The Jocking: Adam Turner


Night had come to the town. Doors and windows were shut and locked, for fear of a nonexistent intruder. Someone who would come and destroy what they love. Something that would dissolve their way of life and abolish everything they held precious. But that person had never existed, never come.

Until tonight.

Lane Young was alone in the silent streets. He walked a slow pace, in no hurry to be anywhere. Absorbed in the sounds of night, he failed to notice the lack of light along the path. So quiet and still, waiting patiently for a victim. And Lane came. As he strolled past an alley, he glanced down to view the hidden path. Instinct told him to run, but the darkness piqued his interest and his path changed. Pacing down the dark alley, he walked unknowingly past another man. A god-like blonde, hugely muscled, stalking its prey.

He leapt forth from the shadows and descended upon Lane. Lane could only give a small yelp before being silenced by the large man. He was unable to see the face of his attacker, but could feel his hands along his body. They felt over his youthful face, proceeding down his body. Clothes were ripped off his body with inhuman strength as two firm hands gripped his ass. What came next was searing pain and intense pleasure. Something was inside of him. Beating, pulsing, it was total ecstacy. Lane could feel the large cock thrusting in and out of his raw ass, every moment approaching orgasm. Lane could do nothing but shift and moan in pleasure, his own rigid cock spouting into the air.

The pleasure of sex was nothing compare to the wonder of orgasm. The cum felt alive within Lane. He ass groped at the cock, squeezing out every drop of cum it could. The cum was moving through his body, rolling waves of pleasure through Lane's entire being. It entered his bloodstream and pulsed along through his veins, causing them to thicken and show over his body. It was so incredible. All Lane wanted was to feel like this forever, this happiness. As he let the joy consume him, new thoughts entered his minds. Not thoughts, so much as programs. Ways of moving, ways of speaking, ways of playing entered his mind, altering his thought process. Each and every pleasant tingling centralized in his cock spread through his body. His mind associated the arousal to football, which his mind was obsessing over. From his body, the pleasure soon associated with football. All Lane wanted was to feel like this forever, and all he had to do to ensure that was to play football forever.

Lane greedily abandoned himself for the sexual stimulation, which controlled his being. But to truly enjoy football, he needed to be bigger. Lane wanted huge muscles. Huge pecs to stretch shirts, tight abs that you could wash clothes on, and a big, fat ass. As he thought, the veins spread over his body. Veins covered his feet, heading toward calves and thighs with huge cuts in them. The muscles were large enough to shred most pants. The veins passed into his ass, which inflated like beach balls, and his cock, now a thick eight inches. His stomach became a series of six deep cuts, painfully maintained. Thick veins showed through his chest and back as pounds of muscle attached to the body. His arms became the size of bowling balls, while his neck doubled in size. He face lost the youth it once contained, replaced by the aged face of a man exposed to the elements. The final knowledge of football suck into his brain. Young, an athletic man in his late twenties, got off the ground. His new quarterback slapped the huge ass, and Young began to put on his football uniform, which his converter had put in a corner of the alley. When he was finally suited up, no resemblance between Young and Lane remained. The jocks would have a busy night.


CHAPTER 1 - Where The Madness Left

Morning was rising over the sleepy town. But there was no town to greet the cheery sun, so the sun stayed away. Covered in dark clouds, the world seemed unhappy. But no one noticed in the small town, not one man was unconverted. Briggs smiled a he examined the fresh recruits, each experienced players their entire lives. Having easily overtaken the town he started in, Briggs was expanding south. He had started in a small town in Nebraska, and was now in a smaller town near Kansas. But this town was not a regular jocking. He had plans for the town. Here, Briggs would launch his professional team, the Soldiers. Brock stood before him, stretching the material of his new uniform to the extreme. Black shoes and socks led to black spandex pants with a red striped running up the sides of both pants. The jersey continued the pattern, with a tight, black underarmor shirt coming from the sleeves. All the men wore black gloves and helmets as well. Brock was the pinnacle of perfection in the outfit, a prime example of masculine energy. And all around, the other men from the town wore identical uniforms. Only the number revealed any difference in the jocks.

It was one month ago that Kai Cole had attempted to destroy the machine, his precious machine. But it had survived, and the jocking had continued. Kai was no longer a threat, and the team had spread indiscriminately. The bending was now quite complicated, so many woman had been removed from reality and so many men had been jocked. He had to be very careful not to tear reality permanently. So, most conversions were done outside of the machine, and only mass removals were performed. It was working, as reality seemed stable enough.

Around the town, men were stripping the buildings and beginning construction of the arena. Here, Briggs would convert the greatest football players in the country. Thanks to another bend, The Soldiers had been accepted into the National Football League as a new expansion team. All they needed was to be ready next week, for the first game. Brock would be leading the plays. Many of the other players had spread around the country, slowly converting small towns. Hunter stayed back at home base, working with the original machine. He had made several smaller versions of the machine and had distributed them around the team. BRMB had left on their own, intent on continued jocking. The rest had been lost on the shuffle. Briggs had also noted that Brock, Hunter, and BRMB (as a unit) had been the only jocks to develop unique personalities within the realm of sports. It didn't matter, they were the only ones who needed such freedom. Now, all he had to do was wait.

BRMB had traveled through three states searching for prime conversions. They were very particular in who they would convert. They chose a man named Taylor Oxingting, a counselor at a high school whose mascot was the Panthers. He was a middle age man, balding, far past his physical prime. And it was obvious that his "prime" hadn't been very much at all. At 5'0" 150 pounds, he was quiet and sheepish, avoiding other teachers, especially male coaches. He did care about the students. Taylor would be a more drastic change that normal, as all of the crew had possessed a confident attitude originally. They were going for a full one-eighty, a complete reversal of his personality. And clothes were still their chosen method.

It was the day after the game, and the school, which BRMB had pretended to enroll at, was celebrating its achievements. Bull walked into Mr. Oxingting's office before class began. He brought with him a Panther baseball cap, in celebration of the win.

"Hey dude! Mr. O, are ya here?" Bull called into the office.

"I'm present. How are you Brandon?"

"Fuck man, call me Bull."

"Okay Bull," Taylor tried to not censor the students. He thought that school put enough restrictions on them, they didn't need the counselor judging their actions.

"Did ya come to the fucking game, dude?"

"No I, uh, had some work to do. I really wish I could have"

"Yeah, dude. We fucking killed 'em. Wished you'd fucking been there."

"I'll come next week."

"Fuck yeah! Here," Bull tossed him the hat. "Fucking celebrate the win." Taylor put the hat on this head.

"Looks fucking good. Later man."

"Bye Bra- Bull." Bull walked out the door, laughing to himself. Taylor kept the hat on and continued with his work. He got up a moment later to go to the restroom. He didn't keep mirrors anywhere near his office. Students came in crying, and it was easier on them if they didn't have to watch themselves breakdown. Oxingting hated the pressures put on teenagers, and wished people would cut them slack. In the men's room, he gazed upon his face. A forty-something yuppie- bald, and pale. Deep wrinkles were appearing in his face, as tubbiness was setting in. In fact, he looked years older than he was. But the hat made his head less obvious, in fact--along with his come over--it practically hid the fact that he was balding. For the first time in years, Taylor walked with a bit of confidence in his step.

He tried to do his job over the next two periods, but constantly left to look at himself. Finally, he took a mirror from the bathroom and hung it in his office. He really couldn't believe how good the hat looked on him. It was more than just the hair, the whole look made him appear his age, maybe even bit younger. He could see the confidence in himself. He smiled at the mirror, proud of the image.

Taylor Oxingting spent the next two periods trying to work, but was constantly entranced by his own reflection. Every time he looked, Taylor swore that he looked younger and healthier. At lunch; rather than eating a lunch he brought everyday, Taylor decided to go out. He went to his twenty year old Probe. The paint was long worn off, and rust made the car appear orange and brown. Taylor wanted to get back quickly, so he went to a fast food store. As he pulled up to order, Oxingting felt famished. He ordered three triple cheeseburgers and two large fries, along with a bucket of pop. He to the school parking lot and ate in his car. The lot was empty because the students were at lunch, so it had a feeling of privacy. He couldn't believe he had bought so much food.

