The last few days of the week had been beset by a record heatwave, and Russell had come home with his letterman's jacket drenched with sweat. As he'd taken Dean off, he had sighed, "Guess, I won't be wearing you until after ma does laundry again." With those words he buried his jacket deep in the 33 gallon plastic trash can that served as the family communal hamper. Dean screamed inwardly as he found himself pressed against the dirty skidmarks of somebody's dirty underwear and against a spaghetti stained shirt and lord knew what else.
Jeff was getting uncomfortably comfortable with his constantly being wrapped around Russell's junk and waist. Russell seemed more comfortable that way too. This was his first real honest to goodness piece of underwear that hadn't been worn by somebody else, and he was really enjoying the sensation. It seemed like it had been made for him, and since he'd been wearing it his game had never been better. He'd been instrumental in Saturday's big game at blocking four different plays by their cross city rivals, and was feeling very superstitious about his "lucky" jockstrap.
"Tackle? You're wearing your jockstrap in the shower, man!" called one of his team mates in disbelief.
"Yeah," Russell said collecting his thoughts and soaping up Jeff, "Well...it's wash-n-wear, 'sides coach said not to change anything about what I was doing different on the field. Only thing different about me in the last week, is my new jockstrap, so I ain't changing it."
Jeff felt proud to be Russell's jockstrap for nearly 30 seconds before the fire alarm bells in his brain went off. Russell was already toweling him off, and Jeff's mind was racing. He was an inanimate object what could he do to make Russell take him off before he had to change back?
He tried to make himself too tight. It took a lot of concentration, and strength to tighten his mesh and elastic body. It felt like a 3 hour calculus exam while doing 250 sit-ups. His mind and body ached, and sadly the only result was that Russell's hand kept adjusting the pouch. And Russell's cock kept getting harder.
"Will you stop playing with yourself, Tackle!" chided the coach angrily.
"Sorry, coach, you said not to "change" what I was doing, and the only new thing about me is the new jockstrap I'm wearing. But it seems to be itching and binding a sore amount just now," Russell explained.
"Hm, son, I know this stuff is 7 bucks a can at the store, but whenever you feel an itch--hell, every day, come in here and borrow my can and spray yourself," coach ordered tossing him an aerosol can.
"Oh, thanks, coach," Russell said as he began liberally spraying on the cooling white powder.
Jeff coughed, and suddenly found the loss of oxygen somewhat euphoric. He relaxed and inhaled the exotic scents of Russell's musk, antibiotic soap, and antifungal powder. It was like magic mushrooms to Jeff, all the pretty colors. He wasn't thinking clearly until Russell was rutting the mattress while having his latest wet dream.
Finally, the fateful day was here. So far Jeff's attempts had all failed. He tried holding his breath as the intoxicating jock itch spray hit him, but it was no use. Still he was sort of enjoying his life vicariously through the young jock, and Russell really did seem to care for him...
Precisely as timed, Dean began to feel his crumpled jacket form reshaping into a man. He naked and buried inside a trash bin filled with other people's really dirty clothing, but he was growing thicker and stronger, and he was breathing again.
Of course, Jeff's time had begun a wee bit later. Russell was home and showering with his jock on, when Dean struggled to be heard inside his hamper prison, and struggled to escape.
"Mmmmptf," were Jeff's first words as transformation began to unwork itself.
Russell jumped back with a start and watched as the pouch of his jockstrap tranformed into a human head. Instead of his junk being cradled inside of a jockstrap pouch, it was now inside this here fella's head. And the head was attached to his elastic waist bands and leg straps--not a human body. And the head was alive. He could feel and hear the tongue. It was wrong, but somehow it was right.
As the transformation progressed it went wrong. Jeff's torso was more like the body of ventriloquist's body, with an oversized head and arms and legs that formed circles still strapping him to Russell's body. Russell nervously dried off and ran with the towel inadequately covering Jeff to his room.
There he slammed the trailer door, and flopped out on his bed. He pulled Jeff's head off his crotch. Jeff smacked his lips and looked up.
"Whatcha done do with my jockstrap, demon?" Russell demanded of the deformed man still wrapped around his waist.
"I ain't no demon, Russell. I mean, I am not a demon. I'm a young man just like you-or at least I was. You ever hear of a machine called a Chronivac?"
"Is it like a Hoover or Eureka?"
Jeff sighed. He then began telling his story of what had led to his life as Russell's jockstrap for a week.
"So when you going to change back into my jockstrap, I need to wear you in tomorrow's game," Russell stated matter of factly.
Jeff was dumbfounded, but he felt he owed Russell that too strangely.
"Where's Dean?"
"Dean?"
"Your letterman's jacket--he should've turned back into a man too by now."
"Oh, the hamper. I needed some fresher socks this morning, so I fished out a pair, I suspect the jacket ended up on the bottom of all the laundry." He rushed to the trash barrel, and tipped it over.
Dean lay there amongst the soiled underwear, bras, shirts, and socks gasping for air.
"This here yer buddy Dean?" Russell asked Jeff who was now resembling an inflatable life ring animal wrapped around naked Russell.
Dean opened his eyes and stared, "Jeff?"