Not long after they got home Brad was working out in his room, already planning to teach Andy a lesson and turn him into Rob. Their parents were out for the day, likely not to return until late in the evening. Conditions were perfect to spend some good, brother time with his new jock bro Rob. With renewed strength and determination he finished his set, wiped the sweat from his brow and walked over to Andy’s room. In contrast to Brad’s large, relatively clean room which he adorned with his sports trophies and posters of cheerleaders Andy’s room was small, with clothes and surfing magazines scattered in piles every which way and the foul stench of pot drifted into the hall. Brad covered his nose at the offensive odor. Andy lay in his bed, likely blazed as he stared up into the ceiling and listened to his stoner music through his headphones. Brad never liked any of that crap, like all the popular jocks it was rap all the way, better to win over the ladies and fuel his already burdening ego. Andy soon noticed his brother hovering over him and took off his headphones; his eyes were already dilated as he sat up and gave a stupid grin. Brad wasn’t going to waste a minute…
“You know, as your big bro, I’ve always felt I really let down mom and dad by not shaping you to be an all-American jock like me… and I’m sure they’d appreciate it if you weren’t such a fuck’in pothead too!” Well you know what, I’ve got a way I can fix that… for a least a little while… right now… Rob!”
It was weird for Andy… the sensation of a word, a name, hitting him like a brick wall, his already pot-addled mind, reeling from the sensation of something so foreign yet so familiar at the same time. Brad’s stare was starting to frighten him, and that wide grin plastered across his face… what was he talking about… what was he feeling? Wasn’t there something about… the chip!
“Crap,” he thought to himself, but it was already too late. Andy felt movement around his shoulders.
When Brad walked in, Amdy’d been lying in bed, chill’in in a pair of old, slightly baggy, ripped jeans and a Bob Marley T, listening to The XX on his oversized headset, a nasty pair of rubber flip-flops discarded on the floor next to him. As a sobering sense of concern gripped his mind, Andy slowly rose from the bed and made his way towards the mirror.
The shirt Andy wore had once been white, but appeared duller, grungier, from countless wearings and the continuous exposure to smoke, but as he looked on it began to shift back towards a pristine white. The whole shirt began to feel a little lighter, the fabric a little more comfortable, smoother to the touch. As the shift finished its change from cotton to polyester Andy’s mind, still greatly under the influence, noticed with some amusement that his shirt seemed to reflect rather than absorb light a bit more than it had before.
More movement as the as the shirt which had started as a bit loose , tightened around his chest and shoulders becoming fitted to his frame. At the same time the t-shirt collar moved inward, tightening around his neck growing upwards as it did so. The back half of the collar turned black and changed in fabric and weave to become more elastic, allowing the new tight collar to stretch when he pulled it over his head.
Feeling something around the back of his neck Andy spun around, turning his head to see his reflection in the mirror. He watched as the word “Tradition” stitched itself into being just below his new collar in a bright red polyester thread. As this was happening, the Rastafarian themed graphics across the front of the shirt changed in color to black. He turned around just in time to see the images begin to distort while rising up becoming a screen across the shirt. The black screen continued to change becoming the Volkswagen logo which settled at the center of his chest.
Sections of the fabric were continuing to make more subtle adjustments, becoming either thinker or thinner for strategic ventilation. The Adidas logo pushed out as screen right beneath his neck on the front side of his favorite T which was quickly becoming his favorite jersey. Andy’s fear had turned into fascination as he watched the change, a sense of bewilderment apparent in his still hazy eyes. Three black stripes ran from his jersey’s new collar, across his shoulders before continuing down to the end of his sleeves. As they reached the cuffs, a small section of the cuff’s fabric on the front side of the sleeve turned red and gained an elasticity not unlike that of his collar.
Several patches appeared from out of nowhere started to stitch themselves onto Rob’s jersey. The American flag near the bottom of his left sleeve, the Major League Soccer logo near the bottom of his right sleeve, and finally the D.C. United logo attached itself, now proximately displayed on his left peck. An invisible hand stitched four black and silver stars onto his jersey right above the new logo. Andy was still to dazed to notice the more subtle changes like the word “FORMOTION” appearing on the front left of the jersey near the bottom hem and the holographic epoxy Adidas Soccer authenticity badge popping into existence on the right.
Andy sensed some heat on his upper back and between his shoulders as the final stage of his shirts turned jersey’s transformation began. As if actually being screened onto the jersey, the heat increased until, a large black “99” pressed into the fabric. He turned in the mirror and noticed the MLS logo at the bottom of each number and watched as the name of his new idol, Jamie Moreno, permanently pressed itself onto the jersey between his shoulders.
