“Write this down.” Coach Hendrix said.
The man was incredibly handsome and almost ridiculously muscular now.
What I found odd, however, was that…it almost didn’t seem natural. Which, of course, it wasn’t, but had he really looked as handsome as this at 30? The muscles weren’t real, but even disregarding them, the angles of his face… and his clear amusement at my own lust over his form.
Coach Hendrix came from an era of homophobia. That was how he was lived and the culture he was raised in. And yet, here he was flirting with a twinky gay nerd he just met.
It reminded me of Josh Stanlin, my roommate. When he became a super-hot cowboy, it was almost stereotypically gay. Like something out of a porn. And his reaction to me staring at his dick wasn’t normal. Josh was straight. Or had been.
More importantly, I hadn’t even specified making them gay. Or, at the very least, bisexual. I knew I needed to be careful with what I wrote, but if the notebook was going to add effects that I hadn’t even specified, maybe I shouldn’t be using it so recklessly?
“Are you listening?” Coach Hendrix’s voice boomed.
Startled, I nearly dropped my notebook and pen. “Uh…y-yes. Yes!”
“Coaching Assistant.” Coach Hendrix started dictating. “Has strong interpersonal and communication skills, have a deep understanding of coaching techniques and methodologies, be highly organized and detail-oriented, possess strong problem-solving abilities. Additionally, they should create effective training plans, and track progress and performance. Experienced on the field in highschool and college and as a high school coach.”
“…Coaching... Assistant…” I tried to keep up with his words. The notebook was glowing a bit. Coach Hendrix was staring at it.
“Here, let me write it down.” Coach Hendrix said, seizing my pen and the notebook and yanking it out of my hands.
“W-wait!” I stuttered.
“What? You’re taking too long.” Coach Hendrix rolled his massive shoulders in a shrug. “What’s your name, anyways?”
“Kevin Sanders,” I said. “Why?”
Coach Hendrix wrote something down and the notebook lit up. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s…uh…” I bit my lip as Coach Hendrix’s stern gaze fell upon me. “A bluetooth notpad!”
Coach Hendrix blinked. “What?”
“I-it takes what you write and translates it to the synced device. “I say, holding up my phone. “I use bluetooth and it detects it and writes it down as part of a file and-”
“You kids and your technology,” Coach Hendrix snorted and shook his head. “Never mind that bullshit, does it work as a notebook?”
“Yes. Just, uh,” I thought quickly, “Make sure you’re writing down the truth. It’s hard to change things once they’ve been inputted because the eraser tool is still not quite…it’s buggy, so you’d just end up with a big black smear when it logs the file. Anything you write would just be blocked out.”
“I’ll be careful then,” Coach Hendrix scoffed. “No eraser. What kinda damn nonsense is that?”
“You know what, let me take that for a moment.” I said, snatching the notebook back.
Hendrix looked at me in surprise. “Well, fine, son, I was just going write down notes.”
“Of course, just a moment.” I said.
Thinking quickly, I wrote: ‘Coach Hendrix doesn’t notice anything out of place when he writes in the notebook and is affected by the reality shifts just like anyone else.’. Then I handed it back. “There. Should be easier for you now.”
Coach Hendrix frowned but started writing. The notebook glowed, but this time he didn’t seem to notice it.
“So, uh, what are you writing?” I asked, trying to look at the notebook.
“It’s just for my ideal Coaching Assistant. Adams isn’t working out and I’d like a proper replacement.” Coach Hendrix murmured.
“I see, so who are you looking for again?” I asked.
“First, my ideal Coaching Assistant should have strong interpersonal and communication skills,” Coach Hendrix spoke as he wrote.
I felt a strange tingle in my body, though when I glanced down at myself, I didn’t look any different.
When I looked back at the Coach, I noted he clearly hadn’t figured out the notebook was magical and had bought my story about the technology. I wasn’t sure how I was so sure-maybe it was his posture, the way he wasn’t looking at me, immersed in writing down qualities of the perfect Coaching Assistant. Of course, I’d always been good at reading people and speaking their language, so to speak.
“Let’s see. They should be highly organized and detail-oriented,” Coach Hendrix said, jotting it down. “Unlike Adams.”
