Seeing Jack's smelly, naked, hairy body in front of you, you feel dismayed by your comparatively thin, hairless form. You wonder what it would be like to be him.
You look over at the crumpled pile of dirty clothing next to you. Jack clearly doesn't give a damn what you do, so it couldn't hurt, right?
You move behind the couch, taking the clothes with you, so Jack doesn't see what you do.
You quickly kick off your clean trainers and socks, pull away your ironed t-shirt and baby-blue jeans, and pull down your underwear, dropping them aside.
First, you pick up Jack's boxers. They are damp in your hand, and sticky. They are also as wide as your chest. You pull them up to your face and inhale deeply, taking in the mixed odors of sweat, cum and unwashed ass.
You hold them down and slide your legs into the wide holes, pulling them up to your crotch. Your hard cock slides around in the slimy, gooey insides of the boxers, becoming covered in Jack's fluids. You rub the yellowed cloth, pushing the cum into your skin, and you feel a lot more masculine.
As if you had absorbed testosterone from the boxers, you suddenly feel incredibly horny and tough. Your mind wanders onto thoughts of sex and fighting. Quickly, you shake your head, sure you are just imagining things.
The boxers are too large to fit you on their own without falling down; you look at the jeans and wonder if they would help keep them up. You push your legs into the crusty, muddy denim, and tighten the belt as much as possible. The legs are crumpled at the bottom where they are too big for you.
Next, you take Jack's sweaty shirt, pulling your arms into the sleeves, which hang loosely from you, and fastening the buttons. You must look like a kid in his dad's clothes. You drop your arms and the sweaty patches in the armpits of the shirt rub against your skin, making it wet.
Again, you feel a surge of testosterone, a sudden rush of beast-like anger and lust. The jeans seem uncomfortably tight all of a sudden, and you find you have to loosen the belt several notches. You scratch your chin, where rough stubble seems to have formed. You look at the back of your hand, and somehow it looks different. It is wide, and the back is covered in short hair; your hand has large veins and calloused skin - a working man's hand. You can't quite figure out what seems different.
You look down at the ground, where there is a pair of socks and boots. Whose are those, again? You can't quite put your finger on it. You pick up one sock, which is heavy with sweat, and sniff it. The smell seems familiar, and comforting. You sit down and slide your feet into the socks, the damp sweaty cloth rubbing against your skin.
You sniff a couple of times, noticing a powerful, disgusting smell which isn't coming from the clothes. You sniff your pit and find it is coming from you; you stink like you haven't showered in weeks.
You feel a sudden tightness in your foot, and look down to see that you have involuntarily stuck it in one of the huge, heavy boots. The insides feel hot and sweaty on your foot, but in a pleasurable way. You quickly slide the other on, and pull the laces tight.
Standing up, you feel strong, powerful and masculine. You thump your belly, which is strong and wide, and loosen your belt to its biggest hole. You also undo the top couple of buttons on your shirt, which is feeling kind of tight.
You notice that the big game is on the television - you're missing it! Quickly, you rush around onto the couch, thumping back heavily next to Jack, your best bud. You grab a can of ale and down it in one gulp, before letting out a massive belch, and settling back to watch the match as a huge, hairy, muscular, stinking slob.