#getting dumber

I don't know if this supplement is working properly.

I'm writing this huge ass essay... I think it was for, what's the name? Anthology? Whatever. Human history shit, you know what I mean.

I was super stressed about my PhD, all the writing I had to do... ended up buying these weirdass gas station pills to boost my brainpower.

Except I don't think they're working too good. I keep trying to work on my writing stuff, but it's just so fucking boring... I keep ending up feeling so cooped up that I end up at the gym to burn all the energy off.

Like, I'm not super mad about it, because check out these gainz. They look fuckin sick with my tatts.

But I'm kinda worried. I tried to proofread my essay stuff, and I didn't understand half of it. It was full of these huge words I could barely even read... except I wrote them! So I should know what they mean, right?

Instead of focusing on my PhD, I keep getting distracted by wanting to play with my D. And I've gotta get protein from somewhere, so I've been taking loads from other dudes and their Ds in the gym showers.

“Hey bro, could I borrow your phone?”

You looked up from the online textbook you’d been reading. And up. And up. Looming over your bus seat was an absolute behemoth of a man. His black hair was slick with sweat, a clear sign he’d just been at the gym, although his beefy physique and rank musk could’ve clued you in just as easily.

“S-sorry, what?” you stammered.

The guy responded with an easygoing smile on his broad, bearded face. “Your phone. Could I borrow it for a sec? I’m visiting my bro, but my phone’s outta juice and I forget what stop to get off at. I just need to call him real quick.” His voice was deep and vacuous.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you said. “Knock yourself out.” You placed your phone in his meaty bronze hand, carefully trying not to notice how dainty and pale your fingers looked compared to his sausages.

With nothing else to do, you watched awkwardly from your seat as he dialed his friend’s number. “Yo dude, it’s me,” he greeted boisterously. “Yeah I’m on the bus using this nerdy guy’s phone right now, mine fuckin’ ran out, haha…”

You blinked in outrage, and embarrassment. “Nerdy guy”??? Just because you wore a white button-down, and had a mousy brown mop and a complete lack of facial hair, and your entire body was skinnier than his arm, didn’t make you a nerd! You had a leather knapsack — those were cool, weren’t they? Anyways.

As the bus continued on, you caught snippets of the conversation unfolding in front of you. Evidently, the guy had gotten hopelessly turned around, and his friend was trying to figure out how to get him to his destination. Privately, you thought this seemed too complex for his simple brain to comprehend.

“Ok wait, so you’re saying I need to be on the 115? And then take Johnson Street to the 67 line? Uh-huh, uh-huh. Gotcha. Thanks, bro. That means I should get off on…” He glanced at the route map above you, and you could see his thick head visibly struggling to make sense of it. Then his brown eyes widened comically. “Shit, this stop right here!”

Sure enough, the bus had been decelerating, and now it came to a complete stop. The guy pushed his way to the crowded exit, still absorbed in his conversation. You noted with disgust that he had your phone lodged between his bristly cheek and his broad shoulder, both of which were sheened with sweat. Then it hit you — he was about to leave with your phone!

“Wait!” you said, trying to get his attention. You hated how squeaky your voice sounded compared to his bovine bass, but still, it worked.

“Huh? Oh right,” he said. Speaking into the phone, he said, “Fuck bro, gotta go. See ya soon, king.” 

Then, he hung up and turned his attention to you. “Yo, thanks so much, little guy!” At this point, he was too close to the door, and there were too many people pushing to exit, for him to turn around and give your phone back. So instead, he stood up straight, braced his knees, and lobbed your phone at you with a dumb, cocky grin. “Catch, bro!”

Oh my god, what was this idiot thinking? You were going to miss, and then your phone would hit the floor and shatter into a million pieces, or it would smack someone’s head and they’d sue you for everything you had, or…

You gripped something in your hand. Peeking one eye open, you found that your phone was secure in your grip. Despite your lacking hand-eye coordination, you had somehow caught your phone, acting purely on instinct.

Then you immediately laid it on your lap, because it was slick with sweat and had thoroughly absorbed the guy’s scent. As you leaned down to clean it, your phone screen lit up with a notification. It was a message from an unknown number.

wait did u say u we’re on the 103

BRUH u werent supposed to get off yet lmaooo 💀💀

You internally groaned. Did that meathead’s friend think he was just going to keep your phone forever? He probably did; he was obviously just as much of a dumb gym bro as his friend. 

You prepared to type in a polite response informing him that he had the wrong number, but suddenly the bus lurched and you lost control of your phone for a moment. Glancing back at your screen, you realized that you had accidentally pressed send: 

bro just gimme ur addy i’ll put it into maps

That was absolutely not what you had typed in. You tended to be pretty dexterous, so you had no idea how that had happened. Although… you looked at your hands consideringly. They were brown and veiny, with wide and hairy fingers. You supposed it was hard to type on a phone keyboard with massive mitts like yours. Briefly, you thought that your hands seemed disproportionately large against the rest of you, that they weren’t supposed to be this big and manly, but you dismissed it, because why wouldn’t they be?

Anyways, now that that encounter was over, you could go back to studying. You scrolled through your phone, trying to locate your Kindle app. But it didn’t seem to be anywhere. Frustrated, you swiped back and forth across your home screen, not noticing how each tap sent a jolt up your body.

Swipe. You felt movement on either side of you — which you quickly realized was caused by the passengers sitting next to you. You couldn’t avoid brushing up against them with how broad your square shoulders were. It was a good problem to have.

