The next day, despite feeling a tad ill from overeating at the contest yesterday, Derrick was in high spirits. No way Peter was going to show up and be in any condition to play the scrimmage with the rest of the team. With Peter out, the others playing on his side would be crushed by Derrick and his friends, leaving them on the bench for most of the season. Peter may have won the battle, but this was college football, and with Derrick's uncle the coach, there would be no one willing to fight against him, and he'll have won this war. Peter, the annoying sophomore, would lose out on his first real year of college ball, and Derrick would be there to step in to take all the scouts' attention. He had to admit his plan worked perfectly...
...at least, until he'd started noticing all the younger players, particularly those who looked up to Peter, looked different when they came into the locker room for practice. All of them seemed to have gained a variety of weight and size overnight. Alan, the smallest kid on the team, now had a few inches on Derrick, and had to be at least double his shrimpy weight of 130 pounds when he'd joined as a kicker this fall.
Derrick turned away, trying to psych himself back up to the confidence he'd had this morning. So some of the babies had bulked up, big deal. He and his mates still had the advantage, and without Peter, there would be no one to lead the newbies to victory.
As if on cue, Peter's friendly baritone reached the bully's ears. No way, the dude couldn't possibly be in any shape to play after gaining a blimp of a stomach yesterday in the eating contest!
But sure enough, Peter was there, pulling on his uniform with a fair amount of trouble, and no wonder. Peter was definitely a blimp, but in a way footballers strive to reach; he had to be over seven feet, the way his head nearly touched the locker room ceiling; muscles fought for space as each movement of his arms flexed bowling ball shoulders and biceps, which threatened to tear Peter's jersey at every seam. Pectorals stood like two distinct pillows through the fabric, and his butt looked equally pronounced as Peter fought to fit the two basketball sized curves into his padded pants. It was an easier battle than the front, as the gut that had blown up yesterday was still there, rounded and taut like a drum, sticking out over a foot as it curved out from his front, before being split from a softer apron of fat that spilled over the waist of his straining trousers. Peter's jersey barely covered it all, as it groaned each time the massive sophomore chuckled, sending everything jiggling.
"Alright, we gotta go onto the field in a second. I need to finish my shake." Peter grinning, fully aware that Derrick was watching him, slack-jawed. He lifted the half-keg sized jug on the bench to his lips, and gulped down the gallons of Joce's special 'shake' in seconds. The mixture landed like stone in his already ballooning gut, forcing the jersey to creep up further as the curve jostled and creaked with the growth. Peter was a monster of might and mass now, ready to lead his friends to larger and larger victories....