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High School Development
|Jamie entered the school library quietly, not wanting to attract attention. A brunette blew him a kiss as he sat down at one of the computers. He winked back, which caused her and her girlfriends to collapse into giggles. Jamie rolled his eyes and went to the local newspaper’s web site.
He hit the search bar, and began typing. “old house on patton st.”
Two articles popped up, one vaguely mentioning the “Barkley house, dilapidated and abandoned.” Bullseye. He typed again. “barkley house history” No results. Damn! He backspaced ‘history’ and tried again. One new result showed up, from many years before. Contractor purchased….blah blah…contractor died, should the city council order the house demolished? The article didn’t mention any history. He kept skimming, and his eyes caught something. “Harold and Roberta Barkley moved away after the death of their son, Harry Jr.”
Back to the search bar. “Death of Harry Barkley, Jr.”
The ideal article popped up, and Jamie clicked immediately. He wasn’t expecting to find out what the mysterious powdery substance was, but he wanted a little closure.
“Harry Barkley, Jr., died from a heart attack suffered on the football field during the final game of the season.” The picture of Harry Barkley, paired with the article, showed a fit young man in the prime of life, just like Jamie. His hair was thick and combed back in the style of the day, his body strong and powerful, and he had a classically handsome face. Jamie read on. The article relayed the information that since his death, a state championship hadn’t occurred “until the school found the unbeatable trio of Owen Evans, Logan McBride, and Wes Taylor.” His eyes widened and quickly glanced at the championship ring around his thick finger. The article continued. “Witness say that Barkley said, while dying on the field, that a championship would never find its way back to town unless he was helping.”
Jamie thought intently. “…unless he was helping.” What did that mean?
“Barkley’s parents cremated his remains and, according to legend, left them in their house when they moved away from town.”
Something in Jamie’s mind clicked. He flipped to Google and looked up “cremated human remains.” There it was, an image of a clear plastic bag containing human ashes. They were clearly grey, but in the light, on that fateful night, had looked white as snow.
Jamie was disgusted. They had snorted the remains of the deceased town jock. So why had they themselves changed into hunks? Was it some kind of hex? The thing that puzzled him the most was why only his body had changed. Everyone else had been converted, mind, body, and soul, into great footballers with model bodies and faces, every thought centering on their next game, or next fuck.
He was going to have to do more research, but was done for the time being. It was time for practice, and he was gonna be late.
Scotty hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. He was so turned on by his own growth that not even his complete exhaustion could stop his marathon jack-off. His bed was still shaking after eight hours, his orgasmic moans reverberated around his room and legs kicked and flailed. Then, the alarm went off.
He stopped for the first time since the previous night, only hearing his own panting breath. The sheets stuck to his chest, and the fan blew cold air down onto his sweaty, naked back. He wanted to get up and roll out of bed, but he was too tired. Now that he had to wake up, he wanted to sleep.
He heard a knock on the door and his mother’s voice. “Wake up, Scott.”
Scott rubbed his throbbing dick, still rock hard, and as big as any of the other guys’ on the football team. “Lemme sleep.”
“Scott, get up!”
He sighed and rolled over onto his chest, catching a glance of it for the first time. It was like staring at a suit of armor. Big, sumptuous pecs and cobblestone abs, with no protruding ribs to be seen, just a deliciously manly chest. He slapped it, and the noise echoed through the room. Rock hard!
He flexed his massive arms and kissed his biceps, slapping his dick between his large hands just as Jamie had done. Another soft moan was released at the sight of his beautiful body.
“Scott Andrew Mitchell, if I don’t hear that shower in one minute…” His mother’s voice was firm. Scott rolled his eyes and rubbed one of his nipples. “Shit, Mom, I’m movin’.”
Scott’s bedroom had an attached bathroom, so his mother didn’t have to see her magnificent son’s huge wood. Water burst from the shower head and Scott grabbed a towel from underneath the sink, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror.