Swipe. Absent-mindedly, you dragged your giant paws across your equally giant pecs. You didn’t know what made you feel more virile — scratching your tangled black curls of sweaty chest hair, or accidentally brushing against your protruding dark nipples. Oh wait, you knew the answer — scratching your tangled black treasure trail and brushing against your washboard abs.

Swipe. You splayed your tree trunk legs further out, stomping your size 14 feet on the floor of the bus. You didn’t care if the other passengers thought you were rude — with thighs this thick, it was impossible not to manspread, especially for someone as well-endowed as you. A wet protein fart trumpeted from your inflated ass, but you took it in stride.

Swipe. The bus lurched again, and for a moment it felt like you had leaped half a foot into the air. But your line of sight never shifted back down, and why would it? You had always been tall — just like you had always had perfectly sculpted lats and traps, and a thick bull neck, and…

Your swiping was interrupted by a notification: 5% battery remaining. You furrowed your caveman brow in confusion. Hadn’t you left your place with a full charge? How had it run out so quickly? As you were thinking, you grabbed your squirt bottle from the pocket of your gym bag and took a swig.

Duh, your gym bag — you’d been at the gym! That explained the phone battery, then; you liked to listen to workout podcasts or mindlessly scroll through TikTok as you worked out, and with how long you spent at the gym each day, more often than not you walked out of there with much less charge than you’d started with. 

Judging by the sweat leaking through your black mesh tank top, though — and not to mention your musky stench — it had been an especially good session today. It had been an arm day, and you silently admired your hard work, the way your biceps and triceps swelled with power and your veiny forearms pulsed in time with your heartbeat, all wrapped up in a layer of thick black hair and perfectly tan coloring. Yeah. Those were some impressive arms you had.

A text notification popped up at the top of your screen: 

bro how do you not know this by now 😭

its 992 carter st apt#208

Oh yeah, you’d been so distracted by your muscles that you’d forgotten why you were on this bus. You were going to visit your best bro later today, and your license was suspended from the last time you two had gotten a little too crunk, so public transit it was.

You glanced at the route map above you, trying to figure out the best way to get there. So you were on the red squiggly line on the left side of the image, which meant… no wait… maybe you were on that green dot in the middle? Your eyes glazed over, and your brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton candy. While that was a feeling you were very much used to, and even proud of, right now you were annoyed. Why’d they have to make these picture thingies so fucking confusing anyway? Whatever, that was why they’d invented Google Maps.

Copying over your friend’s address, you attempted to navigate to the map app. But your thick finger missed the icon entirely, instead opening your photo gallery. The most recent photo was a selfie you’d taken at the gym today, and you took a moment to admire yourself. You felt your blocky, bearded face form the exact same cocky smirk that was in the photo. Hell yeah, you were one sexy motherfucker. 

Suddenly, the image turned black. You’d run out of power. You stared for a second at the face reflected on the blank phone screen, identical to the one in the photo.

“Fuck,” you muttered in your deep, slow voice, scratching your temple with one finger like a Neanderthal. You hadn’t gotten to put your friend’s address into Google Maps, and you definitely were too dumb to get there on your own. What to do?

Slowly, painstakingly, an idea formed in your thick meathead mind. Maybe… you could… use someone else’s phone… to call your friend up and ask him how to get there! You scanned the bus for people to ask. There were lots of people on their phones, but for some reason, one passenger stood out to you. He was shrimpy and short, sitting a few seats away from you in the opposite row as he tapped away at some mobile game.

Pocketing your dead device, you rose from your seat and swaggered over to the little guy.

The Dream of Leo

Leo was an impressive guy in every way except the one that seemed to matter most. He had a brilliant mind, perfect manners, and impeccable appearance. He always earned the highest grades in high school and now at university, but physically he went unnoticed: skinny, average height (actually a little below average), shy, and constantly dreaming of being popular—of having a bigger, more muscular body.

One night, while scrolling through obscure forums, he stumbled upon mentions of a mysterious Tumblr user who supposedly had the power to transform lives. When Leo finally found the blog, he didn’t hesitate. He opened the ask box and wrote:

Well, that's how it starts, anyway. You wander around the internet, and you find out about it one way or another.

You see it on a blog, or maybe you find a transformation sequence comic, maybe you hear about it in kink spaces. It doesn't matter how you learn about it. The simple fact is you've never been so intrigued by an idea in your life.

Previously intelligent and useful people becoming the prettiest, dumbest versions of themselves and living happier lives for it. Star employees, honor students - the kind of people you've always fit right in with - being reduced to brainless, sex crazed arm candy. Free at last from the expectation to perform and struggle like everyone else.

There's a feeling in the pit of your stomach as you fall down the rabbit hole, an undeniable draw towards whatever this is. It resonates with you in a way that's at once frightening and oh so arousing. You play it off as nothing at first, you see strange things on the internet all the time and think nothing of them. Why should this be any different? But this is different, and you know that, you can feel it in your gut.

Before too long, you find yourself coming back to the rabbit hole to learn more. You read more blogs, you look at before and after photos, you find more transformation sequences. You start to get desensitized to the idea that maybe being a little dumb isn't such a bad thing. You start to join some online communities, you make some posts where you act much dumber than you really are, with short, easy words and not much substance. It's just your little secret. No one needs to know.

But you can't seem to help yourself. You find yourself making jokes to your partner or a few close friends about what a dummy you are, and at first, they try to argue with you, thinking you're just being self depreciating. At first, they insist you're one of the smartest, most capable people they know, and you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. As they start to realize that what you're saying is more soft launch than self depreciation, they stop saying that. You enjoy the way that compliments about your brain and capabilities have started to slow down, and with them, the expectations that you'll be useful and competent 24/7. One day, you can't take it anymore, and you tell your partner, only to find that they are surprisingly receptive.

