Chris groaned as he finally came to. The room was blurry. His mouth felt like something had died in it and dried into mummy powder. And his head. He groaned again as the daylight struck sledgehammer blows on a spike that drove directly through his skull and into his brain.
“It lives!” Jack’s voice was unmistakable. It also exacerbated the headache.Chris moaned and turned over on the bed. “Just let me die already,” he croaked.
“No can do, bro.” Jack grinned as he walked into his friend’s line of sight. “Pres wants to see you stat.” He sat on the bed and proffered a frosty glass of water and a handful of ibuprofen.
“You’re gonna need these. Drink it all and get dressed.” He motioned to a set of sweats and a shirt with the frat’s logo on the left pectoral hanging from a wardrobe door. A fresh pair of tube socks and a large jock strap were draped over the shirt. Chris cursed and took the proffered medicine.
“Drink it all, bro. Trust me, the water helps.”
When Chris finally mustered enough will to move, he swung heavy legs out from under the covers. The filthy tube socks pooled at his feet, and he easily slid out of them. The jock strap had completely lost all sense of elasticity. He had to hold it in place.
“Bro, do you mind?” Chris asked.
“Dude, it’s just us. Not like I haven’t seen the rest of it.” Jack chuckled. “You were pretty wild last night.”
“What?” Chris swore as the strap dropped to join its companions on the floor.
“Dude, just get dressed.” Jack shook his head. “I won’t look,” he promised. “There. Happy now?”
Reasonably mollified, Chris strode to the doors and pulled on the gear. The jock strap fit snugly over his body, and the pouch held comfortably while still showing off his heft. He scratched it instinctively as he reached for the next article of clothing.
“Boxers and briefs are in the drawers, if you want them,” Jack informed.
Chris’ head whipped back, but his friend was staring at the door to the room, instead. The dirty socks and strap were clung in one of his meaty hands. “No peaking,” he insisted.
“Bro, chill. It’s not like you’ve got anything to be ashamed of, anyway.”
A smirk pulled at Chris’ lips as he smacked a hand against his bicep as his voice dropped into a husky pantomime of Jack’s bass. “People pay to look at this bod, bro.” The smirk passed and he swayed on his feet. Why … why had he said that? That wasn’t—he didn’t—
“Easy, bro.” Jack was there in an instant. Thick hands rubbed Chris’ shoulders. “Relax. Kyle will explain.”
“I … I feel—This is wrong.” Chris’ hands ran over well-defined abs. Hairs brushed gently, soothingly over them. His thick, broad hands. “What … what did you do to me, bro? I … I feel—” He swore again. “My head. Why … why can’t I think straight?”
“I told you, bro. It’s the hangover. Just get dressed, all right? Kyle’ll get you straightened out. I promise.”
“My voice!”
“Is fine,” Jack assured. He raised the coat hangar and shoved the clothes against Chris’ chest. “Come on, bro. Get dressed. Kyle’s waiting. And you don’t want to keep the pres. waiting.”
Chris’ eyes clouded briefly, and he grunted. “I … don’t….” The sweats and shirt clung in all the right places to show off his newly enhanced physique. When he turned to face Jack, the two were eye-to-eye. Jack was wearing sneakers. Chris wasn’t.
“Come on, little bro. We don’t have all day.”
The socks were like old friends, and the tug of the fabric over his feet made Chris shudder in pleasure. The two friends thumped down the halls in relative silence. Those who saw them nodded gravely or otherwise communicated their acknowledgement in body language, rather than the spoken word. Instead of the trekking to the study, Jack led his friend down the halls toward the basement, where Kyle towered with his usual intimidating stature. His arms were folded, his broad face turned in a flat line as he stared at the pair.
“Here he is, Sir,” Jack said softly as he bowed his head.
Kyle extended a hand. Jack handed over the discarded strap and socks wordlessly. Then Kyle turned to a door his body had obscured.
“Come with me, Chris.”
It wasn’t a request, and even if it was, Chris felt instinctively that he couldn’t disobey. A
flash of memory passed. Those thick arms holding him, pulling him back. They could easily do
so again.