"Oh well, better get started," Taylor thought to himself as he opened the wrapper. The moment the burger touched his lips, a strange sensation spread through his body. He quivered, unsure of the feeling. It felt stronger with the next bite, and still stronger with each successive bite. As he ate, Taylor felt increasingly hungry, as though he hadn't eaten in days. He scarfed down the food, the sensation increased from a small sensation to a constant vibration. It wasn't bad, in fact it was almost erotic. Taylor began enjoying the feeling and he was hoping that it would continue. When he was done eating, Oxingting felt an incredible pull in the direction of his crotch. Reaching down to scratch himself, he cried out in ecstasy. Just touching himself felt fantastic. He was almost scared to do it again, but slowly reached down to touch himself. Intense pleasure filled his body as he laid his hand on his member. It gave him a painful erection, and Taylor had no desire to make it go away. He was already reaching down to pull out his hard dick. His five inches stuck out of his black pants, and Taylor reached down greedily to grope himself. He began pumping himself like the world was about to end. It was fantastic, Oxingting had never possessed a sex drive, and this sudden rapture was almost too much for him.

He spewed huge wads of cum all over his car. Oxingting sat in spent happiness for almost twenty minutes. He thought about wiping up the fluid, but decided to leave it as a reminder. He shoved his prick back into his pants. It seemed to fit a little tighter. As he walked back in the school, the faintest traces of a swagger could be seen in his step. When Taylor arrived at his office, Masher was waiting at the door.

"What can I do for you, Masher?" Taylor asked with a slightly deeper, more confident voice.

"We fucking have a fucking sponsor," Masher said as he put a pair of football cleats on Mr. Oxingting's desk.

"What do you mean?"

"Fuck, this shoe place fucking made a donation and we have fucking extras. I came to fucking see if you want them. They're so fucking cool." The shoes didn't look brand new, in fact they had scratches and stains all over the shoe. They looked very worn in.

"I don't really need a pair of shoes," Taylor began but Masher cut him off.

"It's just that we fucking have to fucking wear them to advertise for the fucking company, man. And we fucking need to give out all the fucking pairs they fucking gave us. Yo dude, give us a fucking hand." Taylor looked at the shoe curiously. He picked it up and felt a faint sense of the pleasure he had felt in the car.

"Well, since it's for the team."

"Fuck man, thanks a ton. Shit, I fucking don't know what we would fucking do without you, Fucker." Masher got up and left the office, leaving Mr. Oxingting alone with the cleats. He stared at them carefully for a few minutes, before he began to remove his loafers. He noticed that the shoes had a pair of knee-high football socks, and thought, "What the hell." He removed his black socks. He picked up the yellow spandex socks, and tiny waves of pleasure flitted through his body. Taylor pulled the first pair on carefully, rolling up his Dockers until the sock reached its full length, then pulled on the other pair. They fit over his kneecap, successfully hiding any skin on his calves, even if he rolled on the ground or got thrown around. Tiny shocks of joy rolled through him, and he reached down to put on the cleats. They actually looked too big for his small feet, but Taylor was unable to locate a size label. So, he put on the shoes. They may have looked big, but they were the most comfortable pair of shoes Taylor had ever worn. The shoes felt as though he had worn them in, as they snugged every part of his foot just tight enough. Once they were secure, powerful pleasure began enclosing him.

He turned to see himself in the mirror and laughed at his reflection. There stood a thirty-something man, holding up his pants while wearing football socks, cleats, and a hat. His face was smooth, but unshaved. Little sprouts of brown hair could be seen poking out from under the cap. And his crotch looked like a water bottle had been stuffed down it. Looking at his crotch propelled the waves to that location. Taylor unzipped himself, and a seven inch sausage flew out. It was already dripping precum on the floor and on his pants. Oxingting reached down and slowly began rubbing his cock. He wasn't concerned that he had cum only half an hour ago, he just wanted to make the sensation more intense. He could barely control his hands; however, as they began ripping on his dick. In the mirror, it looked like he was trying to pull his cock off.

"I am trying to get off," he thought smugly to himself. He only had to jerk for a moment more before he erupted like a fire hose all over his office. Taylor relaxed in his chair for a while, recovering from the incredible orgasms he was having, the first real one orgasms he'd ever had. It was so wonderful, he understood how those jocks always talked about sex and grabbed at themselves.

When he got up, Taylor had a strong desire to move. He was twitching and wanted to go, move, run. He managed to wait until school was over, and then we went to the empty football field. The team had taken the day off in celebration. It was raining, making the turf wet and muddy. At first, he just walked, then jogged, before he finally began running and flinging himself onto the ground. He sprinted with all his effort from one goal to the other and back again. He was running out of breath, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to stop. Somewhere inside, there was a goal. He would stand in the back field and then run toward a nonexistent ball. He tackled an invisible person and repeated the process. He ran every play perfectly. This behavior continued for about an hour. When he finally got up, he was filthy: sweating profusely covered in mud and completely soaked.

As he was walking toward the exit, Rod appeared from the locker room.

"Woah, fuck dude," he called to Taylor.

"What man?" Taylor yelled back.

"You're fucking soaked."

"Fuck, and?"

"You fucking look ready for a fucking heavy workout."

"Yeah dude, I am pumped up!"

"Shit man, use our fucking machines."

"Cool dude," Taylor said as he followed Rod into the weight room. The room crammed with weight machines. It smelled heavily of sweat and the floor was covered in various body fluids.

"What do you fucking want to work out, dude?" Rod asked.

"Fuck, I want a full body workout."

"Fuck yeah!" Rod said. "Let's start with you legs and work up. Here drink this, it's an energy drink. Rod gave Oxingting a clear, unmarked water bottle. Taylor put the liquid to his lips and drank. It wasn't water, it was thicker and it tasted awful. But, energy drinks weren't suppose to taste good. Before he knew it, Taylor had chugged the entire bottle down.

"First," Rod said, "You should change. Just take off you clothes. We're both guys." Taylor didn't hesitate for a moment as he threw off his Dockers, shirt, and boxers. He was left in the football cleats and cap.

"Let's do some standing calf raises." Taylor got on the machine as Rod attached a weight. Oxingting slowly lowered his legs and raised then. An intense burn seared through his legs.

"Keep going, dude!" Rod cheered on. So, Taylor continued. Each time it felt like his leg was going to burn off. That was the first set. The second seemed easier. Taylor could feel his calves pumping with power as they lifted the weights. When he gazed down, he saw huge veins spreading through his legs. He felt them before the third set, and they were too large to get his hands around. The third was the final weight, and Oxingting completed them with no effort.

"Now, let's do leg press." Again, Taylor sat down at the machine and struggled through the first set. His quads felt like they might explode and his hamstrings would never forgive him. The second set, it all got easier. His quads and hams were putting forth more effort and strength. At the rest, Oxingting again noticed the massive veins pumping through his legs. His hams look tight enough to rip spandex and his quads were so huge that he had to keep his legs farther apart to prevent them from rubbing together. It wasn't until he finished the third set that he reached back to scratch his ass, and felt a perky bubble butt. He gripped each cheek with his hands, loving the feeling of rubbing them on his ass. He was slowly moving his hands toward his crack, and upon arriving, slid one finger inside.

"Hip abduction!" Rod yelled, snapping Taylor out of his sexual spell. He swaggered over to the machine and plopped his ass down. The exercise was exactly like the others, huge pain, then work, then ease. His waist size had dropped a few inched by the time he got up.

Taylor could barely contain his pleasure. The whole experience was so arousing. He really wanted to explore his ass further, but instead followed after Rod, mimicking his walk and gestures.

"Lat pull downs" Oxingting could feel his back becoming hugely muscles and V-shaped as the exercise progressed. He also noticed that he was now at eye level with Rod. Rod took him to a Dip machine, and after much struggle, Oxingting had huge pecs and a chest that totaled eighty inches. His triceps would rip apart most any shirt he put on and his biceps were larger than bowling balls. The proceeded to the shoulder press, where Taylor's shoulders became as large as football should pads. He loved all of it. He must have gained three hundred pounds of muscle, and now came the abs.

