I am so fat, my belly is hanging low on my crotch, is there any way for me to be a bodybuilder in an instant? And be a himbo?
You looked around in confusion, not sure how you ended up in front of the store before you. You'd stepped out of work for a quick lunch break, heading to your favorite fast food joint. At some point you must have gotten turned around, too busy looking down at your phone.
There was no sign on the building in front of you to indicate what it sold and thick black curtains hung across the windows, obfuscating the inside. Intrigued, you decided to take a quick look. Your boss wouldn't be happy if you were back late from lunch, but it was a miserable dead end job anyway.
A young handsome man stood behind the counter of the store, giving you a welcoming smile as you entered. Shelves of glass bottles, books and knickknacks covered the store walls. The man, well dressed in a stylish black outfit, gestured for you to approach.
"Welcome, friend," the man greeted, extending a vial filled with a bright blue liquid sloshing inside.
"Is this a new store? I don't think I've ever seen it before," you commented, glancing around at the paraphernalia surrounding you.
"My store has a tendency to find people when they require my services the most," the man replied, a devlish grin on his handsome features.
"What's that?" You asked, glancing at the small glass bottle he was holding.
"It's what you want. Drink it and you'll have the body you've always dreamt of."
You reached out for the vial, but the man snatched it away just as you were about to grab it.
"Of course, it will cost you." You reached for your wallet, but the man smirked and shook his head. "Not that kind of cost, I'm afraid. Magic doesn't come for free; in order to get something, you have to give something up."
"What will I be giving up?" You asked with a frown.
"Hard to predict. You could lose your intelligence, or you could grow three decades older. You may completely lose your identity and any memory of who you are. And if you're unlucky, all of them could happen." The man dropped the vial in your open palm, giving you one last wink. "Don't say you weren't warned."
In a flash, you were back in your apartment. You couldn't remember leaving the store or travelling back to your home; something was very strange about that shopkeeper. You stared down at the small vial in your hand. He had promised it would give you the body of your dreams, but at a price. You shrugged, popping the cork in the vial and downing the bitter liquid in one gulp. It's not like you had much to lose in your life, anyway.
You pulled your shirt off and stared at your reflection in the mirror. You looked the same as always; you should have known it was too good to be true. As you continued to inspect yourself, however, you noticed a change to your appearance. Your round tummy seemed to be shrinking down, as if you were a big beach ball slowly being deflated. Your droopy pecs grew firm, your chest tightening. Your shoulders broadened as thick cords of muscles formed along your arms. Your stomach continued to sink in, revealing a defined set of abs as the fat melted away.
As the changes continued, you started to feel light headed. It was getting harder for you to think straight, as if your brain was melting. The man had warned you might become dumber, and that seemed to be true. You'd always believed yourself to be smarter than average, but your intelligence was slipping away from you. Not that you cared; with a body like yours, who needed brains?
Your jeans slid down your legs as your hips narrowed, revealing your new muscular quads. All of the fat on your legs had been converted into hard muscle, defining your thighs and calves. The sight of your new hot body was turning you on, and you could feel your cock hardening in your boxers. You reached down and gave your member a stroke, surprised and delighted to discover it had grown to almost twice its previous length.
Your double chin disappeared as your jawline sharpened. Your gross neck beard reshaped into a well trimmed goatee. Your hair grew longer and wavy, turning from dark brown to a light silver. Laughter lines and wrinkles creased your face, aging you into a man in his mid forties.
Still feeling your engorged member, you admired your new body staring back at you i in the mirror. You were so fucking hot. You had lost about two decades of your life in a matter of minutes, but you didn't care. You were a man in his prime, ready to get some action. You still had a few hours to kill before your shift as a personal trainer at the gym; you pulled out your phone and took a selfie, posting it on Grindr for a quick hookup. The only head you'd be thinking with from now on would be your cock.
Joshua peered over the novel he was reading to look at his friend Landon. He glanced at his phone to check the time and was surprised to see several hours had passed since they first arrived at the beach; he must have gotten caught up in the book he'd been reading.
Joshua and Landon had been best friends since their first year of college together. They had been randomly matched as roommates in the college dorm and quickly hit it off; it didn't take them long to go from roommates to genuine friends. To everyone that knew them, the two guys seemed inseparable; they spent most of their free time together and were rarely seen apart. After finishing their first year of college, they'd rented a two bedroom apartment for the remainder of their time on campus. It was now the summer after their final year, with both men graduating earlier that Spring. To celebrate, they had planned a three week backpacking trip across Europe for just the two of them. It was a bittersweet feeling; they were both excited to start the next chapter of their lives but knew they wouldn't be spending nearly as much time together once their trip came to an end.
Landon and Joshua were often mistaken for one a other, and sometimes strangers even thought they were twins. The men did share similar features: they were both tall, broad and muscular, their sculpted bodies evidence of the long hours put in at the gym on a daily basis. They had the same wavvy light blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and charming smile. Anyone who spent any time with the men, however, quickly realized the two could not be more different personality wise.
Landon was the true definition of an extrovert, loving to chat up friends and strangers alike. He was also known notoriously as a flirt, with a different woman by his side every weekend it seemed like. He didn't mean to be cruel and never set out to break hearts; he just had a short attention span and would inevitably get bored, looking for the next relationship which would give him a fresh jolt of excitement. Joshua rarely even had the time to learn the name of Landon's girlfriend before she'd be replaced with a new one. All of Landon's time spent socializing left him precious little time to devote to his studies, which suited him just fine. He was all about doing the bare minimum to just scrape by and graduate. He didn't really have a plan on what to do now that he was done college, but the lack of a road map didn't scare him. He was used to living day by day without too much concern for the future, and was sure everything would work out fine for him.
Joshua, on the other hand, was as introverted and shy as Landon was loud and social. He loved to spend time with Landon and other close friends, but also cherished his alone time. Joshua had never felt any romantic interest towards women or men; he knew there were more rewarding ways to spend his time than entangling himself in the messy world of sex and relationships. He'd never had a romantic partner and had no motivation to change that. He'd already lined up an internship at a prestigious tech firm, set to start after returning from their trip.
"Where are you going to get us drinks from?" Joshua asked. The beach they were on was pretty secluded, and they were the only two beach goers that Joshua could see along the shoreline. They'd heard of the beach from the owner of the hostel where they were staying, who had described it as one of the city's hidden gems.
"I'm pretty sure I saw a kiosk down that way when we first arrived," Landon pointed. It had been a short hike from their hostel to the beach, taking them less than an hour to arrive.
"I'm not sure it would be open. We seem to be the only ones on the beach," Joshua observed.
"I don't mind taking a stroll to find out," Landon replied, rising from his towel and shaking the sand off his lower body. "You want something?"
"I wouldn't say no to a beer," Joshua nodded before turning his attention back to his book.
It didn't take Landon long to find the kiosk he'd seen earlier. On first glance, it appeared that Joshua was right; the stand looked deserted with no one in sight. Landon was about to admit defeat and return to Joshua when a voice spoke out from behind him.
"You lookin' for something, son?"
Landon spun around, startled, to see a handsome man in his late forties grinning at him. The man was dressed casually in jeans and a polo; his friendly demeanor quickly put Landon at ease.
"Yeah, looking for a drink, if that's not too much trouble," Landon requested as the man stepped in behind the kiosk counter.
"Not too much trouble at all. Glad to finally have a customer!" The man's calloused hands rested on the counter between them as he spoke.
"Anything you'd recommend?" Landon asked.
"Yes, actually. We've got a local brewer offering a new beer. They've provided us with a pack to give out for free to get some feedback." The man dropped behind the counter for a minute before standing back up, setting two identical beer bottles on the counter.
"Free? Hell yeah, sounds good to me," Landon grinned grabbing the two bottles off the counter.