Their steps were muted by the carpet as they strode into a room walled off by rope on either side. Placards were mounted to the wall, at first with torn underwear and the remnants of socks. Then, as they progressed, the tatters grew less, though the stretching increased. Briefs, boxers, jockstraps, tube socks. Larger and larger.
“Our frat is very old, Chris,” Kyle began. The silence of the room made his voice feel
heavier than it ever had before. “And we have a sort of tradition that passes with it.”
Chris’ body tingled, and he adjusted the pouch on his jock as it tightened. His clothes felt snugger than they had a moment ago. “What sort of tradition?” he asked. “And for that matter, what the hell is going on? Why do I look like this? Why do I sound like this? What happened last night?”
“Listen.” The command was calm, but the order snapped like a gag over Chris’ mouth.
“I’m heading into my senior year here at the university. That means I have two semesters to pick a replacement and train him up to take my place in the frat.” He motioned with his free hand.
“Look around you. Tell me what you see.”
“A bunch of old clothes.” Chris cleared his throat. The tingle had spread there now, too. The deeper pitch didn’t feel so forced anymore.
“These belonged to every president of the frat from its founding to now. Each of us wore
the gear. Each of us grew, just like the other pledges. You wanna know what makes these ones special?”
“Wait, you mean everyone who rushes the frat turns into … this?” Chris motioned to himself.
“More or less.” Kyle smirked. “Usually less.” He approached a placard that bore his name in neat bold typeface over a sheet of brass. “This one’s mine.” He grinned proudly as he looked on a pair of boxers that had burst at the crotch and rent down the legs. “Tore those suckers wide open. But you.” He turned and smacked Chris on the back. “You took the cake, Snap.”
Chris flushed as his pectorals perked and the drooping fabric of the sweats started to hug
his thighs and calves. “Snap?”
“Your new nickname.” Kyle smiled as he presented the strap. “You stretched these things to their limit and nearly burst the pouch. It’s a miracle the strap didn’t break when the others tried to snap it. That’s a new record for this material.” He pushed his finger against the fabric for emphasis. The silhouette of the finger was clearly visible.
“I … wore that?”
“It’s not like it looked this way when you started.” Kyle rolled his eyes. "Nor the loin cloth it formed into when you 'finished. Point being, Snap, you’re our new MVP. And more importantly, you’re going to be the frat’s new alpha.”
He strode to a blank placard that lay on a plinth, then took a hammer and nails that had been laid
aside to properly display the garments. “You’re my successor, little bro.” He smirked and hung
the placard on the wall next to his. A set of ropes already waited for him to cordon off the zone, and a quick flick of a switch beamed the spotlight over the wood and metal, where Chris’ name flashed.
“The old you? That’s gone. And honestly, good riddance. Trust me, this is way better.”
“But … but my major, my life. What am I supposed to say to my friends?”
“What did Jack say?”
“He called it a second growth spurt….”
“So, go with that. There. That settles it.” Kyle thumped his hand heavily on Chris’ back.
This time, Chris didn’t budge.
“But … but I liked being smart.”
“You still are, Chris. Just not in the same ways.” Kyle wrapped his arm around Chris’ shoulders as they broadened. “Your interests might be a little different now, but you still have the same focus and drive. And more importantly, you have want. Which means you push yourself to get your desires and lead others to follow. If you want order, you can impose it. If you want to just … let go and de-stress for a while, that works, too. You want to work out and bulk up? No problem. If you want fuck....” He grinned. "The frats all yours. You’re going to make a great president, Chris. But I have to teach you how to fit the part. Your body’s helping with some of the driving, but now it’s time to take the
wheel.” He chuckled. “Think of me as your coach. And practice is in session.”
Chris panted as he hunched forward and his eyes glazed over. “Bro….” A prominent tent began to form in his pants.
“That’s right, Chris. That’s right. We’ll make a right frat bro of you in no time.” He chuckled as his brow protruded and his muscles strained. “You’ll love being Snap. Trust me.”
He chuckled again as his knuckles became more prominent and the shelf over his eyes formed
into a unibrow. Chis felt kyle's hand grip his bulging cock “And you can call me Grog."