Chad stared at his lucky jockstrap, which had disappeared from his gym bag only a few days ago. It had his name on it, but someone had drawn little colored diamonds all over in differed colored markers. He was pissed, and intrigued.
"Mardi gras?" he whispered as he studied the pattern.
People started coming down the hall, so he shoved the jockstrap back into the box, closed his locker, and headed for his rendesvous with destiny.
Standing naked in the fieldhouse, Chad opened the box and picked up his jockstrap. It seemed different somehow. Not just the colored markings that had been added, but something else he couldn't put his finger on. He paused wondering if one of the guys might be trying to punk him. He ran his fingers inside the pouch to check for itching powder, and then shook his head. No one would dare try to punk him. He grinned, and stepped into the jockstrap.
As soon as he did, Chad knew something was wrong. The waistband stretched way too much, and now it was coming up over his shoulder like a huge clown suspender. He felt the fabric on his shoulders and across his back. His jockstrap had grown huge. The tiny diamonds were now the size of his hands and his whole body was enveloped in the fabric. His face contorted as he screamed silently unable to make a sound. At last his torment seemed to end. His head bobbed helplessly of its own accord. His hands stuck out as tiny useless appendages, and his body under the fabric was cylindrical and spongy. As his head swayed he tried to look down. He could see that his body was now inside the box he had found in his locker. The box was not only man-size now, but as he experienced a painful erection, he saw a metal crank burst out of the side of the box. He heard the sound of the door to the fieldhouse open, followed by it closing and footsteps approaching him from behind. Suddenly a rectangular mirror appeared in front of him held by a gigantic hand.
Chad stared in horror at his oversized clown head with his expression reminiscent of Munsch's The Scream. A voice he recognized all too well spoke.
"How do you like being my Jock In The Box, Chad?"
Of course, all Chad could do was bob up and down. Another hand pushed his head back into the box, and closed the hinged lid over him. Then Chad felt giant warm sweaty fingers clamp on his crank and start turning.
There was the sound of football fight music being played by a musicbox, and Chad was in agony as each turn of the crank filled him with raging hormones. He felt like he was going to explode. The lid of the box swung back and Chad the Jock in the Box popped out. Now his tormentor knelt over him, and Chad could see the tormentor's face.
"Now here's the best part, Chad, you can be human again. All you have to do..."