I can give directions, but he can makes changes on the field.”
“I suppose, that’s your decision then.”
“Yes it is. And I might remind you, that you are only here because I allow you. This is a very dangerous time to be crossing me.”
“You’re overreacting a little,” Jamie voiced.
“I agree. Don’t lose your cool now. It would be a very bad time.”
“God dammit! Would you two just back off?” The man turned and thundered out of the room, muttering to himself, “my coaches and players never fuck with me like this.”

Jamie and Moore just stood in the room staring at the brute as he left.

“Ill tempered today is he?” Moore said to no one.
“He’s been getting a little out of sorts,” came the timid reply.
“Jamie, why are you here?”
“Briggs has a god complex. I, well, I have my reasons. But why you. You are the one who doesn’t seem to fit.”
“Maybe I want to be a big jock.”
“Doubtful, you wouldn’t have to be part of the big scheme to get that. Hell, at this point we’re practically taking recruits.”
“You really wanna know?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“I hate Kai Cole. And since this could mean that he is gone forever, I’m in.”
“You hate your biggest client? That’s pretty bold for a man who would have stayed a music teacher in a small town otherwise.”
“Whatever you asshole. He is a raving little fucker. And I hope he dies a painful death.”
“My god Jamie, you do have balls.”
“I am so fucking tired of you two talking to me this way. It’s how Kai always talked to me.”
“Really, you’re upset because a teenager made fun of you? You were home schooled weren’t you?”
“Fuck you!” Jamie yelled as he stormed out of the room. Moore stood by himself a minute before finally muttering, “don’t you wanna know why I’m here?”


He didn’t even know it when he sat down. It looked like every other chair in the room. A small seat with a desk attached. But it was something special. A little daily recruitment for the boys. And when Tyrell Stephens sat down, he had no idea what would happen in just an hour. Tyrell was a senior at the local university. All the joys of the small town at the big university. Tyrell was big, about six feet tall and probably about two hundred pounds, skin as dark as chocolate, it was fairly obvious that during his high school days, he had been a jock. But now he was a chemistry major. And this class was damn boring.

He sat down in the chair, a little too small to comfortably fit someone his size. He leaned back a bit and let his legs fall wide open. His baggy cutoff sweats hung just below his knees. He wore a plain white t-shirt over his still well developed body. It was obvious that he didn’t workout as hard in college as before, but he still had the natural build to compensate.

Unconsciously, he reached a hand down to scratch his balls and popped his back against the back of the seat. It was hard to focus in this class, not just for him, you could watch the other students struggle to pay attention to the dull professor. He shifted his weight a few more times, finding it hard to be comfortable in the chairs, they were rather small though.

It was about twenty minutes into class when he scratched his balls and held his hand there for a minute. It felt good to hold it, very protected. It was weird, the balls felt bigger. Lots bigger actually. He moved his body forward, placing his hand on the desk and the weight of his body on his hand. A cold breeze could be felt over the crack of his ass. Lifting his body up, he reached around to pull up his sweat pants. The globes of his ass hung out over the waistband, and he gingerly pulled the pants up. The band snapped against his waist and he felt the material pull tight into the space between his cheeks. All the while, his hand had not moved from his balls.

He looked at the clock and realized with horror that the class had barely begun. He shifted his weight a few more times, finally settling with his legs spread wide and his arms hanging over the side of the chair. His eyes began to slowly close as he lost focus again and again. It was so hard to pay attention. So much easier to focus on the comfort of holding his balls. Big massive balls. He snapped forward and he realized he had been falling asleep. The class was still slowly ticking by.

He popped his neck by moving it from side to side. The range of motion felt a little smaller than it did before. Like something was blocking the movement. He pushed his back against the seat again to pop it, and felt the tight material of his shirt clinging to the deep crevice along his spine. Slumping back into the seat again, his thighs were spread a little wider than before, and the bulge from his pants was becoming noticeably bigger. It was getting harder and harder to pay attention. What the hell was the teacher talking about anyway. It didn’t really make sense. What was the point of it anyway.