"Just stop by before you leave to let me know what you and your friend think of the beer, yeah?" The man called out as Landon turned to leave. Landon acknowledged the man's request with a wave over his shoulder. He was almost back to Joshua when he felt an uneasy feeling: the man had known he was with another guy on the beach. Landon hadn't mentioned Joshua, but still the man had offered him two beers and had asked for feedback from both him and his friend. Of course, it was always possible the man had seen them when they'd originally walked by several hours ago. And the man had probably assumed he'd be with someone else, since who went to the beach by themselves? Landon shook off his unease, sure he was overthinking it.
"What'd you get me?" Joshua asked, reaching out and grabbing the bottle that Landon offered him.
"Something local," Landon replied, looking down at his bottle and reading the label for the first time, "Bear Beer."
Joshua took a small sip, spitting out the rancid liquid as soon as it hit his tongue. "Man that is awful!" Joshua choked, "It tastes like sweat and BO."
Landon gave his bottle an appraising sniff before taking a swig himself. It wasn't the most pleasant drink he'd ever had, but it wasn't the worst either. "I don't think it's THAT bad. You're being overdramatic."
Joshua took another hesitant sip. It was still awful, but not quite as shocking as the first. He managed to gulp it down with some effort. "Last time I let you pick out the beer without supervision."
Landon reached out and gave Joshua a playful tap on the shoulder. "Shut up and drink your beer."
The two men sat in a comfortable silence, looking out at the calm blue sea before them. Neither of them wanted to say it out loud, but they were quickly approaching the end of their trip. They didn't know when they'd next see each other, or for how long.
"I think they call it Bear Brew because the scent is strong enough to ward off bears," Joshua joked, tipping the bottle up to his lips and downing the last drops. Despite his initial protest, with each sip he'd found the beer increasingly tolerable. He still wasn't convinced he'd ever want to drink it again, but at least he had the opportunity to experience a local flavor.
"Oh yeah? I reckon it's called Bear Brew cause only real men can drink it without bitching like a sissy," Landon replied, setting his own empty bottle down in the sand.
"Wow, your humor remains sharp as ever," Joshua rolled his eyes.
"Come on, let's go for a quick swim before heading back to the hostel," Landon suggested, rising from his beach blanket once more.
"You go on ahead, I'll join you in a minute. I've got a few pages left in this chapter," Joshua answered, grabbing and reopening his paperback.
Landon shook his head as he strode towards the water. He loved Joshua like a brother, but he wasn't the adventurous type. If Landon didn't push Joshua out of him comfort zone every now and again, he'd spend his entire life with his nose buried in a book.
Landon waded into the water, the cold temperature a pleasant relief from the heat of the day. He was feeling a little bloated from the Bear Beer, but thought a quick swim would help. He plunged beneath the water's surface, admiring how clear and blue the sea was.
Unbeknownst to Landon, his body was starting to undergo a drastic transformation. It started with his stomach: his once tight, washboard abs softened, the muscles hiding under a newly developed layer of fat that expanded into a round beer belly. His firm pecs quickly followed suit, sagging slightly as they beefed up. Landon's broad shoulders narrowed, his defined biceps softening as they were enveloped in fat. He still had some definition, but he had lost the chiseled physique he worked so hard to attain; he now had a heavy, beefier build.
As he continued to splash around in the water, Landon's smooth skin grew weathered and rough. He could feel his blood rushing to his groin, stiffening his member. His cock was already above average in size, and as it grew longer and thicker the speedo he wore strained to contain it. Landon reached one of his thick, meaty hands down and gripped his erection, adjusting it through the speedo. Landon's tight ass expanded, filling with fat so it now jiggled with every step he took.
Landon's hair shortened and thinned as his hairline receded, the blonde colour fading to a light gray. His square jaw rounded out, developing a slight double chin while a beard sprouted around his lips. Wrinkles formed around his eyes and mouth, his youthful visage fading. He absentmindedly started to scratch his chest as dark gray hairs grew in along his new burly pecs and belly; even a few gray pubic hairs poked out from the top of his speedo.
Landon glanced back in the direction of the beach; what was taking Joshua so long? After another quick dip in the water, Landon made his way back to the sandy shore. Joshua was right where he'd left him, completely enraptured by his book.
"Babe, what the hell?" Landon asked his husband, crossing his arms as he stood over the other man. "I thought you were going to come swimming with me."
Joshua set his book down, flashing an apologetic smirk in Landon's direction. Joshua had undergone a similar transformation to Landon, now also a muscular, albeit chubby, man in his early fifties. The two men were on their annual vacation, and Joshua had promised to make an effort to be present in the moment. His job as COO at his tech firm ate up a lot of his time at home, so this vacation was a much needed chance to spend some quality time together.
"Sorry, Landon. You know how I can lose myself when reading a good book." Joshua sat up on his beach blanket, kneeling in front of Landon. He reached a hand out and gently stroked his husband's hard member through the speedo. "Want me to make it up to you?"
Landon growled in barely controlled lust at his husband's seduction. Even after nearly thirty years of marriage, the sexual chemistry between Landon and Joshua was electric. It was just one of the many things Landon loved about Joshua; he was a master in the bedroom. Landon reached down and pulled Joshua up so the two men were standing face to face. He leaned in, giving his lover a quick kiss. "Let's get back to the hotel. Then maybe...just maybe...you can make it up to me in the jacuzzi," Landon winked.
The men hurriedly packed up their belongings, eager to get back to the privacy of their lodging. Hand in hand, the husbands strolled down the beach in the direction of their hotel. They passed the kiosk where the man who had served them the beer still loitered. Landon and Joshua gave the man a friendly wave to which the man returned, a knowing smile on his lips.
Chase pulled the door to the locker room open, toweling the sweat off his face. It was Friday evening, and usually he'd be getting ready for a night out with the boys around this time. His goal for this semester was to bulk up, so he'd been putting in extra long hours at the gym and cutting back on his partying. He'd had the entire gym to himself today, which suited him just fine; his slender frame made him self conscious to work out in front of his more muscular peers.
As he'd expected, the locker room was also vacant at this time of night. He opened up his locker, grabbing his backpack and the change of clothes he'd stashed in there earlier. He stripped off his muscle shirt and shorts, flexing in the mirror and frowning at his reflection. No matter how much or how often he lifted, Chase felt like it was impossible to gain muscle, his build remaining toned but slim.
His bright yellow briefs were soaked in sweat, and Chase decided to have a quick shower before making the walk back to his residence. He slid the briefs off, grabbing a towel as he entered the showers. While rinsing off, Chase's thoughts drifted to Coach Thomas, his football coach. He often found himself daydreaming about his coach's big, beefy body and rugged good looks. Chase sometimes wondered if the feeling of attraction between them was mutual; he sensed an unspoken connection between them. He just as quickly dismissed the idea, shaking his head; Coach Thomas could have anyone he wanted. Why would he ever be attracted to Chase, a skinny little college student?
Chased turned the shower off, heading back out to his locker before pulling on a pair of loose red boxers. He finished getting dressed into his street attire, now wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt.
As Chase packed his used gym clothes into his bag, he noticed that one of the lockers was slightly ajar, unlocked - whoever owned the locker must have forgotten to close it properly. Curious, Chase walked over to the locker and swung it open to peer inside.
He instantly recognized the belongings of Coach Thomas. There was a hoodie and pair of sweatpants that Chase had seen Coach wear countless times in the past. Chase's heart fluttered; he idolized his Coach. Being so close to the older man's personal belongings felt like an invasion of privacy, but it was also a thrill. Chase reached out to grab a pair of black boxers out of the locker, feeling the soft silky fabric between his fingertips.