Rod sat him down at the ground and had him begin crunches. Taylor crunched over and over. He had no idea how much time passed. But slowly, the love handles turned into ripped abs that he could wash his clothes on.

Physically, no resemblance to the aged man remained.. In his place stood a 6'7" 450 pound man. He had a look of rugged age to him, but was probably about twenty years old. Shaggy brown hair hung over his eyes and past his ears. Taylor looked at himself in the mirror, and immediately the pleasure sensation returned. He excuse himself and went to the toilets to jerk off. His dick was oozing precum and it was only minutes later when he had blown again. The toilet was covered in semi-thick goo. Oxingting was full of energy and charged back into the weight room. Rod was no where to be found, but Brute was in his place.

"Yo dude," Oxingting said, "where the fuck is Rod?"

"Fuck man, he fucking had to go."

"Fuck man, I wanna workout."

"Fuck no! The workout's fucking over. You fucking need to get cleaned up. Here, fucking take this and clean yourself up." Brute handed Oxingting some bath and cleaning supplies and led him to the showers.

"Fuck, hurry and fucking get cleaned up, dude!" Brute said. "We're fucking leaving soon."

Oxingting got in the shower and turned on the water. It was ice cold and there was no way to adjust it. He first pulled out a bottle of shampoo. It smelled stale, like gel. He rubbed the stuff through his long hair. The more he put on, the more natural it smelled. He used the entire bottle covering all his hair. He reached for the soap while he let the shampoo sit. The bar was as soft as a rock, and smelled like old musk. It actually smelled like sweaty men with cologne on. He touched the bar to his body gently, and it felt perfect. He began scrubbing furiously, clawing off any hair on his body. He cleaned his entire body with the soap. Any area cleaned by the soap smelled like it afterwards. But once his entire body had been soaped down, Oxingting liked the musky smell. It was how man should smell. The last bottle was bath gel. Taylor cringed at the thought of putting on some girly shit, but he squeezed it out and lathered up. The brown gel absorbed into his body as he rubbed it on. He returned to the shampoo and rinsed the it out of his hair. He towel off and looked at himself in the mirror. He body was now golden tanned, without a hint of hair except on his head. There, his brown hair was now jet black, giving him a look of sexy mystery. Ox was now the sexy free safety for the Panthers. The little stubble on his face only increased his sexiness.

The whole look was too much for Taylor. He reached down and began pumping his nine inch tool. His fucking cock. God it felt so fucking good. Being a fucking jock was the best fucking feeling the in world. Slowly, one hand reached around to his backside, and he slid his finger in his ass. One hand pumping his cock, Ox finger-fucking himself with the other. It was so much fucking pleasure. Ox spewed huge wads of thick goo around the showers. He slid his hand out of his ass and licked it clean. Before leaving, Ox checked his hair in the mirror. Brute was waiting for him outside.

"Fucking c'mon fucker!" Brute said.

"Fuck yeah!" Ox responded. "We gottta fucking celebrate our fucking win last night!"

"Fuck yeah!" Brute said as he handed Ox some yellow tights. At the top of his shirt was the logo BRMB. He put them on without struggle. Brute slapped Ox's ass and they went outside to Ox's car, a red Mercedes convertible with black leather interior. Rod, Masher, and Bull were waiting. The got in the car, blasted the bass and flew down the road.


CHAPTER 2 - A Hero to Save Us

… and it's currently eleven in the morning with cloudy skies. Next on our lineup is the Asian star, Kai Cole, with his single 'Fly Again.' You're listening to AM 1440 KHT, for all the hits outside of America. I'm <click>

The radio had been stopped suddenly by a once still hand. The body attached to the hand turned over in bed and prepared to go back to sleep. Except, for some reason, he couldn't. After a few minutes of tossing about, he finally gave up. Mindlessly, he began to sing the words to the song he had silenced.

"Can I come close to you? Can I talk to you?
And if I say so,
will you love me?"

He sat in silence a moment longer before sitting upright and leaning off the bed. He didn't like the next lines in the song, so he sang his own.

"If you gave me your hand,
I would fly again.
If you would love me,
I would fly again.
I can fly . . with you."

But somehow, the words sounded hollow, reverberating against the pale walls of the room. It was a small room, with a tiny bathroom attached. The room was part of a two-bedroom apartment in a small college town in Oklahoma.

"It rains everyday in this town," he began narrating to himself. "Like the sun itself refuses to shine on this decrepit land. I wonder if a place really exists, where the sun glows from the sky, caressing the world with its golden light. Or maybe it's just some sick joke, because no one ever leaves this place. It's like a tiny hell here, each day a lifetime of dying slowly and each night a series of unending nightmares."

He opened the closet door and began to sort through his clothes.

"And amid this chaos, I live in silence. Waiting for a chance to be heard, to change the world. But the rain still comes. And my dreams fade away into darkness."

He glanced in the mirror.

"Who am I? My name is Adam Turner."

Adam was a tall boy, with brown and blonde hair. He was thin, but had a cut body. Not beautiful, he was cute and charming enough to overpower sheer beauty. He walked out of his room wearing low-cut jeans, a dress shirt, and flip-flops. He scoured about the kitchen/living room for any traces of food. Instead he found a note from his roommate.

"Get up earlier and I'll save food for you."

Adam just smiled as he read the note. Then, he noticed something else.

"P.S. If you get up before noon, call me."

Adam just shook his head, full aware that James knew him that well. James was a short, Indian man with a fairly muscular body. They had been friends for years, and just recently got the apartment together. It had two small rooms, each with its own bathroom. They shared a small living room and kitchen. Tiny was the operative word, but it worked.

It was Wednesday morning, and the end of the week was fast approaching. The entire campus was absorbed in the excitement of the football game Saturday. The team was on a winning streak, causing long forgotten fans to pour into the stadium. But Adam had little time to think of it. Mid-terms approached without pause, and threatened to ruin his grade point average and his credits.

"Leave it to me to want to be a doctor," he muttered as he packed up his books. Adam and James were both pre-med students. They had promised to transfer at the end of the second year, yet they had both returned. There was more to it than being lazy.

His mind returning to the note, Adam took out his cell phone and searched for his roommate's name. It rang four times and then the machine picked up. Adam hung up in slight frustration and headed to class.

Having tried to avoid some classes, Adam found himself stuck with some basic courses, one being Federal Government. Adam hated nothing more than politics, and spent all class just waiting for it to end. The class was taught by a Mr. Theodore Fisher, the resident psycho on campus. Each day he spouted theories of government conspiracy and alien abduction.

Adam sat down next to his friend Mitch, a starting offensive lineman on the football team, and pulled out a blank sheet of paper.

You look happy.

You hate this class as much as I do.

It's not that bad, Adam.

Yes, it is. Here comes his speech about government conspiracy. Theodore Fisher is a crazy man. He rants about how the CIA is hunting him down.

He's old.

He should die.


"Alright class, now today's topic is mind control. There are various methods of mind control"

Adam's interest immediately began to increase at the mention of such odd topics. The very relief of not hearing about how conservatives were working with aliens and liberals were high was enough to make Adam beam. That fact that the topic was almost fun made it incredible.

One hour later, Adam was running across the school to his second-level psychology course- Human Sexuality. Taught by the infrangible Madam Cull, or Spinster Cull as her students spoke, the class was a mixture between aged cynicism and outright hatred of love.

"Love! Does not exist!" She spouted everyday in her decrepit voice, like Old Faithful. No one tried to challenge her anymore, the bitch was set in her ways. For some reason, Adam seemed unable to alter his schedule and spent his semester listening to crazy, bitter folks rant about nothing.

"People express sex in their lives. Every action taken is the result of some repressed sexual desire. We strive in life to relieve those desires, and so we behave like animals. Instinctively, we all try to satisfy carnal urges lusting deep within our souls, or the penis for the boys."

Man-hater. I wish people would die. Not everyone, just the people who make my life in this hell-hole miserable. I don't want James to die, that would just make this whole thing unbearable. At least this way I can antagonize him.

"Adam!" barked the ancient hag. Adam sat straight up as he was jutted from his thoughts on paper. "Provide an example of something in life that is an expression of sex!"

Holy hell.

"Umm . . . . touching a person-"

"No! An activity unconsciously based upon the desire to enact sexual urges."


