Oooh, that ice pack feels good on my crotch. Why is it so hot? Did I get tackled? Is this a concussion? No wait, I had a date. Is the swim team sitting on me?
Chad's wooden brain was trying to sort out his new perceptions, and it proved to be an ordeal for the no longer real boy. Wooden thoughts, indeed, was the answer that came to Chad as he wracked his brain to figure out what had happened. It was Ed and Bruno? Maybe not Bruno? Coach Sinclair? Woodshop teacher Sinclair? It hurt to think.
Finally, there was clarity. Hot sweating asses were sitting on him. He was in the sauna. Bruno had called him Plank, but they hadn't played that game in 10 years or so. And this wasn't a game - at least not as far as Chad was concerned. He was seething, and absorbing ass sweat. Like he had a choice. Whoever heard of a board sitting up, and walking away. Wait, Plank did or seemed to - but everyone was sure it was Johnny moving Plank or someone else, but maybe. Chad tried to remember that show. Plank somehow got around, maybe Bruno -er, Jonny carried him, but maybe. If Chad was a plank, maybe he could still move. How? He probably had to wait until all these guys got off him.
Bruno returned.
"Hey, Bruns, about time. We were thinking of christening the new bench without you," said Matt standing up.
Aaaah, the weight was lifted from Chad's sore crotch. That felt better. He had to get - oh, oh, now what?
The swim team was now squeezed together standing on the lower bench with their swimsuits pulled down. Wait, did Matt say "Christen"? Chad prepared to be pissed on. Instead the bastards started jerking off. Did they know who the board was? Or did they do this to every sauna bench? Ew! Chad had lain on the old sauna bench right after the swim team had left on more then one occasion. Did they christen it after every use? Oh, gawd. He hoped not -
Splat! Splush! Splat, splat, splat!
Droplets of cum splattered on the wooden bench formerly known as Chad. They didn't hurt as much as paint pellets shot from a paint gun. But on Chad's bare hide, skin - surface? They felt gooey. The goo quickly became tacky and dried, as the heat vaporized and the wood absorbed. There were at least 20 guys on the swim team, and some of them came twice. At least thirty loads were baking into him, Chad decided.
The team left except for Bruno who sat on the lower bench. When they were alone, Bruno said, "Sorry about that Plank, but now you're officially part of our team."
Something was bothering Bruno, but he couldn't figure out what. He got up, and gently patted the board, and whispered, "Be good, Plank. I wish I could take you with me. I wish you were Chad."
BRUNO! screamed Chad's wooden mind.
But Bruno heard nothing.
The sauna timer clicked off, and the lights went out. The sauna began to cool.'
Then the door opened. Click. Click.
Lights came on, and Chad would have blinked if he could have. The heater started up. There was Ed in his workout shorts.
"Didn't bring my swimsuit today," Ed said. "Heard the swim team christened you. I wish I could've seen it - oh, wait, before Bruno helped me carry you in here, I wired the sauna with hidden cameras, so I will watch it on video tonight. Here's the bad shit, you should know about your new situation, Chad. 1) It's permanent, there's nothing you can do to escape it. 2) Okay, I know how to reverse it, but it gets harder the longer you are wood, and I don't plan to reverse it, so effectively it's permanent. 3) Wood doesn't sleep. Oh, you may have waking dreams, but your consciousness no longer has a sleep mechanism, so what you find annoying right now, will become excruciatingly boring in no time at all. Sixteen hours a day, you will be alone, unused, and totally awake. The eight hours during the week when you are used will only be partial. Most guys only spend 5-10 minutes in here, and no one can hear you. So this will quickly become hell to you, if it isn't already," Ed said adjusting his now tented shorts, apparently, he was getting off on his speech. He continued, "5) Nobody else knows. Not Bruno, though when he called you Chad, I nearly freaked. I had totally forgotten about Ed, Edd, and Eddy. I always thought I was Kevin, but Bruno says you were both Kevin and Plank - a werewood. Maybe I remembered it subconsciously, and that's why I planked you?" He shrugged, "Anyway, point 5 again - no one is going to rescue you. Now - damn, this is less satisfying than I expected. I guess I had expected you to whine and beg, but dude, you're a block of wood, you can't, or if you are trying to I can't hear you. Oh, well, I'll pretend you're begging." Ed sat down on Chad, and then lay down.
Chad in fact hadn't been begging. Oh, he had been screaming. Every curse he could think of, he screamed at Ed. Realizing his futility, Chad sighed, and wished one last curse at the brute lying on top of him, MAY YOU GET SPLINTERS, ASSHOLE!
As Ed shifted his butt on the wooden bench, he yelped and sat up. He pulled a splinter out of his butt cheek. A small bloodstain appeared on his light grey shorts.
"What the fuck? You stabbed me? Nah, I must not have sanded you enough, or maybe those swimmers roughed you up?" Ed pulled the tiny splinter out of his butt, and glared at it. Then he examined the smooth board. He couldn't exactly tell where the splinter had come from. He concluded that when he had swept the sawdust and splinters into his baggie, he had missed this splinter. There didn't appear to be any others.
Chad was still seething with anger, but he felt oddly satisfied when he tasted briefly the metallic flavor of Ed's blood. There was a way out maybe that Ed didn't know about.