Chase's member was beginning to stiffen as he fondled his coach's underwear. Coach Thomas was the epitome of a perfect man, in Chase's eyes; the man exuded confidence, masculinity and maturity. Chase wasn't sure if he wanted to be with Coach or be Coach - both fantasies were equally alluring to him.
Realizing he had the perfect opportunity, Chase stuffed Coach's boxers into his backpack before he slammed Coach's locker shut. He was in such a rush he neglected to realize his own yellow briefs were still sitting on the bench where he'd taken them off. No sooner had he zipped up his backpack then he heard the door to the locker room open. He looked up in alarm as Coach Thomas strolled into the room.
"Oh, Hey Coach," Chase tried to sound nonchalant, feeling his cheeks redden. He took a deep breath to calm himself, forcing a smile.
"Chase," Coach Thomas replied with a stiff nod, "You're here late." Was it Chase's imagination, or was Coach looking at him with suspicion?
"Yeah, I decided to git the gym. Trying to put on some muscle," Chase tried to sound casual, playing it cool. The longer he stayed in the locker room, the more time Coach would have to figure out that something was up.
"Anyways, I got to get going. Have a good weekend, Coach." Chase practically sprinted out of the locker room, desperate to get away from Coach Thomas.
On the short walk back to his place, Chase kept glancing anxiously over his shoulder. His heart was pounding in his chest; at any moment he expected someone to grab his shoulder and confront him for stealing Coach's boxers. He didn't let out a sigh of relief until he has inside his apartment with the front door bolted.
"Hello? Anyone home?" He called out, to no response. His roommates were already out, as he'd expected, and wouldn't be back for several hours. He slung his backpack off and unzipped it, pulling out Coach's boxers. He couldn't believe he'd actually gotten away with stealing them right out from under Coach Thomas' nose. Chase lifted the underwear to his nose and took a deep breath, inhaling Coach's musky odour. The pungent stench of Coach's crotch was driving Chase wild, and he could feel his dick stiffening once more.
He rushed to the bathroom and stripped his clothes off, throwing them to the floor with reckless abandon. After one last whiff, Chase pulled Coach's boxers up his slender legs and over his erection, snapping the waistband around his narrow hips. He studied his reflection in the mirror, flexing his arms; maybe his dedication was starting to pay off at the gym after all. He felt like he had more definition than he remembered seeing earlier in the locker room.
Chase rubbed his throbbing member through Coach's boxers. He often fantasized about sleeping with Coach Thomas, but his fantasies equally involved him being Coach Thomas. Coach was so masculine, so powerful, so confident - his very presence commanded the attention of those around him. His thick burly build was everything that Chase aspired to be, desperate to leave his twinklike appearance behind and become a real man.
Chase continued to stare at himself in the mirror. His toned, slender arms twitched, a muscle spasm running through them. As the sinew in his biceps and triceps contracted, his arms began to swell, thickening with muscle. His arms filled out considerably, tendons and ligaments developing beneath the skin. Chase looked down at his body, admiring his enlarged, beefy arms. His shoulders quickly followed suit, broadening as his narrow frame widened. Chase shifted his stance to accommodate the weight and muscle his slim build was quickly putting on, shocked by his new bulky appearance.
Chase studied Coach's boxers hanging around his waist. They had been baggy and loose, but he was starting to fill them out nicely with his growing body. He wondered if wearing them was causing the changes, and if he would be able to stop them if he took them off. But did he want it to stop? Wasn't this the body he'd always wanted?
Chase's torso was the next to change, beginning with his flat chest. His almost nonexistent pecs bulged, growing beefy with muscle whilst his nipples enlargened. His meaty pecs softened as his body started to fatten, losing some of their definition but remaining firm and powerful. The abs that Chase had worked so hard for over the past several months vanished in an instant, fading away as his stomach bloated into a round belly. Chase rubbed his new paunch with satisfaction, delighted by his thick midsection. With every passing moment, he was becoming more and more like Coach Thomas, just as he'd always wished.
Chase's rearside was not immune to the metamorphosis. His tight round butt began to plump up, bulging with muscle and fat. It continued to inflate, causing the boxers to grow even tighter around him. His slender legs looked out of place in comparison to his bulky upper half, but they wouldn't for much longer. His thighs and quads ballooned with muscle, growing thick and sturdy.
Chase's already rock hard cock began to throb, begging for release. He reached a hand down and stroked himself through the boxers. His soft warm skin grew weathered, losing its youthful glow. Dark brown hairs quickly sprouted from his smooth body, covering his legs and arms while a thick treasure trail formed along his belly. Other than his crotch and head, Chase was identical to Coach Thomas now.
"This is fucking incredible," he whispered to himself, hearing the deep booming voice of Coach Thomas emerging from his lips. His facial features began to shift, his jawline squaring out as his cute face matured into a more masculine visage. His forehead expanded as his blonde hair darkened and shortened, his hairline receding. His eyebrows thickened while his button nose widened, his lips cracking as they grew chapped with age. A dark stubble spread along his chin, covering the lower half of his face in a well maintained beard.
Chase let out a manly grunt as his dick finally spewed, shooting out thick ropes of cum into the boxers. His cock grew long and girthy, his balls swelling to over twice their original size and filling with Coach Thomas' sperm.
With the physical conversion now complete, Chase looked at the reflection of Coach Thomas in the mirror. He had no idea how he had undergone such a miraculous transformation, but was stoked to have the body of his Coach. He couldn't wait to show off his new look to all his friends, reaching down and cupping a feel of his massive member.
His excitement was short lived, however. A splitting headache suddenly overtook Chase, his vision blurring. The mental changes were even quicker than the physical alteration; in mere seconds Chase was gone, Coach Thomas having completely taken over.
Coach Thomas looked around the unfamiliar bathroom, scratching his head in confusion. He wasn't in his apartment or on the college campus, so where the hell was he? He glanced down, realizing he was practically naked other than his cum filled boxers.
"What the fuck?" He wondered aloud. Was he at the house of a hookup, maybe? But surely he'd be able to remember that, unless he'd gotten completely wasted the night before.
Thomas cautiously pulled open the bathroom door. It was all quiet in the apartment, as far as he could tell. "Hello?" He called out, to no response. He let out a small sigh of relief, seemingly alone for now.
There were clothes on the bathroom floor, but they were too small for him. Entering the apartment hallway, he wandered into the nearest bedroom hoping to find some of his own clothes. He was surprised to find a closet full of football gear with the college's name emblazoned across the front; was he at the home of one of his athlete's? Thomas hoped he hadn't fucked one of his students in a drunken stupor. He found a hoodie and pair of sweatpants he was able to squeeze into and quickly dressed.
Thomas' mind was racing as he hurried for the apartment door. Why was he experiencing blackouts? What the hell had happened in the bathroom before he came to his senses? He'd have time to think about that later, but right now he was desperate to get out of wherever the hell he was and back to his own place.
Thomas pulled open the apartment door only to come face to face with Chase standing outside in the hallway. The younger man had a set of keys in his hand, looking up at Thomas with a puzzled expression.
"Coach?" Chase asked, laughing nervously. "What are you doing in my apartment?"
Thomas blushed bright red, struggling to come up with a reasonable explanation. While he stumbled over his words, he noticed that Chase's attire looked extremely familiar.
"Are you wearing my clothes?" Thomas asked. This was one hell of a weird day.
Accidentally transforming my boyfriend into my football coach - Part 2
Read Part 1 Here
For the first time in what felt like forever, Coach Ryerson felt free. Even better, he felt powerful. Over the last few decades, Ryerson had dedicated the best years of his life to help younger, luckier men achieve their dreams. He tirelessly worked with his team on and off the field, coaching countless of his students to the big league. He didn't ask for much in return; all he wanted was the respect of his players. He needed to feel like all of his hard work meant something. So when someone had started stealing his clothes a few months ago, it had been a huge blow to his ego.