"Anything. We express sexual desires and inhibitions in every aspect of our lives. From the word choice we use to the way we move. It's all about sex. Sex! Sex! Sex!" He screamed down at the woman. Spinster Cull appeared surprised, but recovered nicely with a simple nod.

"Continuing" came the screech.

This is not my day.


CHAPTER 3 - A Quickie

Completion of the Soldier's stadium was moments away. No longer needing to eat, drink, or rest, the players had been working constantly for almost a week. It was now Wednesday and the game was Sunday. Briggs watched with anticipation as the final touched were placed. A few conversions would have to work concessions and such to keep appearances. Hunter had made another machine. Smaller and less powerful, it would still give Briggs the power to change reality.

Brock was eager to begin his professional football career. It was all he could ever remember wanting. Not necessarily the sport, but the power. The control he had over the team. That was something for which he had yearned.

Adam returned to the apartment, expecting James to be sitting at the table. Instead he found another note, explaining that he had a huge project, and the group was working late. Adam slumped into a chair, bored. He wanted to go out, but really only enjoyed nightlife with James. Instead, he pulled out his Government book and began to pour over an assignment given that day. Fisher wanted the students to research a mistake in some tracking system. In other words, find some conspiracy. Adam already had an idea. He found a website dedicated to the belief that sports were being used to undermine personal identity and brainwash the younger generation.

"Of course," Adam spoke aloud to himself, "this would be much easier if he gave an idea what he was looking for in the paper."

Adam scanned over papers of athletes committing crimes and getting away with felonies. None of it really struck Adam as odd which he decided was him being cynical. He decide to open the next paper and use whatever he could find. The paper was from Nebraska and was about a month old. It talked about a gas fire at a high school locker room.

"No one was hurt," Adam read. "But, the town" Adam read a description of the town that sounded very familiar. He pushed the hazy image from his mind and settled on the topic. This would be easy, sports teams taking care of someone who caused them trouble. Adam began typing furiously, allowing his bizarre ideas to pour onto the screen.

Stacker's path had lead him directly south from Nebraska, and he found himself on a college campus in Oklahoma. Whereas Mike had been an unbendable prude, Stacker was the life of the party. And he wanted to party. But to get in, he needed a college friend. Wednesday's weren't the best, but parties could always be found. Stacker determined the fraternity he needed to convert, and found the perfect target. He was tall and fat, and he said that he just came from practice. Stacker realized that he must be an offensive lineman. Aside from his brute factor, the man was cute. Stacker needed him converted badly, and he had the machine that Hunter had given him. It was all he needed.

Mitch waved good-bye to his fraternity brother and was about to proceed into the building when he was approached by another guy. He wasn't a normal guy, he was huge. He looked like a professional bodybuilder but with an extra bit of confidence in his step.

"Woah, hey dude!" The other man addressed him.

"S'up dude?"

"Hey, you're on the football team?"

"What of it?"

"Fuck man, I'm touring the campus, cause I might come here next year."

"You're in high school."

"Yeah, dude. And I need to talk to the coach. About scholarships and shit."

"Okay dude. Hey, lemme change first. You ever think about pledging?"

"Hell yeah," Stacker said as Mitch led him into the house.

Mitch let Stacker wait in his room while he took a quick shower. Once he was gone, Stacker began to root through Mitch's belongings. Nothing he didn't expect to find- clothes, some personal articles, and condoms. Now all he had to do was bend. His name was Mitch . . . and he was an offensive lineman. Stacker always wanted a brother, Mike and Mitch Stackers. Nothing else about him had to change mentally, all that was needed were some physical adjustments. At 275 pounds, Mitch was a big guy. Stacker just needed the fat to be firm. Now, how about crazing some . . . food.

It was a few minutes later when Mitch Stacker strutted through the door. He was already different, he eyes had more of a gaze to them and his language was altered.

"Hey bro," Mitch nodded at Stacker.

"Yo, dude."

"Fuck man, I am so hungry. Wanna get some meat?"


They went to a buffet on the back fo the campus. No one ate at this store, aside from the biggest guys in campus. It was a perfect spot. Mitch loaded his plate up on the first trip with a variety of foods. The boys ate in silence. Mitch tried to eat like a civilized human, but was unable to control the urges inside him, telling him to eat and eat. Stacker watched in amusement as Mitch's face lost the chubbiness it once contained, and his jaw became hard and square. His once hanging gut had moved up his chest, leaving his upper body a mass of jelly. The second plate lacked the variety of the first, totally composed of red meats. Mitch scarfed down the food mercilessly, covering his face in animal liquids. The mound of jelly that had been his chest began to firm, showing the pronounced outline of two pecs against his tightening shirt. His huge shoulders led to two thick arms, each tearing the seams of the sleeves. Scratching at his ass unconsciously, the fat bullock was replaced with two hard stones. The bottom of his shirt hung above his hard abs. His loose boxer shorts had been replaced by tight briefs, the elastic band showing over his stretched pants. Mitch's legs were so thick that every cut was visible on the outside of his faded jeans. He strutted off to get more food and returned with another plate of meat. Beyond manners, he scarfed down the food in a few minutes. He let out a burp to show his completion. Stacker smiled as his new brother was complete. Stackers got up from their table and strutted off. They were identical twin brothers now, each in college, and each ready to drink the night away with their fraternity brothers. Also anxious to jock the brothers, they hurried out, preparing for the night.


CHAPTER 4 - Sunken Dreams

Adam had long ago fallen asleep at his computer when James arrived home. The Indian man stood over Adam's unconscious body, gently breathing. He hoisted him off the chair and carried him over to his room, easing his roommate onto his bed. �James had done it numerous times before, silently thanking Adam for attempting to wait up. He saved whatever paper Adam had been working on and shut down the computer. Tired from the long night, James soon went to his own bed and fell asleep.

… and it's currently eleven in the morning with the cloudy skies. Next on our lineup is the Asian star, Kai Cole, with his second single 'Sunken Dreams.' You're listening to AM 1440 KHT, for all the hits outside of America. I'm <click>

Adam hang swung sharply to turn off the radio before the song began. Despite his hatred for K.C. songs, he particularly hated this one. Sunken Dreams was a depressing memoir of a person who felt alone, but obviously wasn't.

"I don't see how people can love a person who hates life. None of his songs sound sincere. They sound hollow, like he says nothing. And . . . I'm in my bed. James must have come home. That's nice of him. That means it's Thursday."

Adam got out of bed and put on a pair of jeans, a shirt, and a light jacket. He glanced in the mirror, regarding his reflection with quiet curiosity. Unknowingly, he began to sing the words to the song he muted.

"Sunken into the earth,
covered by the stone of life,
my broken heart
is buried
under a mountain of wasted dreams."

Upon, seeing the words come from his mouth, he flew one hand over his mouth and stared agape at his image. It frustrated Adam to have such miserable songs echoing from his mouth. Kai Cole represented everything that Adam fought against in life. �Pain, misery, sorrow, all enhanced through the darkness of the lyrics. Adam refused to believe in such a world, a place without hope. And so, he sings his own song.

"The dreams which sunk into the earth,
they speak to me now
as the light returns.
Carried on your burdened shoulders,
I can now see the face
that has held my hand
in darkness
for eternity."

Caught up in his own rhythm, Adam began dancing around the small room. His volume increasing with his energy.

"Sunken dreams,
the things of legend.
Now risen from the dead earth.
Sunken dreams,
the voices calling me.
I hear the love forgotten."

Adam smiled now, standing alone basking in his own cheer. It wasn't uncommon. Adam expressed himself through the voice he had. He spoke only what he felt, every word pouring forth from his soul. He entered the living room to see James cooking. It was far past breakfast and too early for lunch.

"What are you doing?" The singer inquired.

"I'm fixing you food," James replied without glancing at Adam.


"So you can eat."

" . . . thank you?"

"You should be thanking me," James said, pointing the hot spatula at Adam. "I didn't have to do this for you."

"I didn't think you would."

"It's only because you looked so pathetic lying there last night. I had to do something."

"You were worried about me," Adam sounding more than smug.

"No, I'm worried about how much your hospital bills are. Can you really afford to not take care of yourself?" Adam stared in silence for a moment.