At first, you indulge in private. It's just a silly game the two of you play. It helps you relax, and it even spices things up in the bedroom. They seem to enjoy it just as much as you do, so what's the harm in playing dumb sometimes? Your game doesn't stay in the bedroom for long, though.

In fact, you start to wonder how much of a game it really is. You realize that your partner has started taking on more responsibilities and making more of the decisions. At first, it bothers you, but they reassure you that they can do enough thinking for the both of you, and they want you to have plenty of time for all your new interests and hobbies.

Calling them hobbies feels funny to you. Hobbies require you to use your brain. What you've been doing lately is different. You smoke an ungodly amount of weed on a daily basis, and you're high most of the time now, which makes playing dumb easier than ever. You shop for hours every week, you obsess over your appearance, you spend more time on your back or on your hands and knees than you could have imagined just a couple of months ago.

You start taking better care of yourself. You exercise a few times a week now, you develop a rigorous skincare routine, you tan regularly. You didn't see the point of wearing makeup all the time before, but now you hate the idea of leaving home without putting your face on. You've started to become a bit high maintenance, and it takes you over an hour to get ready to go anywhere now. But you look the best you ever had, and your confidence is through the roof.

Your aesthetic starts changing, almost imperceptibly at first. You used to be content with a t shirt and jeans, maybe a flannel here and there. Up to now, your wardrobe has consisted of black t-shirts and jeans, but you find yourself drawn to tight dresses, brighter colors, and increasingly revealing cuts of clothing. You find yourself passing on your old clothes in favor of looking more fashion forward and showing more skin. Eventually, you donate all your old clothes or give them away to friends.

Then you start to notice it's spilling over into other areas. The movies you watch and the things you read start to get a little more simple and saccharine. You used to read thick nonfiction books with big words. Now everything you read is about sex and romance.

What's more, you find yourself reaching for books less and less. Your attention span is getting more fried by the day, but you try to write it off as work exhaustion. But you know deep down that it's more than that, and that scares you a little.

The first time you start to realize you may be getting in too deep is when your friends start talking. You used to have lively intellectual discussions, but now most of what they say doesn't make much sense to you at all. You try to join in on the parts of the conversation you can understand, but it's all above your pay grade. They used to value your input when you still had input to give.

But now you can barely hold up your end of a conversation.

You can't keep up with your friends the way that they used to, and little by little, they're all starting to notice. What surprises you the most is that they don't seem to mind very much. They've already started to think of you as the token airhead of the group, and they seem to have fully adjusted to the idea.

Now they just smile at you while you spout silly nonsensical theories, and they humor you with a listening ear. When you're finally done talking, they respond by saying things like, "Oh, honey." or, "You're SO pretty." Part of you wants to be upset at how obvious it's becoming that they no longer see you as an equal with valuable input. But mostly, you're just happy to hear so many people tell you how pretty you are. No one seemed to notice your looks before, and it feels good to get so many compliments.

The changes at your job take you the longest to notice. People used to come to you for guidance and direction. They took your ideas seriously, and you kept your team afloat with your quick thinking and inventive nature. Now you find that everyone has gradually started picking up more and more slack for you. You get talked over in meetings on the rare occasion you have anything to say, and eventually, you stop being invited to meetings altogether.

All the tasks that were second nature before are becoming more confusing to you by the day. You find yourself asking for help so much that most of the time, the task just ends up getting reassigned to someone more fit for the job, and why wouldn't they? You're not a top performer anymore. Now you're just eye candy.

You worry about getting fired now that most of your responsibilities have been given to your coworkers. You talk to your boss about your concerns, but he assures you that your position is safe. After all, how could they can everyone's favorite personality hire? The other employees would riot - or worse- unionize. It dawns on you that, like it or not, you've become the office mascot, and even though your wages haven't changed, you'll never be anything more than that again.

You go home frustrated and distraught and start to think about what your life was before you found this damned kink. Sometimes, it makes you sad to think of the ways that people used to treat you like someone who really had something to say. You make up your mind that this has to end right now. You can still get out of this and make people take you seriously again. You just have to rediscover the things you cared about before you started letting your intellect trickle away.

You find a box of books you loved before. It's collected dust from being ignored for such a long time, but you are so eager to reacquaint yourself with the big words and complex issues that used to mean so much to you. But as soon as you open the first book, you find you're already confused by the things it says, it might as well be in another language for as much as you don't understand it. You try to think of all the things you used to know about the topic, you try to make yourself understand. But you just can't.

You sit on the floor and start to cry. You've lost so much of yourself in such a short time. You used to have ideas and values you cared about. You used to have hobbies, real hobbies, things that required skill and thought. You used to be someone people respected, and now the game you played has enveloped every aspect of your life, and you don't even recognize yourself anymore.

Your partner hears your sobs and comes to check on you. You know that you have big feelings and maybe once you had the words to describe them, but that was ages ago. You sob into their shoulder and tell them that everyone thinks you're dumb and useless and you want to be smart again. They smile compassionately and pull you close as you heave and cry and whimper.

They put a hand on your face and say,

"Oh, baby. You don't seem to realize what a gift you've been given. You get to live out your fantasy in a way most people never do. You used to be so tired and overworked all the time, your coworkers thought you were a cutthroat bitch and your friends were all intimidated by you. Now everyone loves you! No one cares that you're the dumbest girl in town, they're just happy to have you around."