Another tingle, and suddenly my mind became a hive of organization and detail. I could see the big picture and every little detail that came with it. My fingers itched to take back my notebook, so I could start on writing down whatever notes Coach Hendrix gave me. Not documenting everything bothered me a lot. I lived my life and organized it like it was a well-oiled machine, and I always had…right?
For some reason, that all felt a bit wrong. Hadn’t I been late on projects and had entire papers go missing? No I realized, as those memories shifted, I had good grades. I’d never lose track of something.
“Next, they should have a deep understanding of coaching techniques and methodologies,” Coach Hendrix continued. “Additionally, they should create effective training plans and track progress and performance.”
Once again, the tingle hit me, and I felt as if I had absorbed years of coaching experience.
I recalled playing football all throughout highschool and coaching little leagues. Suddenly, my clothes felt tighter, my muscles began to bulge, and my jawline became more defined. It was as if the notebook was transforming me.
As my slim frame grew much more athletic, I could practically feel the techniques and methodologies coursing through my veins. The tingle was stronger this time, and suddenly my mind was filled with training plans and schedules. I knew how to track progress and performance down to the last detail.
“What else?” I asked, my voice deeper, more commanding.
“Hmm?” Coach Hendrix looked up at me and smirked. “Tch, sounds like I’m describing you, huh kid?”
I shrugged my defined shoulders and scratched my six-pack, the sleeves of my shirt tight around my biceps. “Yeah. Kinda sounds like it.” I grinned at him cockily.
These changes weren’t so bad, I could live with them. I noticed Coach Hendrix eyeing me appreciatively and gave a flex. He rolled his eyes.
“What?” I asked.
“Not my type.” Hendrix grinned.
“You mean physically or are you referring to the qualities of a good Coaching Assistant?” I asked.
“Both. You’d need experience in the real world, son.” Coach Hendrix snorted and began writing, dictating it out loud. “Experienced on the field in high school and college and as a high school coach.”
I fetl a tingle begin, stronger than ever. Bracing myself, I began to feel experience begin to pour into my head. But the Coach wasn’t done yet
“And as far as my type… “ He paused and chuckled to himself, jotting something else down, “And a big, sweaty, hairy monster of a former linebacker, looking for a hot Coach to plow his hole.”
My eyes went wide as he said the last parts, feeling myself shaking as the tingle currently rampaging through my body started to build and intensify even further. The tingles built to a quaking crescendo, my body suddenly feeling incredibly hot.
“Coach, you didn’t actually write that dowwww-!” I leapt to my feet, desperate to stop Coach Hendrix, but then my hands flew up over my head as I kept rising up and up, the world falling away below me. For a moment, I felt weightless and floating as my back began to pop and extend with a sound like a string of firecrackers going off.
Then my chest exploded, my entire torso rounding out in front of me. I tried to breath and watched my pecs balloon out in front of me, shoving forward as more muscles bulged in bizarre directions. Every breath made the two thick slabs of muscles push further out and apart. I couldn’t see over my chest and my head swum. I realized I was towering over Coach by a good eight inches and the extra height was making me dizzy.
My shoulders continued to spread wider with each intake of air. I realized I was top-heavy and wobbled off-balance. My legs felt too lanky to support me. I reached to steady myself against the guard rail of the bleachers when my arm lurched away from me with such force that I thought it had been ripped off. When I looked down, I noticed an odd curve jutting from my side that was so big that my arm couldn’t lie flat against the side of my body, forcing it to jut out at a 45 degree angle.
I felt my already muscular arms inflate as pound after pound of meat were added upon my swelling biceps and triceps. Even my forearms and wrists enlarged along with my hands, growing weathered as an impossible amount of gym hours took their toll on my skin.
The tingles ran down my body to my hips and legs. I found myself widening my stance to accommodate the new bulk of my growing quads, my thighs growing impossibly wide. Somehow, my shorts managed to keep up with the sudden growth, though they appeared to be painted on. My calves widened in tandem with my hands and feet.
I felt my abs suddenly contract and let out my breath in a whoosh of air. I could feel my abdominals swell. It was odd, the normally undifferentiated muscle growth their suddenly flexing and spasming with power. I managed to bring my huge hand across my torso and felt the deep gutters.