"It was an accident. It has nothing to do with my life. Just let it go."

"You are not the one who sat and waited for a month."

"No, I was the one who was in a coma." Adam turned and left the room. It was a common occurrence, this battle. The only thing they ever fought over. Six months ago, Adam had been at the scene of an accident, and had ended up in a coma for a month. The first sight that greeted Adam was James. Their relationship had changed that day.

Adam sat near the railing that led to their apartment. He leaned against the pole and stared toward the covered sun. Smiling to himself, he continued with his song.

"Wonder what has happened?
That I breathe again.
And the overwhelming
has simply vanished
where once my dreams retired
they rise again.
And though tomorrow may never be
I only need today."

James was standing behind Adam as he finished. He put a hand on his shoulder and both men sighed a little. The fight never lasted long. Silently, they turned to enter the room. Stopping to close the door, James' face suddenly lit up.

"Oh, hey! I almost forgot. I won a prize!"

"From what?"

"That mail in contest."

"The phony one?"

"Yeah, I won two tickets to the first football game at the new Soldier's stadium, in Nebraska."

"Have fun."

"You're coming with me."





"Why? Why should I have to go through such torture!"

"Cause, you're my best friend."

"Damn you."

"We leave tomorrow."

The fraternity house was long awake by the time Adam and James were eating. After a rather eventful evening, every brother was now a jock. And a horny jock at that. Most of the night had been a long orgy, huge cocks thrust up meaty asses. Most of the building had been covered in a sort of cum, thicker than usual. Their mission now was to jock the other fraternities.

Briggs' preparations for the game were nearly complete, the entire team anxious to begin the national jocking. The first match was against the Atlanta Falcons. Brock adjusted to new role to perfection, acting like a perfect adult jock.

It was on this day that a short, brown-haired man came to visit Briggs. He walked right up to the potent man and said, "We need to talk."


CHAPTER 5 - Turncoats

Thursday was basically a nonsense day for Adam. Lacking a single class to attend, most of the day was spent studying or goofing off. James on the other hand had a plethora of upper level biology courses to attend. Adam continued on his paper once James left, reviewing high school football mysteries. How it was being used to teach individuals to obey others mindlessly and how uniforms reduced personalities. Only having a number created a sense of being only a part, not a whole being unto themselves. Plus, the football town in Nebraska was simply too interesting. Actually, it wasn't that far away from the Soldier's stadium, or The Base as it was named.

"I could take an extra day to visit the town. I'm sure that Fisher would love some personal experiences and interviews."

He glanced at the name of the small town again. It seemed so familiar, something about it . . . a heavy sense of deja vu. But that was all, no sudden recollection of its meaning, only the image that it was known.

Adam's conspiracy was closer than he imagined. The jock-frat was already prowling the campus, eager to initiate other men into their brotherhood. They passed out fliers to guys around campus, offering a special celebration tonight for anyone who wished to pledge. James walked past two such jocks without a second thought. The jocks were getting a great response from the people, everyone eager to have a little party. Especially with free liquor.

Hunter was two states away, slowing tweaking the machine. He had been working for three days straight and was not about to stop.

Briggs' excitement over the impending jocking was diminished by the return of his old friend. The mousy man sat in a chair across the desk, slightly quivering as he spoke.

"Where's Kai?" He whimpered to the overbearing man. Briggs laughed at the question. He assumed there was a larger problem than the missing singer.

"Him? What are concerned with him for?"

"H, h, h, he is very, known. I mean, people will wonder--" Briggs cut him off immediately.

"Not once we get the machine running. No one will remember."

"But I still want to know, what happened to him?"

"Awe, I thought you didn't like him.� You always bitched about arranging his press conferences."

"That was when I was a frustrated agent, not a member of an international conspiracy."

"All I want to do is make the world a better place."

"Me too. Where is he?" Briggs stared down the man for a moment. The other man's eyes did not falter, and soon Briggs chuckled.

"Well, well. Jamie Carter looks like you have some balls after all."

"I can handle myself just fine."

"He's safe."

"Safe? What does that mean?"

"It means, he is no longer a threat."

"Is he dead?"

"To us."���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������

"You couldn't kill him." Briggs was silenced at the bold declaration. He coughed loudly and continued.

"Apparently, TAN1 can bend reality too. We were unable to kill him."

"How ironic, beaten by a pop star."

"He's contained. And he won't be able to interfere."

"What will you do, once this is all over."

"Then, we will figure out a way to remove him. He can be in a coma until he dies if I choose."

"Assuming no one else wakes him."

"Sleeping beauty won't be disturbed."

"Oh, reading into prophecy again? I thought that one was called the gateway sleeper? I thought Kai was the voice?"

"We won't know until it's over."

Brock set up in a practice formation, walking toward his center. The team on both sides was perfectly still, awaiting the signal. He stood and marveled for a moment at the sheer control. They only had one thought, and it was football. Their only goal was to play. And Brock had control over the play. It was his team, and he was their leader. The moment the words "hike" exited his mouth, a rampage of bodies began a war on the fifteen yard line, but there was no way Brock could ever lose.

"Hi, Mitch it's Adam. Umm, I wanted to ask you a few questions about football. It's nothing major, just some stuff for Psycho's class. If you could call me back, soon. I have to go on a trip tomorrow. So, bye."

Adam hung up the phone and sat in silence for a moment. It was the third message he had left on Mitch's phone. Still no reply and Adam was getting worried. Mitch was many things, but attentiveness was drilled into his skull. And Adam desperately wanted to be done with this project. Ghost feelings plagued his assignment, and purging those thoughts from his mind was a top priority. Night had come faster than anticipated and Adam was packing for the trip. James had one final lab in the night, so Adam packed for him too.

"Wonder what this is?" Throwing in the final bits, Adam shut the suitcase and decided to go ahead and pack the car. Time saver, since they were leaving in the morning. James had even suggested that Adam might see the sunrise, a horrifying thought to say the least.

The campus was full on commotion, and despite the night of partying that was undoubtedly ahead, there seemed a greater tension than usual. It was simple enough to find out that everyone was going to a frat house for a party. Nothing odd, except the 'men only' stigma, which Adam passed off as a desperate attempt to get money.

He met James back at the apartment, and learned that they were to leave at seven, in the morning. After the initial shock, Adam slumped off to bed. James followed shortly and the two were asleep before nine in the evening ever came.


CHAPTER 6 - Brotherhood

Adam and James may have slept the night away, but many men on the campus attended the fraternity party. And what a party--beer, beer, and any other liquor imaginable. It was a roaring good time, especially for the brothers.

Jake Snider had played baseball since his youth. It had been a major part of his life, constructing his bastard personality to his supple ass. He had never been in a serious relationship, simply content to fuck and be fucked. In fact, his interest in woman only extended as far their boobs and pussy. He thought the frat party would be a great chance to throw back some drinks with the boys. Already a member for another fraternity, he had no intention of pledging, just drinking.

When one of the brothers, was Mitch his name--he was an offensive lineman on the football team, asked him to go to the basement and help carry up some more liquor, Jake gladly agreed. He followed the huge man down the steps. The football and baseball team had always been at ends at the school, football was more popular but he baseball was more successful and resented the lack of enthusiasm.

As he approached the bottom, Jake could see part of the basement. Piles of clothes were tossed around, probably the laundry room. There was also a large machine, "Was it a TV?", in the center of the room. Jake crossed the threshold into the room.

Instantly, the world became blurry. Jake stumbled to the ground, clutching his chest in pain. It felt like knives were puncturing his skin. He threw off his clothes in a sort of seizing fit, and began to shake on the ground, naked.

His position gave the others a great view to watch the transformation. Veins sprouted from his calves and began the upward journey. His legs, already well developed, inflated with further muscle. His thighs were thirty inches around, each. The pumping entered his dick, once six inches erect, short forward to a hard nine. The balls grew too, increasing his sexual drive. Jake's already large ass became like two mounds of fat, shaking lavishly from side to side when he walked. Once suffering from a beer belly, hard abs were ripped above his monster cock. The chest and back came next, turning once soft mounds into solid muscle. His pecs shot forward, inches away from his body. His back gained a huge V-shape, from three foot shoulders to a tiny waist. The shoulder muscles grew to match, and the veins snaked down his arms, endowing him with twenty-inch bowling balls where biceps should be. His neck became so thick it was hard to look to the side. As the chemical entered his head, he gained a square jaw and masculine facial features. His red hair and Irish pallor, changed next. Jake's red hair became black, and his once hairless chest became coated in thick black hairs. The hairs snaked over his body, giving it a darker look. His skin was darker too, from a near to white to an olive color. His eyes rolled back in his head as he changed mentally.

