Eric (tt tb mt oral anal AR)

Author's explanatory note: In my mind Eric is always a man, whatever the temporary immature physical state he finds himself in. The interesting aspect of this story for me is not that Eric is a little boy, because he really isn't one. Rather, he is a big, stud athlete trapped in a little, immature body - who now finds himself dependent upon others for his most basic needs, and too small, weak, and helpless to defend himself.

As such this is not a story about a child being molested, and in my mind never has been, but is about the humiliation that comes with a reversal of power and sexual authority. It is about a dominating, tough, adult, male athlete who loses ALL those qualities through age regression and finds himself in a very different position.

Important Note:This story part contains mature subject matter and some graphic descriptions of personal encounters. If you do not wish to read or might be offended by explicit language and/or descriptions, please use your browser's 'BACK' button now. The subject matter that follows may not be intended for those under 18. This is a work of fiction and the characters are not representative of any person living or dead.

Eric stood in the steamy shower room and regarded his reflection in the mirror. He was seriously pissed off. Here he was, one of the highest paid players in the NHL, and one of the best-looking, many would say - 6'-5", 240# of all-American stud (well, North American, anyway), and he was losing his hair. I mean, he was only 26. It wasn't fair. With all his money, there ought to be something he could do about it.

The Flyers had just been eliminated from the playoffs. Eric was walking back from the showers to his locker when - SNAP! Someone had cracked him on his ass with a towel. He spun around to see John, his best friend and former roommate grinning at him. "Sorry, man," John said, "but that tattoo is just too good a target to pass up!" Eric rubbed his ass cheek. Ever since he had the small Canadian maple leaf tattooed on his ass during his first Olympics, he'd taken heat for it - especially since he played for the Flyers, an American team. The Coach walked into the room and surveyed all the horsing around with a wry grin on his face. "All right, kids," said the Coach. "Cut the comedy! The press is out there waiting for you, so get a move on."

"Sure thing, Dad!" John said jokingly. Many of the guys on the team called the coach 'Dad' in the confines of the locker room. Eric groaned. First of all, he hated having to deal with the press. He really didn't even like having to interact with his fans. Eric's job was on the ice, no matter what anyone said. Eric also knew that Coach wanted his relationship with the team to be more than just that of coach/player. Coach did sort of treat them like his extended family, but Eric never really liked the 'Dad' thing, and he never understood why John and the others were so comfortable with it.

"Eric," the Coach said, "You and I need to talk for a few minutes. Come down to my office before you leave tonight."

The horseplay and talking abruptly stopped, as all eyes turned to Eric. Eric had plans to go out partying with some of the guys, but he knew he'd better not push it.

"Whatever, Coach," he shrugged.

This is not a good sign, Eric thought. There had been a lot of criticism of his play during the season, that he was deficient in some fundamental skills and leadership. Coach gave him 'The Pep Talk' about how much they were all depending on him to develop as a leader, and how they couldn't afford to wait forever. Something had to happen this summer to bring him up to speed or there would have to be some changes come fall. This all sounded pretty ominous, but the tone was very good-natured, almost in a father and son way. So when Coach suggested that Eric block out a couple of weeks for some private training, he agreed. He wasn't thrilled about it, but what the f*ck. He had the whole summer ahead of him, and if this was part of the game he had to play to secure a good contract next year, so be it. He agreed to stay around for a couple weeks, and to meet with the Coach each morning starting the following Monday.

Almost as an aside, Coach mentioned Eric's hair. "You're really starting to thin out there now. Too bad at your age." Eric was not happy. He did not want to be having this conversation, especially with the Coach. "I know, Coach," he said. "I've tried everything on the market, but none of that stuff works. I don't know what to do now."

"Well, listen to me," said the Coach. "You've committed to do some extra work for the good of the team, so I'll do something for you." He produced a small vial containing a clear liquid. "This will grow your hair back. It's very rare, and it's virtually unknown to conventional medicine. A friend put me onto it years ago, and as you can see..." the Coach patted the top of his head, "It works. Drink this, and within a few days you will see a difference."