Scott’s mind had begun that change that so many of the town jocks knew; that bizarre mix between innocent child and sexed-up stud. He could remember the face of just twelve hours before, and remembered Owen babysitting him – which didn’t make much sense now, he thought, rubbing his cock – and remembered, most clearly, that delicious sandwich. He’d seen Owen wipe his nose and some of that grey stuff fall into the sandwich, but he hadn’t said anything, cause it would be so gross and cool to eat it.
He ran his hands over his body, once again, and was glad he’d eaten it. Deep down, he knew he’d been changed by that grey stuff, but who gave a shit? He was one hot motherfucker.
Scott’s face was framed by unshaven stubble and a jocky hairstyle similar to Logan’s, except dirty blonde. His eyebrows, once straight, had become arched through the night, giving him a semi-permanent expression of cockiness and confidence. He didn’t have the amazing square jaw of Owen, but his face still managed to ooze masculine sexuality, in a more unusual way. His chin had a nice little cleft, but it was barely visible through the brownish-blonde whiskers on top of it. He was two days away from a genuine beard, he could tell. He’d shave later.
The water poured over his tan skin, trickling down his abs and running against the big veins in his arms. It took all his willpower to not whack off again, right there in the shower. He stepped out and toweled off, then ran some gel through his hair.
What to wear…he pulled open his messy closet and rummaged through, grabbing a pair of school track pants. He wished he could go to school naked just so everyone could admire him. Damn public nudity laws.
But if he couldn’t be naked, he’d be close as possible. So he grabbed an Under Armor top that clung so tightly to his chest that it looked painted on. He grabbed his cell phone and stuck it in his backpack, then walked into the kitchen where his mother waited.
“Where were you last night, Scott?” Her tone was firm and hard-edged. He grabbed the orange juice carton and took a direct swig from it, barely caring to listen to her. “SCOTT. Where were you?” He thought but couldn’t remember. The best he could remember was being at home, with Owen. So that’s what he said. “I was here. Owen came over.” “That’s a lie.” She stood up. “I was up until 1 AM, and you weren’t home.” She walked over and stood in front of him, trying and failing to look imposing. The boy that she had given birth to now was a good foot taller than her, and beat her weight by nearly seventy pounds of muscle. He sneered at her. “What’re you gonna do, Mom? Spank me?” She slapped him across the face. “How’s that?” “Fuck you.” He grabbed his bag and walked out to his car, hearing her footsteps behind him. “Scott, honey, wait!” He stood still and felt his Mom’s arm around his neck. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I don’t know what came over me.” She kissed his cheek. “Have a good day at school.” “Thanks, Mom.” He managed a half-smile and stepped in. “When’s Dad get home?” “Thursday.” He didn’t reply, but backed out and roared off.
Logan slapped Scott’s ass with his wet towel as they showered off after practice. “You look stressed, dude. Somethin’ wrong?” Scott shook his head. “Nah, just my Mom. She’s being a bitch.” “What Mom isn’t, sometimes?” Logan sprayed Axe on himself. “My Mom was psycho at the beginning of this year, but now I think she kinda, I dunno…” His voice trailed off. “…admires me, maybe? And my Dad, too. Says I’m everything he always wanted to be.” Scott laughed. “That’s fuckin’ cool. Wish my parents where like that.” Logan cocked his head. “I bet they will be someday.” This sentiment seemed almost chilling, and Scott couldn’t quite place Logan’s meaning, so he shrugged it off.
Logan had gotten dressed by then, as had Scott, who was back in his morning outfit. “Throw me my keys, will ya, Scott?” Scott grabbed the keychain next to him and tossed it to Logan. “See ya later, dude.”
Scott sat there for a second, fingering his class ring. He heard the door open behind him and a soft pitter-pattering of feet. “Logan?”
The voice that replied was female. “More like Brittany.”