Gone were the years of center field, catching fly balls. But Snake could still catch. He intercepted tons of passes. And he led the team in sacks last season. No need for pussy assed games, it was all about contact sports.

Finally, the familiar haze entered his eyes, and Snake Casillas the Italian linebacker, got up and wiped off the thick substance he had sprayed in himself. He put on his new clothes and trotted upstairs, eager to continue with the night.


CHAPTER 7 - Place and There

The usually active conversations between Adam and James were dry from the hour. Adam struggled to stay awake, while James was lost in thought. The countryside had long turned from scenery to long stretches of corn field, continuing forever. Neither made any effort to turn on the radio, until eleven o'clock hit. Almost instinctively, Adam's hand stretched out to turn the radio.

… and it's currently eleven in the morning with cloudy skies. Next on our lineup is the Asian star, Kai Cole, with his single 'Out of Blue.' You're listening to AM 1440 KHT, for all the hits outside of America. I'm <click>

"That's odd," Adam said to no one in particular.

"What?" James opened his eyes.

"The radio station. I didn't think it broadcasted so far."

"Well, you never know."

"It sucks actually."

"K.C.?" Adam snorted in response. "What is your problem with him?"

"My problem," Adam began. "Is that he has no talent. It's true I hate his depressing songs, passionately. But I am more disturbed by the fact that he is a phenomenon when he can't sing."

"He sounds alright."

"But there's no passion in his voice. He just . . .talks. He's saying nothing."

"What about 'Out of Blue'?"

"Crap. This one he was just given by the recording company. The song itself is shit, he can't be blamed for it."

"You crack me up."

"Whatever." It was an eye roll followed by a playful punch. They laughed, happy that the icy hush of the morning was gone.

While the boys were on their way to Nebraska, BRMB had found a college campus in Colorado to hang around. They shared a suite with another boy, Todd Green. Todd was a ripped swimmer in a long term relationship with his girlfriend. At least, it had been long term until recently. The couple had been in constant argument, and were both ready to call it quits.

"That fucking bitch!" Todd stormed into the living area of the apartment. BRMB watched as the shirtless man appeared, his hard abs cut into his body.

"Fuck dude, what the fuck's the matter?" Todd glanced at the guys, unsure of who had asked the question.

"The bitch, threw all of my shit, out the window!" He was red in the face as he spoke. BRMB looked at each other in surprise. In reality, they had done it and gotten rid of the girl. But Todd was following the plan, and they would too.

"Shit dude."

"That fucking cunt!"

"Fuck." Todd was with the clothes he wore to practice- track pants and a wife beater, now soaking wet. And unlike other guys, Todd didn't like changing in locker rooms. So he was stuck in the jammers he practiced in. The top of the tight clothed peaked over the pants.

"What the hell am I suppose to do?"

"Fuck dude, borrow some of our shit."

"Fuck yeah!"

"Fuck yeah!"

"Fuck yeah!" Todd had noticed that the trio said 'fuck yeah' whenever they were all in agreement about something. It was slightly unnerving. But he let them lead him to a room.


Still in the car, and still listening to foreign music, Adam and James began to enjoy the repetitious countryside.

"Lovely fields of corn?" James asked playfully.

"Oh yes," Adam responded. "It's one of the most beauticious sites I've ever seen."

"Is that even a word?" James laughed.

"I just made it one. Oh my god! It's another K.C." As James burst out laughing, the radio began blaring yet another song by the idol.

"Bet you're mad."

"Oh holy hell! I can't escape him."

"Is this the worst?"

"No, it just doesn't matter."


"Doesn't Matter, the name of the song."

"Oh! Sing it."




"Do it, do it your way!"



"I can't fucking wear this!" Todd stood in amazement as the guys had given him, along with a jock, a sleeveless lycra top and a football girdle. "This shows my dick, for god's sake."

"Well, fuck dude. Fucking wear a fucking cup." The jocks gave him one, and Todd eyed in coyly. Finally, submitting himself to fate, he stuff the cup into the jock strap. The plastic bulge was obvious, but it provided some cover.

"Okay, thanks guys. I gotta hit some weights." Todd left the room and proceeded to the gym on campus. It wasn't the best time physically to work out, but Todd had to let off some steam. He ran the entire way, careful to avoid eye contact with anyone. Insecure in the tight clothes, Todd went to a small weight room in the back. It was usually reserved for heavy lifters, but Todd didn't care. He was so past thinking that he was lifting double his normal amounts.

"Woah, all the weights are heavier," he said after almost an hour. Absorbed in the rage, Todd's workout had only increased his tense breathing and posture. He looked at himself in the mirrored walls of the room. He was in prime shape, and the lycra highlighted his muscular build. Part of Todd wanted to be bigger, but he was content to wait until after college, when swimming was over.

The assessment of his cut body was oddly arousing for Todd, and the cup was being propped up a bit by his firming cock. Careful to make sure no one was near, Todd pulled out his uncut manhood and stared at it in wonder. It was bigger than average, he knew. Even as he held it in his soft hand, Todd felt the thick shaft in slight confusion. For a second he wasn't sure what to do. Then Todd ripped away at the engorged member and relaxed in slight ecstacy as he came.

Todd ran back to the room, intent on showering off the sweat. He had never sweat much before, but the intense session pushed his body to a new level. It was only on his return that Todd remembered his girlfriend had taken all the bath supplies. He wasn't embarrassed to borrow soap, but he did need to shave for a meet tomorrow. Masher loaned him some shaving gel and a razor.

Todd turned on the hot water and lathered his body with the shaving lotion. It was a deep brown, and smelled like musk. A practiced expert, Todd finished shaving a few minutes and proceeded to clean the rest of his body.

Ten minutes later, Todd found dark brown hairs poking out around his body.

"Fucking new gel. Must not be used to it." So Todd repeated the process. Two more minutes, and Todd found most of his body coated in thick black hairs.

"What the fuck!" he screamed and proceeded to shave again. And again. Like a trained monkey, Todd repeated the futile act, each time the hairs becoming increasingly dark and thick. He reached around to scratch his ass in confusion, and Todd felt his now hairy ass. His initial disgust soon turned into a pleasant surprise. He liked the feeling of the thick hair. Losing himself for a moment, Todd rubbed his hairy chest in pride. That moment was all it took, and Todd would never shave again. The sensation of hair spread over his body, and Todd's dick, surrounded by a dark forest of pubes, stood at attention. Losing no time, Todd quickly jacked off in the shower. Lost again in the pleasure, he inhaled heavily, each breath trembling his muscles.

Todd stepped out of the shower and straight back into the hall. He wanted to show off his new masculinity.

"Fuck dude."

"You fucking look awesome."

"Fucking cool." Masher gave him a high five, and then said, "I thought you would like my gel."

"Fuck yeah!" Todd yelled. "This is so fucking awesome. Fuck, I want a fucking new look for this fucking cool body." Still pumped from the workout, and now covered in fur, Todd slipped back into the sweaty shirt and girdle.

"I need a fucking new haircut for my fucking new bod." BRMB happily led him to a barbershop slash tattoo parlor. Todd just leaned back, still pumped and still with heavy breathe. All time was lost, and Todd only became aware when he was sat upright. Gone was the rich brown hair, now a bright bleach blonde styled into sharp spikes.

"Fuck man, you have fucking horns!"

"It's cause I'm fucking horny!" They laughed for another minute before Todd was lost in confusion.

"What, dude?"

"Fuck, you want to get the fucking tat?" Todd was snapped to attention as he looked at the tattoo of a rhinoceros that he had stared at intently.

"Fuck yeah!"

"Fucking get it!"