"Yeah, right," said Eric, smiling.

"I understand your skepticism, but do me a favor. Just try it."

Coach opened the bottle and handed it to Eric. Eric really didn't believe it, but he wanted to stay on the Coach's good side, and what the f*ck - it couldn't hurt. He took the vial and drank its contents.

To say that it tasted bad would be a massive understatement. The second the stuff hit his stomach, it rebelled, his throat tightened, and his body was raked with chills, he couldn't get enough air. For a second he thought he might pass out, or that he had been poisoned. Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. "Jeez, Coach," he said, "As bad as that sh*t tastes, it better work!"

"I'm sure you'll be surprised by the results," said the Coach, with a devious smile.

Monday morning came too soon for Eric. The last thing he wanted to do was get up early during the first week of the off-season. He knew he had to meet Coach though, and didn't want to miss him off by being late on the first day. He walked into the bathroom and started to brush his teeth. As he looked into the mirror, he couldn't believe it - his hair looked thicker. He almost swallowed his toothbrush! He looked more closely - much thicker, almost as thick as it had ever been. In one weekend, though? It couldn't be possible, and yet there it was, staring him in the face. Eric stared into the mirror for a long time. He just couldn't get over how great his hair looked. He had pretty much resigned himself to losing his hair, but now it was back. He really owed the Coach big time... The Coach! Oh man - now he was going to be late. He rushed through his shower. He had to skip shaving, but that wasn't a big deal. His beard didn't look so heavy, which was a little weird, because Eric was pretty sure he hadn't shaved the day before either. Well, he just must have forgotten. He was only a few minutes late getting to the rink. Coach was OK with it, and that was good. Eric didn't want to miss him off - he was really grateful about his hair growing back and all.

The practice rink was at a hockey camp the Coach owned, and there wasn't much activity there this time of year. "Guess we have the place to ourselves - eh, Coach?" Eric asked.

"I thought it would be best for you this way," said the Coach. Eric didn't know what he meant by that until they started working. The drills that the Coach was running him through, the skills he was practicing, were so basic, so elementary, that if his teammates, or even worse the press, ever got wind of it, Eric would have been a laughingstock. Fundamental as the drills were though, Eric couldn't keep it together. His performance was sloppy, and his concentration was for sh*t. He couldn't seem to focus. It was as if all the discipline he'd built up during his years in the NHL was suddenly eroding. Despite this, the Coach didn't react. He continued to urge Eric firmly on, but with a warmth that surprised Eric.

Coach's reassurances did not, however, free Eric of the frustration that was building up. Why was he playing so bad? And why did he have to run these stupid drills, anyway - this was the peewee league bullsh*t that the Coach used at his camps. The Coach being so nice, too - any other day he'd have had eleven sh*tfits by now. Eric's frustration must have been showing, because the Coach called him over, and placed a hand affectionately on his shoulder, "I know that you don't understand what we're doing here yet," he said, "but it will all be clear in a few days."

The Coach wouldn't elaborate on it any further. He ran Eric through the drills until late afternoon. "That's enough for today. I'll see you back here same time tomorrow morning." Eric dragged himself out to his car and drove straight home. He was exhausted. He never worked this hard even during the season. What pissed him off most was that it all seemed so pointless. And the Coach was acting weird. He was just too tired though to worry about it though. When he got home, he ate a quick dinner alone and took a long shower. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

The Coach's good humor must have worn thin over the next couple days. Eric's performance on the ice kept getting worse: sloppy, inattentive, and undisciplined. The worse he played, the more frustrated he became. His hair had completely grown back, and he was so excited about that, and preoccupied by his poor play on the ice, that he didn't notice anything else. He still hadn't shaved, not that he really needed to. He wasn't going to see anyone but the Coach, and his beard just wasn't as uncomfortable as it usually was after a couple days growth. It seemed softer, maybe even a little thinner too, but it looked okay. As he got dressed to meet the Coach, it seemed his clothes might be fitting a bit loose, but it didn't really register - he usually wore his clothes loose anyway. He didn't even notice, as he rode on his way to the rink, that he had stretch just a bit to see out the rear view mirror. When Eric changed into his hockey gear at the rink, however, it became clear that something was wrong. While he couldn't be sure whether his street clothes fit properly, there could be no doubt about this. His skates, pads, uniform - all were custom made to fit his body, and now none of them fit. They were all too big.