More movement, this time centered on Andy’s waist. As he turned to face the mirror again Brad caught a glimpse of his brother’s eyes. The confusion and bemusement noticeably replaced by a growing fire, an intensity burning behind pupils which had started to adjust back to normal size from the extreme dilation of what had been a serious blaze. Inside, a battle was being raged by two minds fighting for control of a single body. Thanks to Andy’s week mental state, it was a bit easier than usual for Rob to take control. Andy’s loathed the transformation which had occurred... to him the new jersey symbolized everything he had come to detest. It was a symbol of people like his uptight, perfect older brother who continued to look at him with a sense of self-righteous satisfaction. For Rob on the other hand, the transformation had been a welcome improvement from stoner shit he’d been wearing before.
Andy lifted the lower hem of the jersey to just below his waist in time to see his empty belt loops pull back into the denim. Much to his dismay the zipper and button disappeared leaving the crotch of his ratty plaid boxers exposed. After only a couple seconds of exposure the two halves of his fly began to pull together. As they met in the middle they merged together with a series of audible tearing sounds. For now Andy was trapped in his jeans, but they wouldn’t be jeans for long. His already acid washed jeans were becoming whiter by the second. Andy looked on helplessly as the pants started to pull upward from where they sat pooling around his feet. They pulled past his ankles and brushed past his calves before settling just above his knees. Around the time Andy’s pants turned shorts finished their change in color to the same pristine white as his shirt turned jersey, they also changed in material from rough cotton to a matching lightweight polyester weave. Andy remained lost, but Rob’s sharper mind realized he was being provided a matching pair of soccer shorts to complete his D.C. United kit.
The waist of his new shorts began to shrink into Andy’s waist, an elastic waistband forming beneath the polyester and the ends of a white drawstring shooting out from the waist, pulling down slightly toward his cock and balls. It felt like his baggy boxers were writhing beneath his new football shorts. Concerned, Andy attempted to pull back the waistband of his new shorts. However, he found himself unable to find the line should have separated them from his boxers. Eventually, he pulled out on the only waist band he could find. As he did, he found the source of the problem. The waistband of Andy’s boxers had merged completely with the waistband of the football shorts. He watched the last of the plaid pattern fade into a familiar white. What remained of his boxers moved up and inward towards his junk, the built in underwear of Rob’s football shorts comfortably cradling his cock and balls.
Three black stripes raced down the outside of each leg, and, like his jersey before, caused the cuffs to gain an elastic panel once they reached them (this time in black across the front of each leg). Andy didn’t notice the Adidas logo push out into a screen near the bottom on the back side of his left pant leg because he was watching another D.C United logo patch appear and stitch itself onto the front of his right leg.
Distracted by his shorts, Andy hadn’t noticed his hair starting to pull shorter until he felt it brush past his ears (perhaps for the last time). Gazing back into the mirror he found himself left with medium to short length hair which had been left mysteriously longer down the center. Both Andy and Brad heard a slight “squishing” sound as an invisible hand applied a pungent gel and spiked the center into a tight fauxhawk. Finally, the tips of his new hawk shifted from a dark black to a light brown finishing the dramatic change from Andy’s surfer-stoner hairstyle to Rob’s fresh cut.
The red, gold and green anklet Andy wore disappeared to be replaced by a green wristband he was still wearing from a club he vaguely remembered hitting with Brad last night.
Across the room, Andy’s old flip-flops had been replaced by a pair of slightly worn red, silver, and black Adidas Predator Absolute TRX FG’s. Ever observant, Brad had noticed the change. He walked over, picked them up, and brought them back to his changing brother.
“No” Andy said shaking his head violently, “I won’t be some stupid fucking jock running around a damn field… No! No!... dude you can’t make me! He grabbed at his head fighting a losing battle as Rob took the chance to assert full control. “Hand me my cleats bro…” At that moment Brad knew it was Rob, his awesome jock brother, he was talking to now.
He realized that Rob was wearing his kit because he was going to the D.C. United game later with a bunch of his friends. They were huge fan’s and the always went dressed that way, a sort of 12th man ideology. The truth was Rob might have his own chance to play for the majors one day. He was already a star striker for their high school at 16 and one or two programs had already expressed serious interest. But, he wasn’t just good at soccer. Brad realized Rob also played with him on the football team, kicker of course, and that he never missed a goal. He knew Rob also swam and ran track. He was another all American jock, just like his big bro.
Brad could almost see his brother gain an air of confidence as the transformation neared its completion. Rob sat down on his now cleaner bed after instinctively grabbing a pair of tall white Adidas socks to complete his new wardrobe. As he donned his socks and cleats. Brad watched two small diamond studs appear and pierce their way through his earlobes. Rob brought his hands to his ears at the sudden unexpected stinging sensation, but the pain had gone just as quick as it had come.
As Rob stood his legs and arms gained some additional definition. He had to be strong and he had to be quick, but he couldn’t be weighed down like a bulky linebacker or like one of the wrestlers.
“You better be coming with us to this game bro,” says the new Rob, “Tonight we pay respect to my man Moreno.”
He goes to his closet, picks out a slightly larger black jersey, Allsopp and the number “9” written across the back. He grabs a pair of matching shorts before tossing both items over to his fuck’in awesome big bro Brad.
“Suit up bro…”