"Fuck yeah!" So, again Todd let himself be led to the counter as the guys told the worker the exact tattoo. Time seemed to disappear again, and when he focused again, a rhino graced each shoulder.

"Fuck man," Brute said. "You are a fucking rhino. Breathing all heavy and shit."

Todd just stared in silent confusion, waiting for the others to tell him what he thought. Finally, they agreed it was s good look and left the shop.

The guys took Todd to another gym, especially for bodybuilders. The place smelled strongly of body odor, but not badly. It just did. Todd didn't think at all, he just did what he was told. It was so easy after all, letting them handle everything.

"Fuck dude, look at your fuckin' bod." Reality came into focus again for Todd. The man in the mirror was bigger than any bodybuilder. He was at least seven feet tall, and covered in huge muscles equally covered in dark hair. He could only turn his neck about an inch in either direction before the girth stopped him. His legs were like redwood tree trunks, and his chest was nearly six feet wide. No words could describe the size of his muscles, they were simple unimaginably huge. Each heavy breathe causing the entire tower of meat to shake.

"Fuck yeah," Todd said after a moment.


"Are you happy now?"


"I've sung like, four songs! I hate this."

"I know, it makes me happy."

"My misery makes you happy?"

"No, that look you get when you get mad makes me happy."

"Be careful, I'm Mohammad Ali."

"No, you're cuuuuute!" Adam laughed at the allusion. He shook his head and finally turned to James.

"That was my line."

"I took it. You're the one who said you were Mohammad Ali."

"I was talking more about biting your ear off."

"Umm, I don't think that was him."

"What? Then who was it?" They turned and stared at each other a minute before bursting into a fit of laughter.

"Some men can answer that question," James smiled.

"Not us! But we can tell you other random information."


Todd found himself standing alone in the locker rooms under the stadium. His sweat soaked the tight lycra engulfing his body, morphing the skimpy clothes into a flexible skin. Veins covered every crevice of his over-muscled frame, each breathe flexing the harsh meat. Hung open, his mouth panted in a rage, trying to understand what was happening, where he was, but Todd surrendered himself long ago. The thick scent of odor and musk guided the trembling creature through the room. Each step sent shocks through the floor, like minor aftershocks from an earthquake. His own stink blended with the stench of the room, and Todd moved further in. The cup once used to hide his dick was overflowing with thick man-meat, every moment inching it's way to freedom.

Finally, a familiar scent flooded his senses, and Todd turned to face the wall. It was a locker, like any other. Inside was football equipment. First tentative, Todd slowly stretched out one thick hand. The jersey he grabbed resounded of soft pleasure, causing him to laugh in demented way. He continued to huff, pumped muscles raising and lowering like their own entity. Pulling the jersey closer, the same scent poured forth. The same smell that Todd carried with him, his own odor.

At the back of the locker, Todd noticed a small emblem engraved on the wall. Pulling his bicep towards his face, a useless attempt considering his size, Todd gazed stupefied at the tattoo he had obtained only hours ago. After a few moments of confusion, he laughed in the same bizarre manner, half-confusion and half-pure stupidity. The carving had the same rhinoceros that now graced both of his shoulders. Turning the jersey over, the word "Rhino" was tailored on the back.

Rhino, the fucking huge defensive end. Fucking raging all over the fucking field. Rhino fucking crushed those fucking sons of bitch fuckers. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Todd ran a hand through his spiked, bleach blonde hair. His horn . . . .his hair was his horn. His fucking rhino horn. Todd's thoughts were constantly slipping away, unable to form any word but fuck.

He inhaled again, allowing the now comforting scent of jock fill his being. Scratching his hairy ass absentmindedly, part of Todd still struggled. Part of him was unsure. He ran his over hand over his pec, comforting himself with his muscles as Rhino always did. As he gripped the fur coating his body, Rhino twitched in pleasure.

So fucking huge. Fucking rhino. Fucking monster. I'm fucking a fucking fucking fucker.

His breathing increased in pace, under his breathe the word "fuck" escaping with every bit of air.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Keeping pace with himself, Todd was consumed in fuck. The word clouded his mind, overriding every single individual thought or desire he ever had. Fighting the last trace of insecurity, he again sniffed the sweaty jersey. So familiar, so wonderful, the odor was luxurious and welcoming and . . . Rhino was home.

Todd reached in the locker and pulled out the monstrous shoulder pads. Hoisting them over his monster back and chest, he tightened the restraints against his chest. Next, he put the hip pads into the girdle on his body. Todd spread open the spandex pants, and a wave of giddy pleasure crossed over Rhino. Picking up one massive leg, he pushed the hair-covered tree-trunk through. Then the next and he pulled the pants over his ballooning ass. The band snapped against his bulk, and Todd proceeded further. The socks and shoes, finally leading to the jersey. Again, he smelled it, rejoicing in his own aroma. With great difficulty, Todd tried to pull the jersey over Rhino's body. Arms flailing above, suddenly the form-fitting top was pulled over 100 inch chest.

Rhino didn't think about it. He grabbed some eye paint, and taped up his fingers, and pulled the helmet over his head. Finally suited up, Todd turned to a mirror to see himself.

Fucking Rhino. Fucking ready to fucking kick fucking some fucking fuck fuckers fucking fuckers!

Inside the uniform, the water bottle that was Rhino's cock spurted eagerly. Rhino just stood with a stupefied smile on his face as the sexual stimulation and satisfaction that was football finally engulfed Todd. Rhino scratched himself again, unsure of what to do. Fortunately, the rest of the team was there.

"Rhino!" Rhino shuffled around to his BRMB and the rest of his team suited up, ready to play.

"Fuck," the massive animal muttered.

"Let's fuckin' kick some fucking ass!" The four looked at Rhino, who stared, mouth open, for a moment. Finally he raised his head and said, "Fuck yeah!"

"Fuck yeah!"

"Fuck yeah!"

"Fuck yeah!"

"Fuck yeah!" Brute slapped Rhino on the ass as he walked out and said, "Don't fucking worry, fucker. Just fucking do whatever I fucking tell you, fuck?" Rhino nodded in agreement, completely happy to never think again.

"Well, here we are," Adam said as he pulled his car into the parking lot of a hotel. It was somewhere between nice and nasty, but it worked.


"Well, this is… different."

"Let's go."

"Did you make a reservation?"

"Oh my god… let's hope we can get a room."

"You want to get a room?"

"Yes, I… very funny. But seriously, this was your trip."

"I'm sorry."

"No you are not. Wipe that smirk off your face. Now march!"


CHAPTER 8 - Night Before the Kickoff

The room had one bed. Aside from the other disappointments that they had encountered, the queen bed sitting before them seemed to symbolize all the little troubles here. James sighed a little while Adam shrugged his shoulders and walked in. Sharing a bed wasn't a problem, but the insult stung. Only one room had remained when they arrived, and the too perky receptionist had been all too eager to have them sleep together.

"Well…" Adam glanced around the tiny hole. James threw his luggage in the corner and turned to face his friend.

"I'm hungry."


"Huh? What the heck does that mean?"

"Do you want to eat something or are you just saying that you're hungry?"

"Why would I just say it?"

The silence spoke again. The little bitch at the counter had made a comment. Probably well intentioned, but the odd tension between the two had resurfaced.

Adam shook his head and continued, "Let's get some food."

Briggs was setting in the final preparations for the game tomorrow. The muscular drones practiced on, entering a state of pure devotion that had not been seen before. Half excitement and half determination, Briggs found himself nearly overwhelmed by the atmosphere. And then there was Brock. As eager to win as he was to continue jocking, he stood for everything that Briggs did. Briggs may be the coach, but Brock would be leading them.

Jamie Carter had stayed to watch the game, and watch his investment. He had been a part of Briggs' plan from the beginning, freely indulging his jock domination slash mind control fantasies. The results pleased him, but Kai still troubled him. He had never really like the star, but somehow he couldn't throw him away.

At two in the morning, Adam found himself hunched over James, whose head was firmly placed in the toilet. Another splash in the water, followed by a helpless gurgle from James, caused him to sigh again. James was sick. While he assumed it was food poisoning, Adam assured him that food poisoning took twenty-four hours to onset, getting it in a few hours was a myth.