Eric pulled on his gear and rushed to the Coach's office. He told him that he thought he was losing weight or something, and he was worried. The Coach took him down to the training room and had Eric get on the scale. Sure enough, he was 20 pounds too light. Eric began to freak out, but the Coach calmed him down by saying: "Look, we're here this summer to work on 'fast' and 'smart'. I'm not so worried about 'big' right now. Let's just keep an eye on things. For now, get your gear back on and hit the ice - we've got a lot to do yet today." By the end of the day, when Eric drove home, he wasn't worrying about the weight loss. He was just too tired. He did, however, find it a little strange that he needed to adjust the rearview mirror. Nobody else ever drove his car.

When he climbed out of bed the next morning, Eric felt a little weird. Not in any way he could put his finger on, but nothing seemed quite right to him either. When he got in the shower, the water shot over his head - "What the f*ck," he thought, as he stretched up to adjust the showerhead down. As the water streamed over his body and he began to soap up, Eric noticed something else. Normally, he was a pretty hairy guy, with a heavy beard and a fairly thick growth of hair on his chest and stomach. But as he looked down at his body, it just wasn't right. There was only a dusting of hair across his pecs, and a fine trace leading from his navel to his now diminished pubes. Something was definitely f*cked up!

Eric rinsed off as quickly as he could, and jumped out of the shower so fast that he nearly slipped on the wet floor. He stood there, dripping wet, and gaped at the image in the mirror. What he saw was a shock. He knew that he had lost weight, and now much of his body hair was gone, too. But as he looked at the whole picture for the first time, there was no doubt that the image in the mirror was not the 6'-5", 240 pound stud he saw every morning. Sure, he still looked awesome: heavily muscled with broad shoulders and narrow waist. But there were differences, too. He wasn't that heavily muscled: he seemed to have lost a lot of bulk and definition. And his face was smooth - what was up with that? He hadn't shaved in nearly a week, and yet he didn't have any growth of beard at all, only a light peach fuzz. His cock seemed different too somehow. His balls were tight against his body - usually they hung kind of low. They felt heavier, fuller. On top of that, Eric was as horny as teenager. He was sporting a massive rod that just wouldn't quit. A teenager, he thought. And then all the pieces fell into place. He wasn't just a little thinner, less hairy, hornier. He looked younger! "Sh*t," he thought, "I don't look a day over 17." What the f*ck was going on? Eric was in a panic now. He had to see the Coach - to find out what was happening to him. He pulled on his clothes, which now fairly hung off of him, and raced out to his car. Not surprisingly, as he hopped into the driver's seat, his feet didn't reach the pedals. He had to slide the seat way up before he could speed off to find out what was happening to him.

Eric burst into the Coach's office and found him sitting at his desk. "Coach," he shouted, "something's wrong with me! I don't know what's happening, but I think I'm shrinking or something!"

"Calm down, Eric!" shouted the Coach. "There's no sense getting all excited until we see what we're dealing with." He put his hand on Eric's shoulder and led him into the training room. "Strip down and get on the scale," he ordered. Eric was now, according to the scale, 5'-10" and 180 pounds. "Seems about right..." said the Coach, almost to himself.

"What are you talking about?" Eric shouted. "Are you out of your f*cking mind? I've lost 60 pounds! And 7 inches! What the f*ck's up with that? I gotta get to the doctor's..."

Coach grabbed Eric firmly by the arm and shook him: "You are going to calm down right now!" Eric stopped struggling and looked up into the Coach's face as he spoke. "Then," continued the Coach, "when you've gotten hold of yourself, we will calmly discuss this..."