You wipe your tears and blow your nose as they offer their comfort. There is a tiny, infinitesimal part of you that knows their words should bother you. You should be arguing or defending yourself. But you wonder if maybe they're right. People have been so much more excited to see you and spend time with you lately, you've made so many new friends everywhere you go.

You look up at your partner. They smile at you softly. You blink back the last round of tears.

"So you don't think I'm just a useless bimbo?" You ask

"Oh, you're definitely a bimbo now, no two ways about it. You're the most beautiful and empty headed woman I've ever met. But you are far from useless." they say.

"But how am I useful?" you ask.

"Come upstairs and I'll show you" they say with a mischievous grin.

You spend the next two hours being fucked mercilessly in every hole. You scratch, and moan, whimper, and suck, so eager to please them and show how useful you can really be. They show you their gratitude in no uncertain terms. When it's over, they hold you in their arms, and you feel yourself getting sleepy.

Steven and Peter were living proof that a dream body didn't mean an empty head. Sure, they weren't on the Dean’s list, but their grades were solid, their minds sharp enough, and their professors expected they'd end up in courtrooms — not in trouble, but in tailored suits, winning cases.

And yet, no one invited Steven and Peter for their academic potential. They were events, not guests. Every party lit up when they arrived. But Halloween? That was their high mass. Their costumes were infamous, suggestive, tongue-in-cheek, sometimes indecent — always unforgettable.

This year, they'd accepted an invite from the Delta Gamma girls — notorious for their wild, no-limits parties. Rumors of drunken dares and open-door orgies floated through campus chat threads. Steven and Peter had heard it all. And they were ready.

They made their entrance just before eleven, dressed as shirtless devils in latex and chains. The crowd went feral. Phones came out. Music swelled. Someone screamed. Game on.

By midnight, they’d already been upstairs, downstairs, in the laundry room, and maybe the pantry. One night stands? More like fifteen-minute ones. Fuck and get out, that was their motto. And when the girls were tipsy, it got even easier.

But not everyone was drunk.

Delta Gamma’s president wasn’t just sober — she was watching. She saw the way Steven grabbed wrists too tightly. The way Peter didn’t listen to the word “no.” The way consent turned into choreography.

She saw enough. And she spoke.

Not loudly. Not theatrically. Just a whisper. A curse, woven from fury, old words, and campus legends that nobody took seriously.

Until two statues stood in the hallway, frozen mid-laugh, muscles tense, grins wide. Two bodies, sculpted by gods — and now, claimed by something older.

Their limbs wouldn't move. But their minds screamed.

And then — floodgates.

Memories poured in, overwritten like a corrupted file:

Failing class after class. Getting expelled. Taking lifeguard jobs in Santa Barbara out of desperation. Sharing a one-room apartment with sand in the carpet and no future. Sucking each other off one night, just to feel something. Becoming those guys — tanned, dumb, jacked, and always horny. Locals called them “Eddie” and “Logan.” They had no idea who that was, but it sounded cool. They fucked each other, spotted each other at the gym, saved a few tourists. Rinse and repeat. Day after day. Muscle, sun, cock. Muscle, sun, cock.

There was no college. No law career. No more frat parties. No more women. Only the beach. And each other. And some tourists... And they never even wondered what had gone wrong. Because now — they were too stupid to remember.

The curse had worked perfectly. They were harmless.

Beautiful. Obedient. And blissfully, irreversibly dumb.

For Part 2, click here: https://www.tumblr.com/mulletpermsicantlookaway/791470583810539520/the-lettermans-jacket-part-2

Rick felt a lot better after his talk with Connor. For one, he was stoked that he was going to be able to play football, and with his best bud Dave, too! For another, while he still felt slow, he was finding it easier to concentrate in his classes. Even so, by the time he got to algebra, he felt wiped out. His brain felt like mush, and his entire body felt sore again as if he’d had a heavy workout. He had hoped that the shorts would loosen some as the day went on, but if anything, they felt tighter, and even his shirt was starting to bind.

David was already in his seat as Rick strutted into algebra, and Rick sat down next to him with a goofy smile: “Sorry I missed you at lunch, bro,” he intoned in jock tones. David looked at him, startled. “I couldn’t find you,” Rick continued, “but I sat with this dude Mitch and some of the other jocks. They’re super chill and all, but I missed you, man. Where’d you run off to?” He cuffed his friend lightly on the shoulder.

“What the eff? Do you really think you’re a jock now, or are you messing with me?” David asked. “I know I was kind of mean to you this morning, but seriously, Richie, are you okay? You look kind of – not too bright right now, honestly. Those clothes look even smaller on you than they were this morning, and you smell like you could use a shower. How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine, bro, but yeah, these clothes are fucking tight. Makes it super hard to think. I’ve been fucking slow all day, in fact, thanks to you.” Rick chuckled dumbly. “Yeah, I’m a jock now. I mean, you told me this morning, remember? You told me to be a big, dumb, hairy football player like Connor, didn’t you? But Connor now: Connor’s a solid dude, bro. He’s not dumb. No, not at all.” Rick chuckled again. “He knows what you did. He told me how you messed me up, you know, telling me to be dumb and all. Seriously, that was mean of you, bro. But he’s fixing that. And he’s gonna talk to the coach about playing junior varsity.”

“Football? You mean football? Richie, you’re crazy. And why are you cursing so much?”

“Dude, it’s Rick, okay? Quit calling me Richie. I don’t want to sound like some fucktard dweeb in front of my bros. I told you, Dave: I want one of those jackets. So yeah, Connor’s talking to the coach about getting us on the football team. Won’t that be cool?”