"Then, what the… James spoke again before being overcome with vomit. Adam couldn't do anything, so he sat with his sick friend.


CHAPTER 9 - Seeing What Cannot Be Seen

"Maybe I should stay?" Adam asked James yet again. Still throwing up, James had resigned himself against venturing to the football game. And despite his reservations, Adam was very concerned for this friend.

"No… way. I won those tickets. Someone is going!"

Adam arrived at the stadium twenty minutes later. Crowds thronged toward the huge gate, welcoming visitors to The Base. Adam watched for another twenty minutes, happy to let the obsessed fans fight their way inside before he made an entrance.

Walking down the merchandise filled path, Adam studied the image of the Soldier's quarterback, a man who was prophesied to lead them to victory. Brock Cast. The image of Brock was taken at odd angles, giving every portion of his muscular body unreal proportions. Fans lapped up the distorted images, buying most every product available.

"Who would want some of this crap?" Adam asked aloud, viewing cheap cardboard cut outs that were selling fast.

As the kickoff approached, the hordes of fans disappeared, heading toward their seats to watch the opening. Adam continued to stroll along, enjoying the open space. �Finally poking his head out to witness the kick, Adam gazed upon the football team for the first time. It was hard to tell from such a distance, but their uniforms looked odd. The black material stretched so valiantly to cover their bodies. As one man walked away, Adam stared at his enormous ass. Each cheek thrusting against the material, bouncing up and down with every motion of the body.

"Huh, that's… odd." At that moment, the game began. Adam watched for some time, entranced by the monstrous bodies and the unreal plays. The Soldiers were so coordinated, and Brock really was amazing. Every pass was perfect, each jock performing perfectly. The Atlanta Falcons were being crushed in the first minutes of the game.

Adam snapped back to attention when he noticed that Brock had been sacked, but somehow Brock had landed on top. Numbers 56 and 97 were both still beneath Brock's girth. Even after getting up, they seemed strangle dazed. Brock walked into his locker room as the two players went into their own.

"Football had been used to destroy people's sense of individuality." Adam repeated the words to himself unconsciously. They entered his head again as he heard himself speak. At once, all manner of research flowed to the front of his mind.

"Maybe… I should look."

Beneath the stand, Adam saw that the once crowded aisles were now totally empty, even the sellers had packed up their goods. No concessions were selling, the silence was all encompassing.

"Or maybe I'm asking someone to kill me. I mean, come on? No one is around. Anywhere? Well, if I don't do something because I am afraid, what have I sacrificed of myself?"

The path downstairs was unguarded, and Adam proceeded without delay further. The lower levels of the stadium were quite unlike topside. A maze of passages wrapped the halls into a hell of confusion. Unsure of how to proceed, Adam simply followed a path and was pleasantly surprised by finding the locker rooms. It was the visitor side, currently stocked with the Falcon's personal effects and equipment. The two players were no where to be found, and Adam wondered if perhaps they had already gone upstairs. He was quite sure they hadn't when he found two jersey tossed on the ground. Further away where helmets, and up ahead were shoulder pads and pants. The line of gear led to a small door in the back, disguised to look like a broken locker. The hallway was park, but the path was straight. And it was not long before Adam exited.

The Soldier's lockers came into view as Adam stepped out of the passage. The two players were standing, naked, in the room. One was bent over on all fours and rocking back and forth. His body gained muscle and definition as he walked. When his sausage finally spewed, a huge bodybuilder got up. The other man than bent down in the same position and waited.

Moving to side a little, Adam could see a huge cock being thrust into the man's ass. The jock took it, and rocked as the other had. Too, his body engorged with thick muscle. He came as well, and the two new super jocks suited up in tight, black Soldier uniforms. Adam moved out a little further to see Brock pulling on his tight pants.

The huge quarterback looked up to see Adam staring at him.


CHAPTER 10 - But Seeing's Not Enough

"Oh… fuck me…" Adam made eye contact with the endowed athlete. Even as he turned back to the passage, the huge converts stepped in his path. Adam backed away slowly and thumped into Brock. Spinning around, Brock grabbed Adam by his shoulders, who stared up at Brock's eyes. Both pairs of eyes were the same deep, dark blue.

The standoff ended with Brock slowly releasing his grip on Adam, who slowly took a step back never removing his contact with those eyes.

"Well," Brock began. "Can I help you?" Adam was nearly shocked at the simple question. He shook his head before speaking.

"No, I'm fine."

"Then, what are you doing here?" Adam didn't answer, refusing to blink for fear of losing those blue crystals, so exactly like his own.

"What," Brock began. The two other jocks motioned for him. Nodding quietly, Brock stepped around Adam, who didn't move.

"I'll be back."

"Corny exit line." Brock stopped for a moment before leaving. Adam stood as the two players blocked the exits. Part of Adam knew he should flee, but his mind protested. There was something in those eyes, something that he had never seen before. Adam waited, when a large, older man entered. He resembled the jocks in body, though smaller and aged. But the power and confidence he carried in his step was the same.

"Who are you?" Briggs addressed the twenty-something boy. Adam turned to face him and held out a hand.

"Adam… Adam Turner." Briggs hesitated for a second before firmly gripping the hand. Briggs' calloused hand grinded against Adam's smooth palm. Adam stared back at the man.


"And who are you?"

"Briggs." Adam stared a moment longer before turning his gaze away. This man's eyes were dark and empty. Unlike the ones that stood before him before.

"He was right."

"What?" Adam questioned.

"Brock. He said that you shared something. Those eyes. So blue." Adam returned the contact with the other man.

"And yours are not."

"No, but then again, they shouldn't be. Yours are, you must see everything."

"But seeing's not enough." Briggs continued to look at the boy. Adam was obviously just out of youth, reaching his adult prime. Briggs reached up and held Adam by his chin.

"You are so, identical."

"What is this?" Adam directed attention to the other men in the room. The giant men, the muscle gods.

"Oh," Briggs began. "This, is the future."

"And the present, obviously."

"You," Briggs again addressed Adam. "You, Adam, are so… perfect." He ran his hand through the mass of hair on Adam's head.


"You are so identical, in soul."

"No, how is this," pointing to the jocks, "possible?"



"And science and time and all things." Adam simply stared. Seeing his resolve, Briggs continued.

"You see, this is tomorrow. What it will bring, what the future holds. Happiness, is all I bring. Total nirvana. All I can see."

"But, seeing's not enough."

"Then what is?" Adam couldn't answer. He wasn't even sure what was happening, or even what he was saying. "What, you are searching for something. Waiting to be heard. To change the world. And here, this, you can. You can change the world. You."


"You and Brock, you have the same quality. The desire to change the world. But what will you do? He had a dream, and a mission. As of now, you are saying nothing.

"Stop!" Adam walked by Briggs, heading for the exit. Briggs spoke again.

"Where will you go? What will you do, knowing that you will return here? How can you go on, knowing that you found your path? A path you can see?"

"Because," Adam said again. "Seeing is never enough. You must be able to act." Adam walked out of the room and the stadium.� Briggs stood and smiled for minute before sending the jocks onto the field.



The Soldier's won the game. But it didn't matter by half time. Not only the Falcons, the entire stadium had been jocked. Both teams would spread it further next week. In the mean time, Brock played happily with his new conversion. He was gaining so much control, the entire team obey his will. But, in the back of his mind. Brock could not forget the deep sea eyes he had seen.

Adam went back to the hotel, morbidly silent. James was feeling better, and Adam still wanted to travel north. James knew something was wrong, but Adam spoke barely a word. They packed up the car and drive further into Nebraska.

Stacker and his posse expanded around the college. Halfway there, and still lots more jocking to be done.

BRMB moved on, looking for another helpless man to jock.

Hunter worked on the machine, extending the power further and further.

Briggs was in his office, talking to Jamie when the phone rang. "Briggs, yes… What? How did that happen? Well, are you stopping it? Who the hell is Chloe Barnette? What? And we didn't know this before? I thought you had this planned out. Son of a bitch! Well, fucking kill her. I don't care anymore. I will not accept these failures!"

A new set of eyes had confronted Briggs, and this one had walked away.

And there was this girl…

Somewhere, far away, a girl was sleeping in her bedroom.

End of Part 2