He had gone home and ranted to his husband about how betrayed he felt. Brody had been very smpathetic of Ryerson's situation, having seen firsthand how much his husband cared about his students.
"You need to teach those boys a lesson," Brody had suggested, perusing the bookshelf that contained his spellbooks. Brody had short grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard, with a lean but well toned physique.
"How? I don't even know who's stealing from me. It could be any of the players. Or all of them," Ryerson moped, "Besides, the college wouldn't let me do anything anyways. They'd side with the players, saying 'boys will be boys'."
"Luckily you're married to me," Brody smirked at Ryerson, grabbing the tome he'd been searching for. "All I need to do is put a spell on your clothes, and the magic will take care of identifying AND punishing the culprit."
"Not a bad idea," Ryerson had nodded in agreement. "What kind of spell?"
"You'll have to wait and see," Brody winked, leaning in for a kiss.
Now, inhabiting the body of one of his players, Ryerson felt unstoppable. He didn't care about the rules anymore, or what was right or wrong. He was going to do what he wanted, and right now Ryerson wanted John. He flashed John a cocky grin, slowly strutting across the locker room. His massive cock was rock hard, the swollen mushroom head dripping with precum.
"I know you want me, John," Coach growled seductively, reaching out and gently running his fingers across John's chest. "I've seen the way you stare at me during practice. I know all about your little crush."
Ryerson slid his hand down John's torso, caressing the younger man's chiseled abs. Ryerson's touch was electric, sending sparks of ecstacy throughout John's whole body. John wanted to tell his Coach to stop, but being in such close proximity to Ryerson was making him disoriented; it was difficult to focus or resist.
"I...I don't understand what's happening..." John muttered in a daze. He needed to get away, needed to get help for Aaron. His boyfriend had miraculously transformed into the beast of a man standing before him, but the panic that John initially felt was quickly subsiding. He knew this was all wrong, but he found it difficult to care. The spell was amplifying John's pre-existing crush on Ryerson, leaving John in his Coach's thrall.
"It's okay, John," Ryerson leaned in and whispered soothingly in John's ear, his touch continuing to slide down John's body. Finally reaching John's crotch, Coach took a firm grip of John's erect member through the underwear. He slowly started to stroke his hand along John's shaft, and John let out a moan in pleasure.
"Doesn't that feel good, John?" Coach asked.
"Yes, but...Aaron," John stammered, trying to focus his thoughts. The harder he tried to think about his boyfriend, the more clouded his mind was becoming. It was becoming increasingly difficult for John to think of anything but Coach Ryerson.
Ryerson took John by the hand and led him over to one of the wooden benches. Coach pushed John onto the bench, forcing him into a seated position. The veiny head of Ryerson's dick was mere inches away from John's lips, leaking a delicious trail of precum. Not able to control his desires, John leaned forward and hungrily licked up Ryerson's precum with his tongue.
"Go on, John," Coach moaned encouragingly, running his hands through John's jet black hair, "Suck on it."
The sweaty musk emanating from Ryerson's cock and balls was intoxicating. Thoughts of Aaron and everything else quickly faded from John's mind, until his single thought was Coach Ryerson. Gingerly, he parted his lips and took in the tip of Coach Ryerson's cock. Ryerson grabbed hold of the back of John's head as he began to thrust his dick into the other man's mouth. John had limited experience sucking dick; he'd only previously sucked off Aaron, who had a considerably shorter and thinner cock than Coach. John nearly gagged as he sucked on Ryerson, but relaxed his jaw and started to tongue the swollen tip of his mentor's member. His gag reflex subsided and John started to bob his head back and forth, taking in more and more of Coach's cock until the man's big hairy balls were smacking him in the face.
"Yes!" Ryerson cried out ecstatically. His whole body was tensing, craving release.
John could feel Ryerson's body began to seize up and knew that his Coach must have been getting close. He increased the momentum of his thrusts, pulling his own cock out from his briefs and jerking himself. He wanted to taste Ryerson's sweet and salty seed more than anything.
"Oh, fuck yeah!" Coach grunted, his hips spasming as his dick erupted. John hungrily swallowed Coach Ryerson's seed as it was pumped directly into his mouth and down his throat. It was the most exquisite thing he'd ever tasted, and he wanted every last drop. After several seconds, the spurts of cum finally subsided and Coach Ryerson slowly slid his dick from John's mouth.
"Fuck, Coach," John panted breathlessly, wiping away some excess semen that was dripping down his chin, "That was insanely hot."
"We're just getting started, stud," Coach Ryerson laughed mischievously, looking down at his student and giving him a wink.
Coach pulled John back to his feet. John was still in a daze, his body on autopilot as it responded to Coach's touch. Ryerson knelt down in front of John, picking up the boxers he'd discarded on the floor earlier. He slid John's briefs down the young man's legs, giving John's exposed erection a few strokes. Ryerson maneuvered his own boxers up John's legs and over his crotch, snapping the waistband at John's hips.
"Coach...?" John struggled to regain his composure, afraid of what the boxers would do to him.
"Come on John, don't you want the body of a real man?" Coach Ryerson smirked.
John could feel the boxers heat up; a strange, pleasing sensation flowed into his body from the underwear. The power entering his body filled him with bliss, and John felt like he was about to cream any second.
Ryerson watched on as the changes began, beating off his own dick all the while. John grew taller, going from a height of 5'7 to 6'1. His feet expanded as his legs bulked up, growing thick with muscle while losing some of their definition. John's tight firm ass rounded out, a soft layer of fat cushioning his butt. He moaned in pleasure, reaching a hand down to his crotch as he felt his cock start to expand. His average sized dick grew four inches longer and doubled in girth until it was the same size as Coach's package. John's balls dropped, swelling to the size of oranges as they quickly filled with cum.
John's chest began to swell with muscle and fat. He'd had the lean defined frame of a runner, but that quickly disappeared as he packed on the pounds. His pecs inflated with muscle while his abs bulged outwards, leaving him with a small round belly. His shoulders broadened while his biceps thickened with definition, the veins in his arms bulging out. A thick treasure trail formed on John's chest as coarse dark brown hairs emerged from his skin. Similar hairs sprouted from his legs and arms, leaving the previously smooth young man with a hirsute body.
The pleasure eradiating from John's cock continued to grow until John could not contain himself anymore. He let out a deep manly grunt as his cock started to spurt out cum, drenching the boxers he was wearing in semen. At the sight of his student cumming, Coach Ryerson let out an animalistic roar and began to ejaculate as well.
John's face began to mature as he started to take on the same facial features as Coach. He lost his round, boyish face as his jaw squared out and he grew some stubble on his chin. His sky blue eyes darkened to a mossy green while his styled, slicked back hair shortened into a crew cut and grew lighter, settling at a dark brown colour with some silver highlights throughout.
Coach Ryerson looked at his former student, who was now an exact replica of himself. The new Coach Ryerson slid off his boxers so he was now naked as well, slowly running his hands along his rock hard shaft.
"Well, I think we taught those boys a lesson," He laughed.
The new Ryerson continued to stroke his shaft, the tip of his cock oozing out cum. The original Coach got down on his knees and placed his clone's dick in his mouth, hungrily swallowing his seed. It was incredibly hot to be able to suck on his own cock; Coach had always fantasized about making love to himself, but he had never thought it a possibility before today.
"Holy fuck, that's so hot," The new Coach grinned at the original. He ogled his clone lustfully, taking in his handsome face, beefy bod and gargantuan cock. Coach had always known he was a good looking man, but being able to admire himself up close and personal was providing a newfound appreciation for his own sexiness.