"Yeah, but what the..." Eric began, but was quickly cut off as the Coach squeezed his arm hard. It hurt!

"Don't interrupt me, Eric. Don't you ever f*cking interrupt me again! I will tell you exactly what's going on, but first you need to shut up and listen." Eric nodded meekly, and the Coach pushed him roughly down onto the bench and started to talk. Eric couldn't believe how embarrassed he was, sitting there naked while the Coach lectured him like some kid.

"Eric," the Coach began, "the skills and abilities that make the difference between good and great in this game are learned - you aren't born with them. You need to pick them up when you are young - just learning the game - and then build on them over years of practice. I think you are lacking in some of these skills, but I have decided to give you the opportunity to relearn this game, to remake yourself with the speed, drive, and discipline you need to become not just great, but maybe the greatest to ever play the game." He paused for a moment. "The drug I gave you the other day wasn't for your hair. It was a rejuvenation drug - very rare, and more or less unknown to mainstream medicine. But it does work, Eric... you will grow younger."

Eric sat in stunned silence, trying to believe that what he was hearing wasn't true. But he had seen for himself - he knew what was happening to him. "How young will I get?" Eric asked.

"Don't worry," the Coach answered. "Young enough so that we can teach you some of the more fundamental skills of the game. You see, a child learns faster and more efficiently than an adult. So any training or conditioning we give you while you are 'younger' will have a tremendously powerful effect on you. I am a good coach, Eric, and I've spent my whole life in hockey, and have been working with kids for years. I know exactly what you need. By the end of the summer, we will have remade you."

Eric was scared. He would never have believed that anything like this was possible, but he had no doubt that it was definitely happening to him now. He was also a bit intimidated by the condition he found himself in: sitting naked in the locker room and getting bullied by the Coach, a man he was usually taller than, but who now stood several inches over Eric. "What if I won't do this, I mean what if something goes wrong?"

The Coach laughed. "It's a little late for that," he said. "The drug is already in your system, and you're already changing. Nothing can stop that now. Besides, nothing is going to go wrong, Eric. Tonight, you'll come home with me, and you'll stay with me until we return you to normal. That way we can concentrate on your training, and keep you out of trouble."

"Wait a second, Coach!" Eric yelled, jumping to his feet. "I'm still a grown man, you know - and I don't have to take this kind of sh*t from anyone, including you!" Coach shook his head and smiled. Then he roughly pushed Eric back down to his seat. "You're wrong on both scores. You do have to take it. You won't return to your normal age until I decide it's time. And, by the way, you're not a grown man anymore, either. You're a boy! Look at yourself - you look about 16 or 17 to me. Nobody would ever believe you if you tried to tell them who you really are - because you're just another kid now! You can't live alone, and you won't even be able to take care of yourself before too long. In any event, pretty soon I'll be able to physically force you to do whatever I want. You are stuck with me now, so if you want my advice, you'll stop whining and hit the ice before I really get pissed off!"

Eric had never felt so humiliated. Nobody talked to him like that, not even the Coach. But the Coach had just talked to him like that - treated him like a f*cking kid! He knew that he had to do whatever the Coach said now. So he stood up meekly and walked back to the lockers, still naked, and burning with humiliation. The Coach set him up with new equipment and a uniform - the old stuff was just too big again. After spending the rest of the day as he had spent the last week - struggling with the most basic of skills, not only was he exhausted, but he was scared too. The Coach gave him some street clothes to wear home - his own were way too big for him now. Eric started toward his own car, but the Coach grabbed him and spun him around. "Just where do you think you are going?"

"Home," Eric responded quietly.

The Coach laughed. "You're coming home with me, like I told you this morning. And your driving days are through!" He snatched the keys away from Eric before he knew it, and grabbed the teen athlete roughly by his neck and guided him to his car. Eric wanted to resist, to assert himself to the Coach, but he was afraid - terrified of what the Coach might do to him. He meekly climbed into the Coach's car.

Read next chapter