“Us? Us? Okay – Rick – this had better all be a huge prank. It’s bad enough if you want to go and get tackled by a bunch of bulked-up brutes just so you can get a letterman’s jacket, but leave me out of it, okay? I’ve got no intention of playing football. And I am definitely talking to Connor before we go home.”

“Sure, Dave. Connor wants to talk to you, too.”

“I’ll bet he does.”

Connor and the other varsity football players walked in right then, with the teacher right behind them. Connor looked right at Rick and David, a huge smirk on his face. Then the bell rang.

Rick may have been finding it a little easier to concentrate in algebra, but David was finding it harder. David’s mind kept turning over all the astounding things Richard had just said. Richard thought David had made him dumber? How would that even be possible? But Richard was acting a lot different since this morning. It was obvious to David that Richard had been undergoing rapid physical changes, and maybe – maybe – that was natural at their age, but now his entire personality seemed different. It must be an act, David thought, but Richard must really want to play football to put on such an act for Connor – and to keep it up in front of his best friend. Why would he do that? “Maybe so I don’t go to Connor and tell him Richard’s just pretending?” he thought. He shook his head. He really had no idea. But he absolutely had to talk to Connor after class.

As soon as the final bell had rung, David got up, intending to catch Connor before he and his “bros” could head to the locker room or wherever the jocks headed to after school, but Connor forestalled him. He and the other two football players approached Rick and David, saying “Take a little walk with us, bros. We’ve got some things to talk over.”

Connor took the lead, with Rick and David behind him and the other football players flanking them in the rear. David was nervous and showed it, but Rick laughed at him and said, “Relax, bro. I told you: Connor’s a solid dude. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of.” Rick patted him affectionately on the back, but that made David even more nervous. That was not the kind of thing that Richard normally did. It reminded him too much of the way athletes congratulated each other after a goal or a touchdown.

Connor led them into a men’s room down the hall. The hallways were rapidly clearing out now, and the place was almost empty. Connor waited for the last customer to leave, and then his football player friends stood guard at the door. David looked around uneasily, realizing that he had no escape.

Connor began: “Good news, Rick. I talked to the coach, and he’s willing to take you and your bro Dave on the JV team, as long as you start practice Monday. I told him I was mentoring you and you had potential. Now, you’re not gonna let me down, are you, bro?”

“No way, Connor,” said Rick. Turning to David he said, “Isn’t that cool, bro? We’re gonna get to play football together!”

David had had it. Turning to Connor, he said, “What the hell did you do to him? Richie never wanted to play football or another sport before he met you. I don’t even know who he is anymore.”

Connor laughed. “You think I did this? You were the one who had him try on my jacket and my cap. And today you were the one who told him to be a jock. You’re the one who changed him, bro. Really. All I did was help. You gotta understand, Dave, I used to be an annoying little nerd, just like you. But I was lucky; I had a mentor who had the gift. He’s the one who made me a jock. Now I’m just returning the gift, passing it on to you, same as I did to Jake and Josh here,” Connor said, indicating his fellow football players. “You wouldn’t believe what dweebs those two used to be. You’re just lucky I was around to help, because you didn’t have a clue what you were doing. You almost made your best bro here into a drooling moron, telling him to be a big dumb jock. What were you thinking? You’re his best friend: of course he listened to you! Just how dumb do you think jocks are? But I fixed him in time. Rick here should get his brains back – mostly, anyway,” Connor smirked. “But now we’ve got to fix you so you don’t cause any more problems.” Connor paused. “Rick, you know what to do now? You’ve gotta be the one who does it; you’re his friend. It won’t work if I try it; he doesn’t trust me. And to keep him quiet, you’re gonna have to give him everything at once.”

“I don’t know, bro,” Rick said to Connor. “My head’s still all full of shit. It’s so fucking hard to think.”

“Don’t think, bro,” Connor said. “Just do. You’re a jock now. You’ve got this. Just remember how you changed and pass it along to your bud. He wants this as much as you did.”

“Okay, bro,” Rick said, “I’ll give it the old college try. Dave, buddy, come on. It’s time. Connor’s right; you know you want to be a jock. Let me help you.”

David swallowed hard and made a dash for the door. Jake and Josh restrained him effortlessly. Josh said, “I can’t believe I used to be this much of a wimp. Sad! Trust me, bro, you’re gonna be a lot better off as a jock.”

Rick approached David while he continued to struggle against the football players’ iron grip. “Bro, calm down. Stop fighting us. We’re not gonna hurt you. Fuck, bro: I’m your best friend! It really hurts, you know, to think that you don’t trust me.”

“Get away from me! I’m not your bro,” David said.

“But you will be, Dave.” He took his cap off and put it firmly on David’s head. He held onto the brim the way Connor had. David’s struggles increased. “What do you think you’re doing, Dave? Come on. I’m your best bro. I know you want this. I mean, there’s a reason you wanted me to try on Connor’s jacket, right? You were just afraid to try it on yourself. But now I can help you. You don’t need to be afraid. Stop being such a nerd, Dave. You know you want it. You want it just as much as I did. You want it more. Tell me. Tell me you want to be my bro. Come on! I need to hear you say it!”

David faltered: “I – I want to be your bro.” His struggles stopped.

“Almost right, bro,” laughed Rick. “Try again.”

“I want to be your bro, bro.”

