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Derrick yanked the jock up over his thighs and let the cold, sticky cock pocket fold up over his hard dick and balls. He quickly bent his knees and let the straps take their place around the crest of his butt cheeks and he pulled the waist bands up on top of his Adonis.

Snap.

Despite the cold and stickiness, Derrick was somewhat impressed with himself. "I think I might start wearing jocks at the games now! I feel like a million bucks when I have this on. I think it'll make me a better..."

He wasn't able to get "Player" out of his mouth before the bands on the jock tightened uncomfortably around him. They awoke with a force that Derrick that never felt before. "AWW!" Derrick shouted as he grabbed the bands. "It got really tight. Oh fuck, Chad, I can't get it off!"

Derrick started to fumble around in a panic trying to get the jockstrap off, but he felt the cock cup awaken with a strong vibration, and as it did he noticed a new surge of energy enter into his body through his cock and balls.

Derrick quickly lost his footing as the left foot jolted forward, he felt his exposed butt protrude hard against the straps as he nearly fell to the ground, catching himself with his hands on the floor. That was when he noticed that his hands and feet were exploding with growth. His eyes widened as his feet began to ripple wider, toenails stretching forward as the feet expanded, black hairs sprouting from the tops of his toes and then his feet as a dull, brown complexion started to stain his formerly pale feet. As they bubbled upward, his feet took on a rough texture and his nails hardened and elongated.

The darker complexion moved up Derrick's legs and forearms. His thin, short blonde hairs on his legs darkened to a dark brown as his calves bubbled then pushed out new contours of sinew. His legs soon turned into a coarse carpet of brown as his thighs bulked up thicker and thicker. The rumbling on his cock, meanwhile, was starting to finally manifest in his package. His dick quickly thickened into a fat, long sausage of a cock while his balls filled and dropped heavily filling the jockstrap with his new Man Meat. Meanwhile his finely-toned butt began to push out with hard muscle and fat, thickening into boulders of an ass and protruding and stretching the jockstraps around his ass.

"OH FUCK!" Derrick finally shouted with fear. "What the fuck is happening to me, bro?!" He shouted to Chad. "What the FUCK!?!"

Chad couldn't help but look on, he was completely hypnotized by what was happening in front of him. Derrick had been well-cut but not thick previously. That was quickly changing as his gut filled and fattened, both hard muscle and weight from age started to weigh in on him. Soon his flat but strong pecs began to beef up and out into large pectorals. His thin puff of blonde hair over his chest began to thicken with a the same coarse brown hair that had matted his legs. Soon, his shoulders followed as the muscle moving up from his hands began to match. Thick brown hair grew to cover his forearms as veins began to poke out. A thick dusting of dark hair then moved downward to his bellybutton, a new treasure trail covering his body. Derrick's fingers calloused as his body took on an age and maturity of an older man, an older man who had experienced a lifetime of football, a lifetime of keeping a well-built body but had been beaten down only so slightly over time with age and experience. His ass covered with a new blanket of brown fuzz to match the hairiness of the rest of his body.

Derrick grabbed his head as he felt it contort. His thin, handsome image of a punter began to widen out, his jawline pushing outward, his face squaring up, wrinkles increasing across his shadowed face with a brown scruff. His blonde curled lengthened out into a dark, thick salt and pepper crew cut.

Derrick looked to Chad with a plea in his eye, "his mind, Chad, I can fuckin' feel him, I'm becoming him! NOO!" he shouted as he felt his personality, his own history, his own consciousness move away as the attraction and lifeforce of another man began to overwrite him. "He's taking over! Fucking Ryerson!"

Quickly Derrick's fear of losing his life became displaced with the memories and personality of the Coach overriding him. That smattering of a fear became a deep, mature chuckle as Derrick felt the embrace of the Coach.

"FEELS FUCKIN GREAT, HUH, RICHARDSON!?" Ryerson shouted looking at the young lad in front of him.

Richardson - Chad's last name. Only Coach called him that. Chad watched as the new Derrick, a clone of Ryerson in every way, walked over to the mirror to check himself out. He gave his heavy package a quick tug and whispered "fuck yeah" as his boner grew to full size under the cock pocket of the jockstrap.

Chad stumbled behind him as he tried to run, falling over the bench and landing on his naked butt.

Ryerson turned himself back around. "What the fuck is wrong with you kids?" the coach said with a smirk. "Don't you know to always keep your fuckin hands to yourself! Don't fuck with someone else's property!"

man up

the fuck you're yelling for it's literally just a hunting knife

you're actually getting off on this?

stop fucking crying bitch

A sequel to one of my shorter stories here on this blog, as prompted by the marvelous @sjw-publishings. I’m not dead I promise, just way way way too busy.

Adam honestly didn’t know how he had ended up at the retro-styled mechanic. Well, he partly knew how. When his Volvo had originally started making weird noises, he had brushed it off as a rock in his system or some chunk of pavement lodged inside his interior. A week later, he found himself struggling to brake on the interstate. But it was only a month after the first incident when he brought the car in. Even Adam had his limits, and those were discovered when his entire dashboard lit up with blinking red lights.

Now Adam sat quietly in the mechanics shop, waiting to get a diagnosis on the 2005 vehicle. It wasn’t too old, but it was due for some maintenance. At least that’s what his boyfriend had said. He’d also quipped that Adam needed a treatment too; his pleasant stature at just under 6 feet not hiding the little extra weight he’d gained around the stomach. His bouncy red hair however made him fit into any Irish bar, a trait his boyfriend found perfect to utilize to get free drinks.