"What do you say we take this to the showers?" The original Coach asked, raising his eyebrows seductively and running his hands along the new Ryerson's cum covered chest. He raised his fingers to his lips and slowly licked up the semen, never breaking eye contact with his twin. "I think we need to clean you up."
The two Coaches made their way from the locker room area of the changeroom to the showers, both men naked and rock hard. The Coach trailing behind had his eyes fixated on his duplicate's rear end, watching as his round ass bounced with every step he took. He wanted nothing more to shove his raging boner up that hole and fuck himself. The two Coaches were so fixated on each other's bodies they neglected to notice that the discarded boxers had been left on one of the locker room benches.
Caleb Delaney had heard the ring story so many times that the words had worn grooves in his patience.
State championship. Fourth quarter. Mud everywhere. Frank Delaney playing through a knee that should have taken him out in the second half. One last drive. One last hit. The kind of game old men turned into legend because no one could prove how much of it had been real.
The ring sat in a wooden box in Frank’s den, tucked beside yellowed newspaper clippings and a framed photograph of a younger version of Caleb’s father. In the picture, Frank was eighteen, broad-shouldered and grinning, hair thick and dark, one hand raised as if he could still hear the crowd. He looked nothing like the man standing in the den now.
Frank was fifty. He still carried some old athlete’s strength in his shoulders and arms, but his middle had gone heavy with time. His grey shirt stretched over a round stomach that pushed forward before the rest of him. His hair was clipped short and dark-gray at the sides, but the front had receded badly, exposing a broad, lined forehead; at the back, a bald spot had opened at the crown. A thick salt-and-pepper goatee framed his mouth, making him look stern even when he was only tired.
Caleb stood across from him, twenty-two and restless, home from campus for one night before rivalry week swallowed him whole. He was big from football in a way that seemed almost unfair: broad chest, powerful arms, thick shoulders, solid torso, tattooed forearms, dark hair, short beard, the easy physical confidence of someone whose body had never really failed him. His headphones hung around his neck. A game controller sat abandoned on the couch behind him. His duffel bag was still by the door as if it was eager to leave.
Frank turned the ring between his fingers. “You’re not listening,” he said.
Caleb sighed. “I’m listening.”
“No, you’re waiting for me to stop talking.”
“Maybe because I’ve heard this speech before.”
Frank’s eyes narrowed beneath his heavy brow. “You have a game Saturday.”
“I know when my game is, Dad.”
“You’ve got scouts coming. Alumni. People who matter.”
Caleb laughed without meaning to. “You always say that like I don’t know football exists unless you remind me.”
Frank’s goatee shifted as his jaw tightened.
“That body of yours,” Frank said, pointing at him with the ring hand, “is a gift. You act like it’s something you picked up at the store.”
Caleb looked down at himself, then back at his father. “Here we go.”
“You think I’m joking?”
“I think you’re mad because I’m living the part of your life you couldn't but still care about.”
Frank went still. It should have warned Caleb. It did not. He stepped closer, anger warming now, the kind that came too easily between a father and a son that didn't always see eye to eye. “You sit around with that ring and those clippings like one good season thirty years ago gives you the right to run mine.”
“One good season,” Frank repeated.
“You know what I mean.”
“No,” Frank said. “I know exactly what you mean.”
He pulled the ring off his hand and closed his fist around it. “You think this is about me missing the crowd? You think I don’t know what I look like now?” Frank slapped one hand against his stomach, hard enough to make the stretched fabric jump. “You think I need you to remind me I got old?”
Caleb looked away, but too late. Frank saw it. The hurt passed over his face quickly, chased by pride.
“I watch you waste what I would’ve killed for,” Frank said. “That’s what gets me. Not that you’re young. Not that you’re strong. That you don’t understand what a gift it is and how quickly you can lose it all.”
Caleb’s voice dropped. “And you don’t understand that it's my choice to make my own future. - you just wish you were young again.”
The room changed. It was not dramatic at first. Just a silence too deep for the den. The refrigerator stopped humming. The air seemed to press in around them.
Frank looked down at the ring in his hand. Its metal had begun to glow.
Caleb frowned. “What the hell?”
Frank’s eyes lifted. The ring flared white-hot.
Caleb reached instinctively, either to knock it away or grab his father’s wrist. Frank moved at the same time. Their hands met around the ring.
Heat shot through Caleb’s palm and up his arm. The den vanished. For one impossible second, Caleb heard a stadium roar. He smelled wet grass, mud, old leather, sweat trapped in shoulder pads, beer spilled on concrete, his father’s aftershave, his own deodorant. Memories that were not his crashed through him: a younger Frank taking a hit under white lights; Frank limping toward a locker room; Frank standing alone in a kitchen after the divorce papers were signed; Frank watching Caleb’s games from metal bleachers, hands clenched, heart split between pride and envy.
Then his body betrayed him. His stomach surged outward first. Caleb gasped as weight gathered at his middle, not muscle, not athletic bulk, but a warm, heavy roundness that pushed against his shirt and dragged at his lower back. His center of gravity shifted forward - almost causing him to topple over. His chest remained broad but dropped into older heaviness. His arms thickened differently, strength buried under softness. His knees buckled with sudden ache. His skin prickled. His jaw burned as coarse hair pushed out and grayed around his mouth. He felt a surge of heat in his pants as his dick thickened then shrunk.
“No,” Caleb choked. But the voice was wrong. Lower. Rougher. Frank’s.
Across from him, Frank staggered backward as years stripped off him. His belly collapsed inward. His back straightened. His shoulders spread wide. His old T-shirt hung loose, then pulled tight in new places as Caleb’s chest and arms filled it. The lines around his eyes smoothed. His hair darkened and filled in. His goatee shrank and reshaped into Caleb’s short dark beard. His underwear bulged as Caleb’s longer dick spread out between his thighs and instantly chubbed under a surge of hormones.
Frank looked down at himself in shock.
Caleb shoved past his doppelgänger toward the hall bathroom, moving badly, too heavy, too slow. He hit the light and grabbed the sink.
Frank stared back from the mirror. Not a resemblance. Not some older version of Caleb. His father - Frank Delaney.
The weathered face. The crow’s feet. The strong forehead lines. The salt-and-pepper goatee. Caleb’s hands shook as he dragged them over his scalp. The front hairline had retreated far back, and when he reached behind him, his fingers found the thin bare spot at the crown. The bald spot.
His stomach pressed into the sink cabinet. Caleb looked down. Caleb’s T-shirt stretched over the round swell of his new older belly. He grabbed it with both hands. The weight filled his palms. He tried to suck it in, and the belly barely moved.
He reached his hand down to his jeans, feeling for his dick in its usual position part-way down a pant leg and was startled to find it pressed high and small against his underwear. Before he could process his physical reality anymore Frank appeared in the doorway behind him wearing Caleb’s face. For once, his father had no lecture. He only stared at Caleb’s body, flexing one hand, then the other, like he had forgotten hands could feel that strong.
“What did you do?” Caleb whispered in Frank's gruff voice.
“I don’t know...” Frank replied in Caleb's younger tone.
“What did you do?!” Caleb shouted this time.
“I said I don’t know!” Frank retorted.
Caleb’s voice coming out of Frank’s mouth would have been bad enough. Frank’s panic coming out of Caleb’s strong young body was worse.
The ring clattered to the hallway floor between them. It glowed once, then cooled. They tried everything. They put the ring on. They took it off. They held it together. Caleb cursed at it until Frank told him to breathe. Caleb nearly punched him for that, then realized with a wave of sick humiliation that Frank, in Caleb’s body, could probably stop him.
Near midnight, they found words etched inside the band that had not been there before.
ONE MORE GAME. ONE FINAL WHISTLE.
Caleb read them over and over. “The game,” he said.
Frank did not answer.
“The big game is this Saturday!”