He again slumped forward onto the desk. And once again he could feel the cold air passing over his firm glutes. He reached behind to pull the pants up, and was slightly shocked when he pulled on stretchy lycra instead of the sweat pants. He was more shocked when his white tee was lycra as well. Gathering his things together, Tyrell left the classroom and headed for the restroom. But rather than heading off, he found himself leaving the building and walking to the university stadium. Entering a code he did not know, he found himself walking into the football locker rooms. He placed his bag on the ground and looked into the mirror. He muscular black figure was covered in white lycra shorts and a sleeveless shirt. His huge muscles bulged out at every angle. And then the strangest thing happened. The color from his skin began to bleed into the lycra, turning it dark black. But as it did that, his skin pigment slowly faded away, leaving him as white as the shirt had been.

When it was all over, Tyler Stephens, a buff red-headed whose mental capacities didn’t exceed anything beyond sports and fitness, shook his head and picked up his gym bag from the floor. He opened his locker and dropped it in. It was time for a today’s lifting and he didn’t want to be late.


Adam and Chloe had been all around the damn building and still had no idea where Kai was. It wasn’t until they had just about given up that Chloe pulled out an access card and opened a hidden passage.

“Honestly, you didn’t think of that earlier?”
“Well, I kinda just assumed they overrode all my codes. Apparently not.”
“Hmm, nice.” The room they entered was big and mechanical. Filled with cold steel and pulsating lights. And in the middle, lying on a table, was Kai.

“Oh my god, Kai!” They both shouted.
“Thanks Greek chorus but I don’t need voices in my head today,” Kai responded which resulted in a fast slap from Chloe.
“Oww, you bitch.”
“Hey, hey, you two,” Adam interrupted. “We gotta get a move on. Chloe, how do we get out of here?”
“Well, there is the front door.” The two boys stared, waiting for her to continue.
“Well?” They both said.
“That’s it,” she said as she shrugged her shoulders. “This place is impossible to get into. And impossible to get out of it seems.”
“We’ll have to find another way,” Adam said.
“You know,” Kai started, “we could blow up the place or something.”
“No,” Adam retorted. “Anyway, I have to find James first.”
“He’s gay,” Chloe whispered to Kai who nodded in understanding.
“He’s my friend, you little twats! Okay, we’re going to split up.”
“Because, you two need to figure out how to get out of here and I need to find James. We have cell phones, don’t we?” The two nodded in agreement.
“Good, two hours.”
“Where do we meet?” Chloe asked. “You can’t get back in here without me.”
“The cell,” Adam said. “We’ve all been there.”
“Oh, great idea,” Kai spoke. “Let’s meet back in prison. Oh how about for another ten to fifteen or so!”
“Stop being dramatic. Just go.”


Dustin Maddox had noticed some very strange things going on. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was amiss. Maybe it was the number of men on the football team suddenly, or the dumbing down of the classes. Or maybe, really, it was just the cafeteria food. It had suddenly gone from an obsessive collection of food to the ultimate high calorie, low fat, high protein buffet. Disturbing at first, it all tasted delicious. The soda machines had been replaced with machines normally used to serve smoothies, but they served up a different sort of drink. It was thicker, heavier... beefier. And while he thought it tasted disgusting at first, he immediately began to adore the drink and consume multiple cups a day. And now, walking out of the cafeteria, into the commons to eat, he scanned the crown for his friends. All around him, buff men chowed down on the muscle man cuisine.

Spotting his friends Clay and Randy, Dustin began to walk over. He lumbered down the stairs in a fashion quite new to him. It seemed there was more of him to move everyday. His legs swung around each other as he walked, barely brushing over the other with each stride. His posture was a little higher than yesterday- his shoulders pulled back a little further, his chest buffed forward a bit more.

The two were eating in silence. While Randy seemed to enjoy the food, Clay was downing the food as fast as possible. Dustin gave both boys a friendly nod, and then began eating. In no time, Clay had finished off his original plate and was heading back to the buffet for more. Dustin looked up at Randy, who just gave a confused shrug. Clay made it back quickly, his plate overflowing with meat and vegetables and three huge glasses of the protein drink. He ate it all, and downed the drinks quickly. Without a word, he got up, let out a huge belch, and strutted out of the commons towards the restroom, one hands scratching his ass as he moved.

Dustin didn’t see Clay or Randy for the rest of the day. But as he walked past football practice that afternoon, he thought he heard some of the boys yelling out, “Clay!” as someone ran into the endzone. Dustin couldn’t see over the fence surrounding the field, and just continued walking home.

It was the next morning, walking to class, when Dustin saw Randy again. He looked extremely jittery, that confusing mixture of energetic exhaustion. His eyes were open rather wide, as though he were stoned.