“That’s better,” Rick laughed. “Sure, Dave, I’ll make you my bro. But first, you’re gonna make some changes.  Seriously, bro; you’re gonna ditch the greasy nerd hair. Then those zits of yours’ll start to clear up. And the glasses, bro; you won’t need ‘em. Your balls are gonna drop and get heavy. Then that nerd voice of yours is gonna crack and you’re gonna start sounding like your bros. You’ll grow a jock cock to go with your balls, and, believe me, bro: when the blood starts flowing to that thing it’s super hard to think about anything else. You’ll get bigger and hairier and sweatier, and you’ll have to start dressing like a jock, because nothing else will fit. And it won’t matter if you’re smart; no one will take you seriously, because when people look at you, they’ll just see another big, dumb jock. But you won’t care what they think, because all your friends will be jocks, and you’ll only care about what your bros think. So yeah, maybe you’ll act as dumb as those people think you are, and you’ll laugh at them and laugh at yourself, because they have no clue that you really aren’t dumb at all. Got it, bro?” Still grabbing the cap, Rick slowly rotated it backwards and then let go. David staggered, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Jake and Josh lowered him slowly to the floor.

“Rick, bro, that was amazing!” Connor exclaimed. “You nailed it!”

A moment later, Dave’s eyes blinked open, and he looked slowly around, a puzzled expression on his face. “What the hell? Why the fuck am I on the floor of the men’s room? Did I pass out or something?”

Rick said, “Yeah, you passed out, all right. Did you skip lunch, Dave? I looked for you, but I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“Yeah, bro,” Dave said woozily. “I didn’t eat lunch ‘cause I didn’t want to run into….”

“No wonder you passed out,” Connor interrupted, “your tank’s running on empty. You don’t skip meals when you’re bulking up for football, bro. How do you feel now?”

“Fucking strange,” Dave replied. “My head feels so weird. And my balls feel weird, too, like they’re swollen or something.”

“Look,” said Connor, “I know you’re not all there yet, Dave, but we’ve got to get you and Rick to the coach if you want to sign up for football. He’s not gonna wait, so pull yourself together. Here, let me help you up.”

“Thanks, bro,” said Dave. “What the fuck is wrong with me? Whoa. I can’t see. Everything’s like, super blurry.”

Rick said, “Bro, take off the nerd glasses! You don’t need ‘em.”

Dave took off the glasses and put them in his pocket. He chuckled. “You are so right, bro. I can see a lot better without them.”  Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he said, “Fuck, I should have gotten a haircut. I look like a dweeb. What’s Coach gonna think?”

“Don’t worry,” said Rick. “We’ll stop by Wyler’s on the way home. Maybe the barber that did mine will be working.”

Jake and Josh headed out, promising to see Connor at the football game later that night. Connor escorted Rick and Dave to the coach’s office. After they’d finished with the coach, Connor told Rick, “Before you head off campus, go to the locker room and wait for me. I’ve got some stuff for you, but I need to talk to the coach for a minute.”

Connor went back into the coach’s office. The coach said, “I don’t know, Connor. I hope I’m doing the right thing. That kid Rick seemed ready enough. He’s small, but he looks as though he’s growing fast. His friend Dave, now: that one looks like he weighs eighty or ninety pounds soaking wet. Great attitude, though.”

“I know Dave’s got plenty of room to grow, Coach,” said Connor, “but you can’t expect a freshman to be as big as I am. Trust me. Rick just started a big growth spurt, and his buddy Dave is gonna be right behind him. That’s why I think it’s better to have them both on the team. You can play them off against each other; you know, use them to motivate each other: ‘Look, Dave, see how hard your buddy Rick is working? You don’t want him to get ahead of you, do you? Hey, Rick, look at how big Dave’s biceps are getting. You’re just as strong as he is, aren’t you?’ They’ll always be trying to outdo each other.”

“I see your point,” the coach said drily. “But keep an eye on them, okay? Their attitude is great, but they’ve got squat for experience.”

“Neither did I when I joined the football team, Coach. Don’t worry. You won’t go wrong with those two. Let ‘em play, and they’ll make the varsity squad eventually. They’ve both got as much potential as I did.”

“Okay, son. I’ll trust you, but you’d damn well better be right.”

Connor hurried to the locker room and found Rick looking around curiously and Dave looking dazed. “Rick, I’ve got a couple of things you can wear until you can get some new clothes. And a bigger jockstrap for you, too. You can give the other one to Dave. It should fit him, for a while, at least.” Connor handed Rick the jockstrap and a bundle of clothes. “I almost forgot,” said Connor, “here’s another school baseball cap to go with that stuff”.

“Seriously,” said Rick, “You are a fucking prince, bro. I owe you. These old shorts I’m wearing are crushing my balls!” Rick immediately started stripping off his clothes.

Connor chuckled while Rick stood there naked except for his socks. “I told you you’d be growing a pair of balls and jock cock to go with ‘em. Look at you, bro! For a freshman, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.” Rick was soon dressed in a pair of roomy sweat shorts with the school logo and a loose T-shirt with “Washington High Athletics” emblazoned on the front and back. Connor put the new cap on Rick’s head. Adjusting it into position and holding the brim, he said, “You’re getting to be a big bro now. You don’t need to worry about wearing a cap every time I see you. But just remember – I gave you the gift. Someday, when you’re an even bigger bro, you might just run into another scrawny freshman who needs it as much as you did. And that’s when you’ll pass it on. You, and Dave, too, you’ll know when you find someone.” Connor let go of the cap. Dave stood there gaping while Rick checked himself out in the mirror.

“How will we know?” Rick asked, finally.

“Dude, I can’t explain it. You’ll just know. Trust me,” said Connor.

“Okay, man, I’ll trust you,” said Rick. Then, turning to Dave, he said, “Your turn’s next, bro,” said Rick to Dave, handing him the jockstrap he’d just taken off. “You’ll be needing this soon.”