With a grunt, I felt the tingles center on my groin. My already sizeable bulge began to pulse and press against the crotch of my pants, growing thicker and lewder, my dong snaking down the side of my right leg like a python. It felt like I was getting kicked in the balls, a strange, nauseating sensation, and then I felt my testes expand and lower.
“Whoa,” I grunted, my voice deep and raspy.
My face itched and I scratched dense stubble as it continue to grow into a thick, short beard. I could feel my balls swell further, hanging nearly half-way down my humongous thighs. They fetl as big as oranges and sloshed as I steadied myself.
Just as the tingles came to an end, I felt itchy all over as body hair swept my form. Gone was my twinkish, smooth body. Coarse, dense hair now covered me. My smooth chest had grown a veritable pelt of black hair which descended down to my abs in a dense treasure trail. My bush surged, curling out from the top of my low-riding shorts.
My clothes were now drenched in sweat, my body hair matted. I could smell my own musk and my body heat radiating out of me in waves. It felt like I’d just gotten done with a serious workout. I ran my hands over my chest, feeling big lumps where my nipples were. My fingers brushed against plastic. I noticed that my t-shirt now had a row of buttons running down the collar. I undid a few, letting my chest breathe.
I was absolutely yoked and now wearing a polo-shirt, I realized. Movement was oddly difficult, though my memories of adapting to the limitations of being so bulky were quickly inserting themselves into my head. As I glanced down at my new white polo, I saw my name, ‘Sanders’, stitch itself over my right breast. As I stared at my name, I felt a weight settle around my neck and a big silver whistle dangle between the crevice of my massive pecs.
“So are you enjoying your first day, Coach Sanders?” Coach Hendrix asked.
I turned to look at him and felt a counter weight on my backside sway. Coach Hendrix glanced at my rear, a smirk spreading across his lips. With a deep blush, I realized my ass was absolutely bulbous and rounded. I rubbed the back of my head with my huge hand and felt a thin spot in the whorl of hair on my crown.
That was only natural, anymore. I was a big boy with lots of testosterone and I wasn’t twenty anymore. Of course I was going bald. But for some reason that seemed wrong, like I shouldn't be so old. But Hendrix was looking at me expectantly, the handsome man too hot for me to care about myself right now.
“Uh, yeah.” I said, my voice a deep brassy rumble.
“Well, here, take this,” Coach Hendrix handed back the notebook.
I took it and stared down at the words Hendrix had written.
As though a fog had been lifted from my mind, I recalled what had just happened. It was so strange, I remembered going to the gym, practically living there, sculpting my mountainous form into the shape it was now. Football was something I excelled at, mostly the linebacker position.
The notebook was the only thing that kept me from fully succumbing to the memories of ten full years of adulthood, the amount of experience I needed to be Hendrix’ Assistant Coach. To be fair, it was mostly football, and easy as hell to ignore, with the notebook in my hands, at least.
It looked so small in my big mitts, I realized, holding the smaller-looking pencil.
“I’ll keep track of the player’s stats.” I said. “I’ll e-mail them to you in the morning.”
“Good job.” Hendrix smiled. “I knew you were the perfect hire!”
I smiled. “Thanks Coach Hendrix.”
“Oh no, no need to be so formal, Kevin.” Hendrix smiled, a twinkle in his eyes. “Call me Jerry.”
“Sounds good to me, Jerry.” I winked. “Wanna go get a drink after work?”
“Why Kevin, I thought you’d never ask!” Jerry’s smile grew wider.
Before I could say anything else, Coach Adams came running over to us, out of breath.
“Adams?” Jerry asked, his eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
I noticed Coach Hendrix was not on first names basis with Adams like he was with me.
“What? Why would anything be up?” Adams asked, glancing between the two muscular men. “What were you two talking about?”
I tried to hide a smirk. So Adams wasn’t completely oblivious to what a new hire meant. Of course he was worried about his job. Coach Hendrix eyed him in distaste. I lifted the pencil and placed it on the notebook. But my mind hit a blank. Not that I didn’t have ideas, of course-turn Adams into a college ball player, among other things-but it was more a feeling of indecisiveness.
Maybe Coach Jerry Hendrix would have a few fun ideas for ‘correcting’ Adams. I waited with bated breath as Coach Hendrix and Coach Adams started talking.