He could feel her fingers rubbing his shoulders, then moving down to his pecs, massaging them. “How was practice, Scotty?”
For a second, Scott became an innocent. “Um…aren’t you going out with Owen?” “Yeah, but who gives a shit? He fucks every girl he can get his cock in, so why shouldn’t I have a little fun?” He felt her tongue lick his ear. “And I wanna have fun with you.”
He shuddered. This was so wrong. Owen was his friend.
Brittany walked in front of him and dropped the towel, revealing what she had on underneath – which, of course, was nothing. Scott began to rethink his position – sure, Owen was his friend, but his girlfriend had a perfect body. “C’mere, Brit.” He slapped his thighs and backed up against the locker, and she ran his fingers through his hair. “Come to Daddy.”
She giggled that little cheerleader giggle of hers and kissed his cheek, then got a wicked glint in her eye.
Logan stood outside the locker room door, having heard the whole thing. He flipped open his cell phone. “Hey, O. I think Scott’s fuckin’ your girl.” “WHAT?!” Owen hung up abruptly. Logan snickered. Why did Owen think his girlfriend would be faithful?
Brittany and Scott were still, amazingly, standing up. He felt himself getting hornier and hornier, his cock hardening in his sweats. Their bodies were caked in sweat and their hands were all over each other, two hormonal teens with nothing to lose.
And as Scott got more and more turned on, he began to grow. He could feel the sweatpants beginning to tighten around his waist, and his calves pushed against the hems at the bottom. The shirt he wore was stretching more and more as his muscles bulked up. He couldn’t even moan, with his tongue already down Brittany’s throat. He let go of her writhing body for a moment and clawed at his drawstring until the sweats dropped to the floor. Had Brittany looked down, she would’ve seen his legs growing powerful and muscular, but she had her eyes clamped shut, caught up in ecstasy. She grabbed his shirt and tore it off, saving him the trouble, and then ripped his briefs off as well.
Scott had sprouted two inches and had packed on another twenty pounds of muscle, all in the space of fifteen minutes. Their moans were getting louder, especially Scott’s. His pecs pushed out farther and his arms thickened, previously invisible muscles popping out over his shoulders and back. Finally, he penetrated her. He was tired of waiting.
Scott’s hand was as big as Brittany’s heart-shaped face, and his powerful body dwarfed her lithe cheerleading physique. Their sexual escapade was interrupted by a door flying open, revealing a visibly angry Owen.
“What the fuck is this?”
The locker room went silent. Brittany and Scott locked eyes for a second; he was calm, while she looked shocked. She mouthed “Sorry” to him and let go, grabbing her towel and covering her breasts, stammering all the way. “See, uh, Owen, Scott and I were, uh, we were, uh…”
“Shut up, Brit.” Owen walked up to Scott, the two jocks facing each other, practically mirror images. Six-foot-something, with ripped muscles and model features, draped with stubble. The only difference was that, well, Owen was wearing clothes. “Why’d you have to go and fuck my girlfriend?”
Scott stood there, then sneered. “Cause I could, you cocksucker.” Owen’s reply came in the form of his knuckles cracking against Scott’s jaw. Scott kneed Owen in the crotch, and pretty soon they were rolling on the floor, profanities filling the room. Brittany quietly shuffled over to the door, and silently exited.
The two jocks were a whirling dervish of fists and feet, kicking, punching, roaring their hatred. But the fight soon began to take on a different shade of passion…it grew more erotic and sexual until their lips met, Owen’s thumbs firmly clenched on Scott’s nipples. They panted for air, barely realizing Scott was lying directly on top of Owen. Pretty soon, the fight had turned into passionate kissing. Owen broke off. “I’m straight, fucker, I’m straight.” Scott’s nose was rubbing against Owen’s, and he responded in broken breaths: “So…so am I…” “Okay, just thought we’d make that clear.” Then they kissed again, the room growing steamier…
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