“The way my balls hurt, I think I want to try it on now,” Dave said.

“Yeah, Dave,” said Connor, adjusting the cap on Dave’s head, the cap he’d originally given to Rick. “I think you’re about to hit a big growth spurt, bro. You don’t want your buddy Rick too far ahead of you. You might as well try the jockstrap on now. I’m sure Rick got it warmed up for you.”

“I’ll bet,” said Dave. “But I’ll put up with Rick’s skanky ball sweat if it’ll keep my boys from aching, let me tell you bro. I can wash it out later.” Dave stripped off his pants and underwear, put on the used jockstrap and got dressed. “That is way better, bros,” he said.

“Excellent,” said Connor. “But Dave, one thing: when it stops fitting, I want it back, okay? That one’s special.”

Rick smiled. “I guessed right. That was your jockstrap?”

“Yeah,” Connor said, with a wistful and not very jock-like expression on his face. “It was my first one, okay? It’s special, so I want it back.”

“I can’t believe that little thing ever fit a big dude like you,” said Rick.

“Look, I mean, it’s embarrassing, but I told you bros I used to be a scrawny little freshman geek, okay? It fit me back then. But then I hit a big growth spurt, just like the one you bros are going through, and it didn’t fit anymore. That’s why it’s in such good shape.” Connor grinned. “Anyway, later, bros. See you at the football game. Enjoy watching it while you can. Next time, you’ll be down on the field.”

“Yeah, we’ll be there,” said Rick. “No way we’re missing the first game of the season.”

Dave insisted on getting a haircut before they went home, so they texted their parents and let them know they’d be back later than usual. As soon as they got to Wyler’s, Rick spotted the older barber who had given him his haircut a few days before. “You remember me, sir?” he asked.

The barber looked at him a minute, slightly puzzled. “Oh yeah, son. Didn’t I give you a team haircut the other day? It’s still looking pretty sharp, but I had a little trouble recognizing you. You’re growing like a weed, young man. Your voice is changing, too. Didn’t you wear glasses before?”

“Yeah, I did,” said Rick. “Anyway, my best bud Dave here is joining the football team, too. Can you clean him up?”

The barber obliged, and soon Dave was shorn down to stubble and spikes. Rick popped the cap back on Dave’s head and said, “Bro, I think your zits are already starting to clear up.” They walked to Dave’s house, and then Rick headed home from there. When he got home, he approached Tommy and said, “Hey, little bro. You want to go in the backyard and throw the football around for a bit?”

Tommy was fine with that. After they’d played catch for a while, Rick took Tommy back inside, and his mother thanked him for running off some of Tommy’s energy. Tommy said, “Richie’s a jock now!”

Their mother didn’t necessarily take that statement too seriously, until Rick told his parents that he and Dave had both signed up for JV football.

“Oh, Richard,” his mother said, “I don’t know that that’s such a good idea. Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Richard, let’s head upstairs,” his dad said. “It’s time for a shaving lesson.”

His dad presented him with a razor, shaving cream, and some after-shave lotion. Soon Rick’s thickening peach fuzz was swirling down the drain of the main bathroom, along with a small amount of blood. When he was done rinsing, his dad said, “Richard, your mother is having a little trouble dealing with the fact that her boy is becoming a man. I have no objection to your going out for football if that’s what you want, and I think it’s great that David is joining you, but you’ve got to admit it’s a big change for both of you. You can understand why your mother might be freaked out. I’ll talk to her, but Richard, take it easy, okay?

Later, after Rick and Dave had headed off to the football game and Tommy’s parents had put him to bed, Rick’s mother said, “What scares me is that they tell us to watch out if our kids suddenly change peer groups and start hanging out with a different crowd. Richard’s never been interested in sports before. Neither has David, as far as I know. Now suddenly Richard wants to go out for football? It doesn’t make any sense. And football’s dangerous.”

His dad said, “I get your point. I would be worried, too if Richard had suddenly dropped David as a friend, or if he started to hang around with kids who got in trouble or did drugs or whatever. But boys their age wanting to go out for sports is perfectly normal. And sure, maybe there’s some peer pressure behind it. They’re at a new school, and they’re trying to fit in. I don’t think it’s a bad sign that an older kid in one of their classes encouraged them to try out. Look at it this way: Richard’s not doing this alone, and it’s a great chance for those two to meet other guys their own age at school. Plus, they’ll be part of a team with a coach keeping an eye on them. They shouldn’t be able to get into any real trouble. If anything, there’ll be pressure on both of them to stay out of trouble so that they can stay on the team. I know it’s a big change, honey, but it’s not a bad thing. Not at all.”

“All the same,” said his mother, “I think it’s scary how quickly Richard has been changing. I made an appointment with his doctor to have him checked out.”

“That’s a great idea,” said his dad. “The doctor can let us know if there’s anything really wrong.”

Dave shouted himself hoarse at the game. He complained more than once to Rick over the weekend that his voice hadn’t recovered. By Sunday, he was texting Rick that he sounded as though he had a cold. Rick texted back, “u sure ur voice isn’t changing?”

“Over a weekend?” Dave asked.

“Dude, mine changed practically overnight.”

“Maybe ur rite”.

By Monday when they headed to school, there was no more doubt. Dave’s voice hadn’t quite settled yet, but it was changing fast. His zits were starting to clear up, too, just as dark fuzz was starting to shadow his lips and cheeks.