“Wassup dude?” Randy said as he approached, giving Dustin a gentle punch on the arm.
“Not much, you seen Clay?”
“Shit no, fucker,” Randy spewed out of his mouth. He spoke a little slower than usual, as though each word took an extra microsecond to conjure up. If Dustin felt like he had been gaining size recently, it was nothing on Randy’s obvious growth. His once nonexistent shoulders now sprouted laterally from his swollen pecs. He was wearing a pair of track pants that were struggling to stay buttoned over his thighs.

Arriving at school, a bovine voice called out to the boys. “Hey, mothafuckers! What you bitches playin’?” Dustin and Randy turned around to see a very large man approaching. Dressed in a pair of cargo shorts, his massive calves poked out from beneath the clothing. He wore a tight fitting football jersey over his expansive torso, the mesh material showing off slight traces of his skin beneath. Dustin wasn’t sure what to do until Randy spoke, “Yo Clay, how’s it hangin’ bro?”

For just a moment Dustin couldn’t believe that was Clay, but then it made sense. It looked like Clay did yesterday. Hyper masculine face, almost perfectly square jaw line, low brow ridge, oversized eyebrows. The only real difference was that his once black hair had been dyed bleach blonde, just like any good California surfer boy. Clay the football player.

They hung out until classes began, Randy and Dustin leaving Clay to do all the cool classes the football players attended. Randy seemed a little different after leaving Clay. His eyes looked even more vacant than earlier that morning. He seemed to carry himself differently, really thrust that chest out as he walked.

Lunchtime again, and the three boys sat eating. Today it was Randy who was piling away the food. Dustin just shrugged his shoulders while Clay hooted and hollered at the eating boy. Dustin ignored the racket, content to sip down five of the shakes the school provided. Eventually Randy got up, let out a loud belch and walked to the bathroom, one hand adjusting his crotch as he went. Clay got up and followed him out. Dustin just sat for another moment before deciding to get some more food before lunch was over.

He walked home alone again that day, hearing cheering from the other side of the fence.

Dustin didn’t run into either Randy or Clay as he walked to school that day. It didn’t really matter, he was zoned out the entire time. He marched home on a programmed path, the same path he took everyday. It was a good thing he didn’t have to think about it, he probably wouldn’t have been able to. Ever since lunch, Dustin has slowly been fading out. It felt like he was simply not there. Absentmindedly, he scratched the cleft of his pec while he searched around his home for something to eat. Every time he tried to focus on something else, like getting his homework done, Dustin suddenly found himself and getting something else to eat. Finally, he slumped in his bed and descended into sleep.

He woke up bright and early and covered in sweat. He slowly turned himself over in his bed and headed for the shower. He put it on ice cold, and washed the stink off his body. As he dressed that morning, Dusting found that his shirts really had to stretch against the growth of his muscles. It was cool. He flexed through the clothes while watching himself in the mirror. Very cool.

When he got to school the next morning, he couldn’t find Clay or Randy. But they found him.

“Yo bitch!”
“Hey fucka!” Two monstrous boys marched over to him. One with painted skin and bleached blonde hair. The other had short dark spikes in the most jock-like fashion. Dustin slapped hands with his two bros. They made idle chitchat before class. Talking about football and shit. It was awesome.

Dustin found it had to pay attention in class that day. He couldn’t wait for lunch. He loaded up his plate with tons of food and half a dozen of the shakes. While his friends watched with mild amusement, Dustin devoured the food in record time. It wasn’t long before he went up for another helping and a third. Finally, scratching his balls and leaning back in his chair, Dustin let out a large belch. Randy and Clay laughed and helped their bro out of the cafeteria. They led him to the football locker room and told him to strip. Dustin removed his clothes, which wasn’t hard since they were ripping at the seams. They gave him a jockstrap and a pair of track pants and a football jersey. Looking in his reflection, Dustin looked almost exactly like his two friends. Their clothes were identical except for the numbers on their jerseys. And the hair.

The other two boys pulled out a pair of clippers and went to work on Dustin’s hair. Once long locks, it was reduced to a military recruit’s cut. Shaved off the sides, with a short amount in the front. It really set off the square shape of his face. Once it was done, he smiled vapidly and let out a deep, dumb laugh. The other boys joined in.

“You ready to fucking win tonight, fucka?”
“You motherfucking bet I am, dude,” Dustin replied. They finished their classes that day. After school, all threes boys met up for football practice, were they stayed until late in the night.

5:00 remaining in the quarter . . .