“We don’t know that’s what it means” Frank said.
Caleb laughed, and Frank’s older laugh came out of him. “You’re going to tell me this magical ring that stole my body and gave me your belly is now being subtle?”
Frank flinched. Caleb saw it. He did not care.
“I’m stuck like this for a week!?” Caleb questioned.
“We’ll fix it…” Frank declared with no clear reason to be hopeful.
“How? After you play my game?”
Frank looked away.
Caleb stepped closer, his anger clumsy inside Frank’s older body. “No. Look at me. You are in my body. You are going back to my campus. My classes. My team. My life. You’re going to play the game this weekend and then everything should go back to normal!”
“I don’t know...” Frank started to respond before Caleb interrupted -
“You don’t know anything.”
Frank’s face, Caleb’s face, tightened. Then he reluctantly agreed to go along with the plan provided by the ring. They made rules because rules controlled fear. Frank would go back to campus as Caleb. Frank would attend classes, practice, team meetings, and keep everything intact until Saturday. He would take no risks. He would make no personal decisions. He would not touch Caleb’s life beyond what was absolutely necessary.
Caleb would take the week off work. He would stay at Frank’s house, avoid neighbors, avoid his mother (Frank’s ex-wife), avoid everyone who knew his dad well enough to notice the wrong man behind his eyes.
Most importantly, Caleb said behind Franks older eyes and thick goatee, “Don’t do anything with my body that I wouldn’t do.”
Frank stared at him from Caleb’s younger face.
“How do I know what you wouldn’t do?”
Caleb swallowed and grasped his forehead, feeling the start of a headache. “Then just don’t do anything,” he said.
At the time, Caleb believed him. At the time, Frank believed himself. The two men shook on it.
---
After a few hours of sleep, Monday morning came around and Frank’s new young body woke up before the sun had even fully risen. He yawned and stretched feeling his new larger dick twitch. He pressed it into the mattress - not because he was particularly horny - although when isn’t a college guy horny he thought - but simply because it felt good.
He briefly debated the morality of using his son's dick. It's not like he hadn't seen it before - he was his son after all. He landed on there being no way he could go a week without release in this body - before the ache in his balls compelled him to roll onto his back, reach a hand into his underwear and begin to jerk his son’s dick. The heat within him rose quickly as he moved his hand up and down the shaft of his new 9” dick. Within a few seconds he splattered a load of cum on his new tight abs.
“Jesus, I miss being this young” he thought, “although I have no idea where Caleb got the genes for this monster dick from - must be his mother’s” he thought with a smirk as he grabbed a dirty sock, wiped up the cum and jumped out of bed.
That was the first temptation. Frank had forgotten what it felt like to have energy waiting for him instead of something he had to bargain for with coffee, ibuprofen, and stubbornness. Caleb’s body was warm and ready, muscles swollen, dick full of cum, breath easy, joints silent.
Frank packed Caleb's things and drove his son's truck back to campus. The steering wheel felt small in his hands. The fall morning air felt sharper through Caleb’s lungs. Even sitting still, he could feel the young strength humming under his skin.
By the time he walked across campus in Caleb’s team hoodie, he was lightheaded. People looked at him. That was the second temptation. Not the polite glance given to a middle-aged man in a grocery aisle. Not the quick nod Frank got from other dads at hardware stores or bars. People actually looked. A girl smiled at him from the coffee line. A guy in a baseball cap called his name. Two younger players slapped him on the back as they passed, hard enough that Frank braced for pain that never came.
“Big week, Caleb.”
Frank nearly turned to see who they meant. Then he remembered - he was Caleb.
Caleb’s apartment smelled like laundry, body spray, old pizza, and cleats. There were controllers on the couch, protein tubs on the counter, textbooks open facedown, team gear piled near the bedroom door. It was messy, loud even when empty, a life still being built in real time.
Frank stood in the middle of it and felt something dangerous unfold inside him. This was not just youth…it was a road with infinite forks to be taken. Endless possibilities. He felt a twinge of middle-aged remorse after putting thoughts to emotions.
---
Earlier that same morning, after Frank already left for college, Caleb woke in his father’s bed with a dry mouth, an aching back, a strong urge to piss and Frank’s stomach resting heavily against the waistband of his sweatpants.
For a few glorious groggy seconds while negotiating ignoring the need to pee in order to sleep more before morning practice, Caleb forgot about the swap. Then he rolled over and Frank's belly shifted with him - snapping his attention to the present.
“Oh, God,” he muttered.
In the bathroom, the mirror delivered the truth again. Frank’s rugged, older face. Frank’s goatee. Frank’s receding hairline. Frank’s heavy chest under a stretched T-shirt he had thrown on to not have to look at his new huge stomach too closely...Frank’s stomach - he had expected the belly to horrify him less in daylight. It did not.
It was warm and round and ordinary, which somehow made it worse. Not some monstrous punishment. Just a middle-aged man’s stomach. A divorced dad’s stomach. Years of takeout, stress, knee pain, lonely dinners, and telling himself he would get back to the gym next month.
Caleb gripped it from underneath and felt the weight settle into his hands. Then Caleb’s attention was drawn again to his need to relieve himself. After the shock of the change - and the realization of the difference in his smaller manhood - Caleb had delayed looking at his Dad’s dick for as long as possible. Time was up.
Caleb walked over to the toilet and pulled down his sweatpants. He reached into the sleeve of his underwear and pulled out a 3” cut thick dick from his now salt and pepper pubes. He frowned as he leaned forward to even see his dick over his dad’s belly and he pulled it out of his clothes just far enough to aim and hit the toilet bowl. A stream of piss sputtered and then flowed from his new smaller dick. A wave of relief passed over his body.
After finishing, Caleb shook his dick and it responded by stiffening. An odd feeling passed over him as he felt arousal in his father’s body. It didn't match the sharpness or urgency of his old body, but burned without relent. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and inspected himself as he took one hand and rubbed his bigger belly, enjoying the sensation of the thicker hair on his stomach while at the same time feeling disgust at the thought of it.
While he watched with intense interest his hands wandered across his body, he cupped deflated pecs and tweaked swollen nipples - feeling how much more sensitive they were than his. He felt weathered skin and licked his upper lip with his tongue - feeling the coarser grey hair. All the while his dick twitched and grew - still small but thick and eager looking in the mirror.
Caleb eventually gave in and reached an older rougher hand down to his dick and began to slide his thumb and forefinger over the small shaft barely pushing out from his bush. He tweaked his nipples with his other hand. His pace quickened, he spit on his hand and fucked his tiny dick into it while rubbing his big belly. He thought about cumming from the dick that made him - pushing him over the top in some psychosexual mind fuck. His little thick dick jerked as waves of pleasure passed through his body. As Caleb finished a mix of satisfaction and embarrassment washed over him - but with nothing to do and nowhere to be for the whole week he had a feeling this wouldn’t be the only time he touched his new little plaything.
Downstairs, the house was quiet enough to hear the refrigerator hum. Frank lived alone, and the house showed it in small, embarrassing ways: one coffee mug in the sink, one chair at the kitchen table pulled out more than the others, one side of the couch worn deeper than the rest. The fridge had eggs, beer, mustard, leftover Chinese food, and a bagged salad going brown at the edges.
On the kitchen table sat a pair of reading glasses, a stack of mail, and a handwritten note from Frank.
I’ll be in touch after morning practice.
Caleb stood there staring at it until Frank’s phone buzzed.
Made it, Frank texted from Caleb’s phone. Nobody suspects anything.
Caleb typed slowly with thumbs that felt too thick and what he had just finished upstairs still on his mind.
Don’t get comfortable.
Six minutes passed before Frank replied.
I won’t.
---
By Tuesday, Frank had learned something he did not want to admit. Caleb’s body knew football better than Caleb seemed to let on.