Later that week, Rick had to endure the humiliation of a full examination by his pediatrician. It turned out to be worth it, though; the doctor gave a glowing report to his mother: “Richard is a healthy young man. Very healthy, in fact, and growing fast. I don’t see any reason for him not to participate in athletics. He’ll benefit from the physical activity. One thing I will point out, though. Richard is, well, there’s no way to put this delicately, Richard is very well endowed for someone his age. It’s absolutely critical that he wear athletic supporters or at least supportive underwear when engaging in any sports. There’s nothing wrong with him wearing boxer shorts if he wants to, but not when playing football.”

Going to practice, learning how to put on their uniforms and protective gear correctly, playing in football games, and hanging out with their teammates and other jocks quickly reinforced Rick and Dave’s physical and mental changes. As the days and weeks passed by, they resembled their teammates more and more. They looked like jocks. They dressed like jocks. They sounded like jocks. They acted like jocks. Rick and Dave’s rooms, formerly neat and organized, grew messy and developed lingering odors of sweat and cheap body spray. Practice uniforms, cleats, jockstraps, and compression gear were strewn everywhere, and posters of athletes decorated the walls.

They talked like jocks, too. Rick’s father took him aside for a talk: “Richard, as you know, I have no problem with you playing football and hanging out with your friends. But I’m your father, not your bro, okay? And that goes quadruple for your mother. I mean it: no more calling your mom ‘dude’, and especially not ‘bro’. It freaks her out, okay? You don’t want to give your mother a bad time.”

“Okay, dude – I mean dad,” Rick chuckled.

“Very funny. I mean it, mister. Don’t think that you’ve gotten so big that I can’t show you who’s boss. I’m sure your coach and your teachers don’t let you get away with calling them ‘dude’. Have I made myself clear? Have I?”

“Yes, sir,” said Rick sullenly.

“That’s better. Now that we’ve cleared the air, I wanted to let you know how proud I am of you, son. I mean that. But life will be better for all of us around here if you take it easy on your mom.”

No one would call Rick or Dave scrawny now. They were still a long way from the size and bulk of an older jock like Connor, but their growth spurts and hours spent in the weight room had changed the former pipsqueak nerds into buff bros. Their hands had grown meaty and rough with calluses from handling barbells and footballs.

When it came to their schoolwork, the situation was – complicated. As Connor had promised, Rick got his brains back, mostly, and Dave had never lost his. Of course, they didn’t want to come off as brains, especially in front of their bros, but their bros weren’t the problem. If they got A’s on a test or an assignment, even their teachers were surprised, as if something wasn’t right with the universe. Jocks were expected to win games. No one expected them to be smart. Rick and Dave soon discovered that there was no point in working for an A. Everyone assumed that the teacher had gone easy on them because they were on the football team – or worse: that they’d bribed or bullied some nerd into doing their work. It became easier and easier to just go along with people’s lowered expectations. Internally seething at being treated like morons, their personalities became cocky and aggressive. They channeled all their efforts into their athletic pursuits, where at least their achievements were rewarded, and they soon came to despise nerds and brains as being a plague on the universe.

All Rick and Dave cared about at school now was playing sports, hanging out with their bros, and earning their varsity letters. When football season ended, Rick, who was getting tall, went out for basketball. Dave, who was shorter and becoming stocky, went out for wrestling. At home, Tommy eagerly emulated his big bro and started to get into sports himself. Rick returned the favor by making sure Tommy got plenty of activity outside throwing and catching balls, running, and tackling. In spring, when Rick and Dave had both gone out for baseball, Rick gave his little brother a nice leather catcher’s mitt for his birthday. Tommy now wanted to be football player or a baseball player when he grew up.

When they finally earned their letterman jackets, Rick and Dave were stoked to see that their bro Connor had come back from college to be there for the ceremony. Playing college football hadn’t made Connor any smaller; he looked as big as some of the pros. Connor was glad to see Rick and Dave, too. He was proud of his part in their transformations, but he hardly recognized them at first. Rick, a handsome young athlete with a lean, muscular build, was now taller than Connor himself. But the real shocker for Connor was Dave. The once slight nerd had morphed into a rough-voiced beefy lineman with a square head, solid neck, barrel chest, and massive thighs.

“Dave, damn, dude, you got thick! How much you weigh now, bro?” said Connor, slapping him in the middle of his broad back above his bulging glutes.

Swaggering proudly out of the gym after the ceremony, Rick and Dave were shooting the breeze with Connor, catching up on his college football career. Rick spotted their team’s geeky freshman water boy looking at Rick’s letterman jacket with an expression of envy and awe that Rick still dimly remembered. “Hey, little dude,” he said to the water boy, a friendly grin on his chiseled face. “You want to try my jacket on? See how you’d look?”

“Really?” squeaked the water boy. “You’d let me do that?”

“Sure, I would. Remind me what your name is again, bro.”

“Bradley” he breathed, looking both thrilled and terrified.

“Here ya go, Brad. Try this on for size.”

Rick took off his jacket and slung it over Bradley’s fragile frame. The heavy jacket looked likely to break Bradley in half, but his eyes shone with delight. “This is so cool!” he said. “Thank you so much! I’d give anything to be able to wear one of these.”

i have found myself panting with my tongue out more and more as i fuck myself, especially power fucking, the harder the more frequently it gets. Then these resent days with my Domme around, i just want to hang my tongue out lapping licking sucking anything brought near my mouth….

i don’t drool nor are we into pet play, so what the fuck is this mentality 😂😂🥲

To tired? Doesny matter just edge.

Feelijg sick? Doesbt matter just edge.

Late for work? Doesnt matter jusf edge.