"Damn," sighs Coach, "it wasn't supposed to go this way. I'd hoped to make you team captain, but now you've eaten too much. I'll have to find some other use for you."
"What?" Russell feels a little dizzy, so he makes his way over to a chair by the table where he had consumed the food left out by Coach. Sitting, he leans forward and feels his cock, still rock hard, brush his bloated belly. He had been too hungry to stop eating. His hairy stomach, abs just a few minutes before eating, had swelled into the beginnings of a gut. Jeez he was really blowing up! But he needed to think: Coach was back, and his plan to escape had hit a dead end. How would he save himself from further changes?
"I'd meant for you to have a square meal, gain some bulk and some . . . compliance, " Coach smirked as he said it "so I could put you through the next round of training and continue your journey to becoming the football captain."
"Compliance? What the . . . BURRRP!" Russell can't manage to finish his question, as he feels another rush of gas fill his mouth. His belly gurgles and seems to inch forward, becoming rounder. He feels a little tingle on his forehead too, and reaches up, wiping away drops of sweat.
"But you've gone and eaten food that's about to affect your whole body, and your mind!" Coached leans forward to raps his knuckles on Russell's head, causes Russell to flinch away. "Oh don't worry son," Coach shakes his head, "There's not going to be a lot to protect in there pretty soon."
"Yup, you see I treated that food so a full meal would make you not only bulk up, but also a little more, shall we say easy going? You were always an up-tight kid, and with this new life I'd prepared for you I knew you'd have to give up some of your mental hang-ups in order to truly reach you physical best. You can't train all day if you're thinking all day too."
"No!" Russell is horrified. "You've made me stupid now or something?" He tries to get to his feet, but is surprised by the effort it takes to lift his expanding body. As he levers himself up, he feels his ass cheeks push out, becoming rounder, adding fat to the heavy muscles already there from Coach's earlier changes. He thighs tingle and inflate too, as their already dark hair thickens.
"You did this yourself Russell: one meal wouldn't have done much to you, but with all you ate? You're about to find out what it's like to be the definition of a dumb jock."
"You can't make me comp . . . com . . ." Russell tries to remember the word Coach had used earlier. Comp-something?
"Damn Russ, it's already happening? I guess I'll just have to sit back and watch."
Russell realizes with another wave of horror that it's getting harder to think straight. He feels another tingle in his head, and reaches up to scratch. It's like his brain is being muffled, his usually rapid thoughts processing a little more slowly, a little less urgently.
He feels an itch again, and scratches harder, but this time feels a tickle as some strands of his hair fall away with his hand. This distracts him entirely from whatever is going on in his head. What's happening to his hair?
"Oh boy," Coach laughs now, shaking his head. "The testosterone is really kicking in huh?"
Russell groans, his deep voice rumbling in frustration as he feels the tingle expanding across his forehead. A different, itching sensation begins on his face. While he had gained stubble during his previous slow transformation into a jock, this is something different. As he feels a few more strands of his hair disappear from his forehead, he also feels his beard emerging in full. Hair sprouts from under his nose, developing into a mustache, while it seems to fluff out from his cheeks and grow more thickly from his chin, even as his neck thickens with both added fat and muscle.
"You've just shot yourself up with so much testosterone that you're getting all the effects at once!" Coach brushes his hand through his own thick head of hair. "Seems you're not taking after your old man after all."
"I'm . . . I'm going bald? What the fuck?"
"You wouldn't have if you didn't eat so much. You really screwed yourself, Russ. You're rapidly turning from the hot college jock you were meant to be into . . ." Coach looks his son up and down, "well, you're turning into an overweight, balding ex-jock from the looks of things."
"I... I'm what?"
"Oh," Coach frowns, "right, and not too bright either. But hey: you seem to be enjoying yourself."
Russell looks down, and even though his hairy belly had grown a little more, he can still see his rigid cock standing straight up. As he looks down he feels his beard grow long enough to brush his expanding chest. His weight was coupled with growing muscles, so that his pecs stand out prominently on his rapidly more barrel-shaped chest. More hair seems to be coming in everywhere, from his shoulders down to his toes: all except his forehead, where the cool air in the kitchen combined with his perspiration is making it very clear to him that he has a receding hairline now. He feels like he still wants to escape, but he's no longer sure how to do it.
Coach surveys Russell, who has transformed from a sweaty, hairy jock into a stinking, furry man. What was he going to do with him now that he was no longer fit for football practice?