At practice, Frank expected to fake his way through with old knowledge and muscle memory from decades ago. But Caleb’s body carried its own intelligence. The steps were there. The balance. The footwork. The timing of contact. Frank’s older mind supplied patience and field sense. Caleb’s body supplied force and acceleration. All combined, they were terrifying.
The first time Frank hit the blocking sled, the clean power of it almost made him laugh. No knee pain. No belly in the way. No breathless hitch at the end. Just drive, impact, movement. It was exhilarating.
Coach Ramirez barked, “Where the hell has that been all season?”
A teammate yelled, “Caleb finally woke up!”
Frank grinned before he could stop himself.
That night across town, Caleb sat in Frank’s recliner watching practice footage Frank sent him. His father’s body filled the chair too naturally, stomach pressing under the polo he had found in the closet. He scratched at the goatee and hated himself for already getting used to the motion.
On the screen, Caleb’s body moved across the field. At first he watched with disgust. Frank was inside him. Wearing him. Using his lungs, his legs, his face - probably even his dick - though he paused at the thought. Every snap felt like theft.
Then Caleb noticed how good he looked. Not mirror good. Not shirtless selfie good. Not the private satisfaction of seeing muscle under bathroom lighting. He looked good in motion. Powerful. Dangerous. Built for a purpose.
Frank moved with an older player’s patience. He wasted fewer steps. He waited for blocks to form. He used Caleb’s strength like it was precious because he understood exactly how temporary strength could be. Caleb watched the same clip four times. Then he threw the phone onto the couch.
“Asshole,” he muttered under his breath, though he was no longer sure which of them he meant.
---
Wednesday was when Frank broke the rules, less than 72 hours after their swap. It started with Wes Harlan. Wes was twenty-three, a back-up quarterback, broad and fast, another player on the team who carried himself like he had never apologized for taking up space. He and Caleb had always had something between them that neither had named directly. Too much eye contact. Too much locker-room shoving that lingered half a second too long. One night after a party months earlier, Wes had almost kissed Caleb outside the apartment stairwell. Or Caleb had almost kissed Wes. Caleb had never decided which version scared him more.
Frank did not know that history - Frank did not know his son was bi - it wasn’t something Caleb even successfully put words to yet. He only knew the way Wes looked at him across the weight room after evening lift made him feel something he hadn’t felt in years - and never for a man in his own body.
“You’ve been weird this week,” Wes said.
Frank sat on a bench, towel around his neck, Caleb’s arms pumped and heavy from lifting, sweat cooling under his cut-off shirt. The body was roaring with exertion, hormones, and hunger. It wanted food, sleep, movement, attention, contact. It wanted everything now - fast, unapologetically.
“Weird how?” Frank asked.
“Less annoying, maybe? More mature? I can’t put my finger on it exactly - but I like it.”
Frank laughed, and because it was Caleb’s laugh, Wes smiled. That should have warned him. Instead, Frank felt twenty-two in a way football had not given him. Football made youth feel like memory restored. Wes made it feel like a present-tense invitation.
They walked back toward Caleb’s apartment after dark. Frank told himself he was keeping Caleb’s routines normal. Then he told himself a conversation wasn’t a betrayal. Then he told himself Caleb’s young body was responding before he could think.
At the apartment door, Wes stopped. “Are you going to keep pretending you don’t know what’s going on between us?” he asked.
Frank should have stepped back. He should have said Caleb wasn’t himself this week. He should have gone inside, locked the door, and just masturbated while thinking about the way Wes's shirt clung to his pecs, or the way he smelt after the workout, how the left side of his mouth lifted slightly when he smiled at Frank. Instead, he kissed Wes.
The rest of the night became something Frank would later remember with a mix of longing and shame. It was not only desire. That would have been easier to excuse. It was being wanted. Being chosen. Being touched as if he were still at the beginning of life instead of somewhere past the middle, alone in a quiet house with bad knees, a huge belly, and old photographs of glory that was gone before it even really started.
For a while, Frank let himself disappear into Caleb’s youth. The two men kissed their way through the apartment moving to the bedroom - bodies pumped and swollen from working out - brains clouded by testosterone and yearning. Before long their clothes were in a pile at the foot of the bed and the two football players were wrapped in a pile of sweat and sheets.
Afterward, while Wes slept beside him - Caleb's load still leaking out of his asshole - Frank lay awake in Caleb’s bed staring at the ceiling. The young body felt calm now. Frank did not.
By morning, the guilt had sharpened into something he could not swallow. Wes kissed his shoulder and murmured, “Took you long enough.”
Frank closed his eyes. He had not only taken Caleb’s strength or his Saturday or his name. He had taken a memory that Wes believed belonged to Caleb.
---
Caleb found out Thursday afternoon.
Wes texted Caleb’s phone while it was mirrored to the tablet Caleb had been using at Frank’s house.
Last night was worth the wait.
For a moment, Caleb did not understand. Then like a crack of thunder he did.
Frank’s older body flushed hot from chest to scalp. His hand curled around the edge of the kitchen counter. His stomach pressed against the cabinet as he leaned forward, suddenly aware of every inch of the body he had been trapped inside while Frank used his.
He called. Frank answered on the second ring. “What did you do?” Caleb asked.
Silence.
“What did you do, you asshole?!”
“Caleb—”
“You hooked up with Wes!?”
Frank said nothing.
Caleb’s voice shook. “You used my body to fuck someone I know!?”
“It was a mistake..." Frank spit out.
“A mistake is missing class. A mistake is eating something I wouldn’t eat. You fucked around with someone who thought you were me!”
“I know. I didn’t mean to. Your body - it’s just so young and full of energy and need! One thing led to another before I could stop…”
“No, you don’t.” Caleb pressed one hand hard against Frank’s stomach, as if he could hold himself in place. “You don’t get to borrow my body and make memories with it. I like Wes, Dad! Now I’ll never get to experience a first night with him or even the anticipation of whether it would happen!”
Frank breathed unsteadily into the phone, unsure how to respond.
“He’s going to look at me after this,” Caleb said, “and remember you.”
That landed hard. Frank sat down on Caleb’s bed, surrounded by Caleb’s clothes, Caleb’s books, Caleb’s whole unfinished life.
“I told myself it was the body,” Frank said quietly.
Caleb laughed once. “The hormones didn’t make you fuck Wes. You just want to be me. I trusted you because you’re my Dad.”
That hurt worse than anger. Frank covered his face with Caleb’s hand.
“I’m sorry.”
Caleb almost hung up.
Instead, he took a deep breath and said, “You still have to play Saturday.”
Frank went still. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Caleb, after what I did I’m not sure I can do—”
“You think I want you in my body one more second than necessary?” Caleb snapped. “You think I want to be in your fat, washed up, stubby-dicked body?! You think I want you running onto that field wearing my name like all the work I put into it belong to you? But if you disappear now, I’m benched - and maybe stuck in your body for life. Coaches ask questions. Scouts ask questions. My season gets wrecked because you couldn’t control your dick - MY dick.”
Frank had no answer.
“So you are going to play,” Caleb said. “You are going to play the best game you can. And when the whistle blows, you are giving me my body back.”
Frank swallowed. “And after that?”
Caleb paused. He was so angry he never wanted to see his father again. But as Caleb looked around at Frank’s lonely kitchen. The single coffee mug. The mail. The old photos. The empty chair across the table. “I don’t know,” was all he could say.
---
On Friday night, still riddled with guilt, Frank came home. He parked Caleb’s truck in the driveway after sunset and stood beside it for a moment, Caleb’s big young body outlined in the porch light. He looked up at his house as if he somehow needed permission to enter.
Caleb opened the door before he knocked. They stared at each other. Frank looked exhausted in Caleb’s face. Caleb knew he probably looked worse in Frank’s.