Fiddling with his fingers in his hoodie, Adam investigated the rest of the shop with his eyes. When he’d been searching for a shop online, he had just chosen this one due to its close proximity to his work. He hadn’t expected it to appear so…vintage. In fact, the place looked as if it had come straight out of the 1950’s, no age or weathering even apparent. Old-fashioned advertisements, outdated equipment, and even the prices were insanely cheap as if untouched by decades of inflation. The mechanics themselves were dressed up too, wearing outfits and hairstyles reminiscent of a greasier time. The vast majority of them were smoking freely inside the open building too.

The mechanic who had met with Adam earlier had stated that the inspection wouldn’t last more than an hour and had kindly invited him to take a seat in the shop. The magazines available displayed actors who had died out years ago, and the television set in the corner seemed to be running some old black-and-white gameshow. 

“Welcome back to The Slickest Greaser!” the announcer shouted. Although Adam had his phone accessible and fully-charged, he was intrigued by the show. A line of men slowly filled the screen, with the announcer approaching each one separately. Unknowingly, Adam began to paw at himself, creating a noticeable boner in his khakis.

“Alright, Doug, what do you think defines the ‘Slickest Greaser’?”

The man known as Doug stepped forward. He was fairly bulky looking, with a stacked, more muscular build and stoic facial features. He wasn’t particularly attractive–and not Adam’s type– but Adam’s boner raged on.

“Well,” Doug began in a voice as sturdy as his body. “he’s gotta have muscles dat can impress, abit of uh showoff ya know? If he’s gonna make the scene then he can’t be lookin’ like a wet rag.”

Both the announcer and Adam nodded in agreement, with Adam not realizing what he was doing. Jocks and athletes made themselves look menacing with their gigantic muscles, the kind of aura men should naturally emit. Luckily, Adam naturally fit right into this category, maintaining a body that was both strapping and intimidating. With his daily visits to the gym, he had developed an impressive six-pack and bulging arms while also maintaining a decent schedule for work and play. Although he wasn’t really into any sports, his ripped body was very strong.

“Up next we have Johnny.” The announcer made his way to a shorter male who was almost bursting with excitement. He too wasn’t the most attractive male, but he certainly wasn’t unpleasant looking either.

“Johnny,” the announcer smiled, with the smaller man nodding feverishly. “What do you think defines the ‘Slickest Greaser’?”

Johnny’s answer was quick and sharp: “He’s gottuh have dat masculine look of uh cool cat. The body ain’t enough to make him uh 50’s daddio.”

The announcer’s grin grew wider as Adam contemplated the response. It felt right to him. There were way too many different men already in the world, so there had to be some normal, similar-looking males to even out the curve. If a muscular body came off as intimidating, then he needed the face to match with it. This problem however had never occurred to Adam, as he had the stereotypical lantern jaw and protruding brow. For him, the issue of masculine features had never been an issue.

“Rocco,” the announcer began again, moving down the line to a taller, better-dressed male. “What do you think defines the ‘Slickest Greaser’?”

Rocco had the classic pompadour and piercing brown eyes of any male greaser from the period, but his lanky figure and awkward personality made him seem much less appealing. This however was not enough to tame Adam’s hard-on, which had grown slightly from its previous size.

“The ‘Slickest Greaser’,” Rocco started. “has that crazy obsession over dressin’. He’s gotta really get into da groove: leather’s bettuh, uh huh?”

Adam found this answer a little hard to interpret, but true. He didn’t fully understand all the outdated slang, but he knew it to be correct. Adam suddenly recalled his own closet, filled with various outfits of leather and denim. Adam was currently wearing some of his favorite pieces, which included a plain white tee covered by a leather jacket, a pair of dirty jeans, and two hard boots that stomped with every step. 

“Who’s next? Wheezer?”

“Yes?” a man in the middle replied. By the look on his face, you could see he was reviewing his answer for the third or fourth time.

“What do you think defines the ‘Slickest Greaser’?” the announcer asked politely.

“I don’t know if anyone’s said it yet,” Wheezer babbled as if he was mentally reading off of a dictionary. “But the ‘Slickest Greaser’ has ta be uh greaser through-and-through: black-and-white.”

“That’s a good point,” the announcer chuckled, as if he had missed something that was right in front of him. Adam didn’t get the announcer’s mood at first, but it began to make sense after a while. In fact, how had he missed it himself? The Slickest Greaser had to be a greaser, otherwise the entire point of the show wouldn’t make sense. Ace fortunately already had this figured out, his fingers diggin’ in the grease and stickin’ it and slickin’ it’ on his black-haired ‘do.

“Last is Tony.” The announcer swiftly moved back to the front of the line, grabbing the attention of a man of average height. His features were about as plain as the rest, but he was cockier and more confident than anyone else had been.

“What do you think defines the Slickest Greaser?”

“Everyone’s goofed the easy answer,” Tony sneered with a hint of an Italian accent. “He’s gotta swoon them babes! Makin’ out with uh Betty who’s stacked. C’mon boys, you all square or somethin’?”

The announcer laughed at the participant’s intensity. Ace chuckled too, for what the contestant said was right. How had they all missed that? Of course the Slickest Greaser had to be a lady’s man. How else was he expected to ooze testosterone and masculinity? Ace couldn’t believe his own stupidity, not noticing the sudden lack of his boner. 

“That’s all for tonight!” The announcer shouted as the television screen went black, but no one was really watching anymore. Ace was already making his way back to his 1955 hotrod, noticing the mechanic had left for the paperwork. He proudly crouched in front of his baby, lighting a cigarette as he waited.

“Hey there, stud,” a pretty girl approached Ace moments later, papers in hand. “My daddy’s just about wrapped up with your hot rod here. He said it’ll only take a few minutes more.”

“That’s all uh need, cupcake,” Ace revved, changing the topic to what the two really wanted to discuss. “Name’s Ace, cause I’m the best at what I do.”