They ended up in the garage, where the ring sat on the workbench between them. Frank picked it up but did not put it on.
“I thought I missed football,” he said. “Then I thought I missed being young.”
Caleb leaned against the washer, arms crossed over Frank’s round stomach. He hated how defensive the posture looked in his father’s body. “And?”
Frank looked at him. “Being 50, out of shape, divorced … it’s hard son" Frank said as he could feel tears well behind his eyes. "People stop looking at you with desire. They start seeing you as a washed up old man. I missed being looked at like I mattered.”
Caleb’s anger shifted but did not vanish. Having spent a week in his dad’s body he was starting to understand. “You matter to me, Dad” he said. “You just make it really hard sometimes to remember that.”
Frank nodded once. “I know, son.”
Caleb looked at the ring. “What happens if the whistle blows and this doesn’t reverse?” Frank could see youthful anxiety swelling behind his former older eyes. “Do we just live permanently as each other?”
Frank’s mouth tightened beneath Caleb’s beard. “Then I spend the rest of your life trying to fix it.”
Caleb nodded in understanding. “That’s what scares me…”
---
Saturday afternoon came bright and cold - the perfect day for college football. Caleb sat in the stands early, before sunset, wearing Frank’s jeans, Frank’s jacket, and Frank’s body. The seat felt too narrow. His belly pressed forward when he sat, and he kept tugging the jacket down over it. The goatee itched in the wind. Twice he reached up toward the receding hairline before forcing his hand down.
No one paid much attention to Frank Delaney though. Everyone watched Caleb. Frank wore Caleb’s uniform like he had been born in it. The helmet hid enough that Caleb could almost pretend he was watching himself on film, but then Frank moved and the illusion broke. Caleb knew his own body too well. The set of the shoulders. The bounce in the legs. The roll of the neck before the first snap.
The game started hard. For the first quarter, Frank played carefully. Too carefully. Caleb saw the restraint from the stands. Then a defender hit him late after a whistle. Caleb’s body got up slowly. Frank turned his helmet toward the other player.
Even from the stands, Caleb felt the change. The next series, Frank stopped playing not to lose. He played like a man who knew his time was running out.
He waited for blocks. He read pressure. He took hits and rose from them with Caleb’s young resilience and Frank’s old fury. He used strength with gratitude. He used speed like a gift he had been granted for one final evening. By halftime, the crowd had started chanting Caleb’s name.
By the fourth quarter, they were screaming it. Caleb leaned forward over Frank’s stomach, elbows on knees, heart pounding in Frank’s chest. For stretches of time, he forgot to be angry. He watched his own body change the game and felt something inside him break open.
He had lived inside that body for twenty-two years. He had trained it, fed it, fucked with it, judged it, flexed it, resented it, relied on it. But he had never really seen it.
Late in the fourth, down by four, Frank took the field for the final drive. The ring, hanging on a chain under Caleb’s shirt, began to warm against Frank’s older chest.
Frank converted once. Then again. With less than a minute left, he took the snap, broke right, absorbed a hit that made Caleb rise to his feet with the entire stadium, and somehow stayed on his feet. He drove through the last defender at the goal line and fell into the end zone.
The stadium erupted. Caleb stood frozen while thousands of people cheered his name for something he had not done and somehow finally understood.
On the field, teammates swarmed Frank in Caleb’s body. Coaches grabbed his helmet. Hands slapped his back. Wes was there too, shouting, smiling, looking at Caleb’s face with a history.
Frank looked up into the stands. Through all those faces, he found Caleb. The ring burned against his chest. The two made eye contact.
Caleb left the stands, pushed through the crowd, down the stadium steps, and into the concrete tunnel. Security barely questioned him when he said he was Caleb’s father. That hurt in a way he filed away for later.
He found Frank in the tunnel, helmet in one hand, Caleb’s hair damp with sweat, black eye paint smudged beneath his eyes.
For a moment they only looked at each other.
Caleb started first, "You were amazing out there! I didn't know my body could do what you did with it tonight, Dad." Then Caleb held out the ring. “It’s yours,” he said, "it was always yours."
The ring glowed between them. Caleb took one side. Frank held the other. The stadium noise faded.
“I was afraid of becoming you,” Caleb said.
Frank closed his eyes. Caleb forced himself on. “Not because you’re fifty. Not because of the hair or the belly. Because you seemed stuck. Angry. Alone. Like everything good had already happened to you.” He touched the goatee once, then dropped his hand. “I thought your body was proof that life beat you.”
Frank opened his eyes.
Caleb swallowed. “I was cruel because I was scared.”
The ring grew hotter.
Frank nodded slowly. “I wanted your body,” he said.
Caleb’s jaw tightened. Frank did not look away. “I wanted your strength. Your future. The way people looked at you. The way nothing hurt. I told myself I was protecting your season, and sometimes I was. But sometimes I was just taking what wasn’t mine.”
The ring pulsed. “And Wes?” Caleb asked.
Frank’s face twisted with shame. “That was wrong,” he said. “Not because of the hormones. Not because of the magic. Because I chose to be wanted as you instead of stopping.”
Caleb held the ring harder. “Give it back.”
Frank nodded in agreement and the world snapped. Caleb returned to himself like a collision. Strength flooded him first, then soreness, then breath. His chest, his arms, his legs, his face — all of it rushed back into place. His stomach flattened into familiar athletic solidity. His beard darkened and shortened. Frank's clothes hung off his younger body.
Across from him, Frank staggered. Age settled over him heavily. His shoulders softened inside his pads. His stomach rounded forward, pressing against the fabric. Lines cut back into his forehead and around his eyes. The salt-and-pepper goatee returned. His hair retreated from the front, and the bald spot opened again at the crown.
Frank exhaled sharply and put one hand on his knee. For one terrible second, Caleb saw loss move across his father’s face. Then Frank looked up. Not at Caleb’s body. At Caleb.
“You okay?” Frank asked.
Caleb almost laughed. He was bruised, furious, exhausted, confused, and back inside a body he understood less than he had a week ago.
“No,” he said. “But I’m me.”
Frank nodded. “That’s good, son.”
---
Two days later, practice felt different. His body ached from the game, but it was a clean ache. Earned. Temporary. He ran harder than he had in months. He listened more. He wasted fewer steps. When Coach Ramirez barked corrections, Caleb did not smirk or shrug them off.
Beyond the fence, Frank watched with both hands wrapped around a paper coffee cup. The wind lifted the thinning hair at the front of his scalp. His jacket sat open over a flannel shirt, and beneath it his round stomach pressed against his belt. His salt-and-pepper goatee caught the afternoon light. His knee hurt. His back hurt. He was fifty years old, divorced, heavier than he wanted to be, and standing outside a life he had almost convinced himself he deserved to keep.
Caleb glanced over after a drill. For a second, Frank felt the old ache rise in him. Not his knee. The other one. The impossible wish. Then Caleb nodded. Not like a boy asking for approval from his father. Like a man recognizing the person who had helped him get there, even badly, even painfully, through damage neither of them knew how to repair yet.
Frank nodded back. He still missed being in Caleb’s younger body as an echo of his own lost youth - of course he did. But for the first time in years, watching Caleb run did not feel like watching life leave him behind. It felt like watching something he had helped send forward.
Nobody said that being a big boy is easy or cheap. Time to get your new latex suit Bradley... you have outgrown it again for the third time this year 😈
This massive bearded stud sits on the couch in his skin tight black latex singlet that is already tearing at the seams from his enormous muscles. The shiny rubber clings desperately to his powerful chest and thick thighs while his heavy bulge stretches the material to its limit.
He has grown so much that even the strongest suits do not last. Time for another upgrade 💦🖤
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