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Star Player, The
|The Coach watched silently as Tristan ran past him. Nothing like seeing a well-built boy in a quick jog, pecs bouncing, leg muscles pumping. “The boy was definitely growing,” he thought to himself. “It is going all according to plan.” Tristan probably needed a booster shot soon though, and as he thought this the Coach smiled to himself in anticipation.
Tristan tried in vain to pull his jeans over his thighs. These jeans fit him well just a month ago! Now it was clear that there was no way his quads would let themselves be squeezed into them. He tossed them aside, frustrated, and reached for a pair of sweats instead. He managed to struggle into them, but it was a snug fit, and his large thigh muscles bulged out, threatening to burst the seams any moment. More embarassingly, there was a huge, obscene bulge at his crotch that seemed ready to rip out of its tight confines any moment. He had tried to rearrange his dick many times, but no matter how he did it, it was difficult to hide something 8 inches soft, accompanied by balls bigger than large eggs. Hell, he couldn’t even wear his briefs now, they were way too tight, and were pulled down so much by the size of his enormous genitalia, the lush tufts of blond pubes showed at the top.
He had grown out of his T-shirts, too. They were tight muscle Tees to begin with, and they barely fit him before his started this growth spurt. Now, wearing them was just ridiculous. He had ripped a couple jus trying them on, and gave up. He had to resort to wearing some roomy buttoned shirt-sleeves, but even then, his chest strained against the top-most buttons, his large, round pecs outlined clearly against the thin fabric. His silver dollar sized nipples were clearly seen as well through his shirt, and left nothing to the observer’s imagination. There was no way he could button the collar button, his neck was too thick for that now. He would soon outgrow these he knew.
He was still bumping into things, unaccustomed as he was to the 20-something pounds he gained over the last two weeks, taking his weight to well over 250 now. It is unnerving to suddenly put on nearly 40 pounds of muscle in a month! He had become the talk of the school, everyone marvelling at his incredible development. Girls were swooning to get close to him and feel his large muscles, and the guys were muttering jealously under their breath about “roids.”Worse, the Coach seemed to enjoy making him walk around the campus is little other than his running shorts, almost as if he was showing him off to the world, like a prized hog. These “tours” would gather large crowds of admirers and detractors alike, hooting and calling him various names. “Stud!” “Roid-freak!” “Hunk!” “Muscle-monster!” He hated the attention he was getting, wanting only to be left alone. Increasingly, he stayed in his room, relying on Kent to help him get whatever he needed from outside.
Kent knew the agony his big friend was going through, and felt for him deeply. He did not understand what was happening—why was Tristan suddenly growing so fast? Was it some kind of later version of a growth spurt? Tristan was definitely now his usual, cheerful self. He tried many times to ask Tristan if there was anything he knew that could have caused this, but Tristan merely shook his head and did not say anything. He spent most of his days hiding in his room, rarely leaving except for classes. He didn’t bother shaving very often, and had a rough stubble all over his chin.
The only thing that seemed to improve was Tristan’s enormous appetite. It was almost frightening the amount of food the big guy could eat—easily four times or more what he ate just a month ago. He seemed to be eating seven or eight meals a day, each enough to feed another man for a whole day. Kent knew Tristan tried to control himself, but he just couldn’t. Whenever he saw food, a sort of glazed look came over his eyes and he didn’t stop until every bit was in his stomach. After a meal, Tristan often looked as if he had just swallowed a beach ball, his well-defined abs bowing out nearly spherical by the pressure of the vast quantities of food he had consumed. Kent seemed to be spending most of his time running to and from the grocery, buying food for Tristan’s bottomless appetite, and the pizza delivery boy had become friends with them, bringing four large pepperoni pizzas every night, all for Tristan.
Another thing was changing. Kent was beginning to feel strange around Tristan. He didn’t mind that he was doing all this for Tristan—buying food, getting him larger new clothes, doing practically everything for his big friend. Not that he didn’t mind, he even wanted to do it. But whenever he saw Tristan, especially when he was sitting there staring out of the window, with his sad, puppy-dog eyes, it was all Kent could do to stop himself from going over and giving Tristan a hug. Sometimes, when Tristan looked especially down, that was exactly what he did. But the hugs were brief, often ending with a fraternal slap on the shoulder, and a “Hey, man.” Kent made sure he tore himself away. He did not like the strange, electric pulse of pleasure that ran through him whenever he touched Tristan.
“Tristan Walker is our star player, you hear that you motherfuckers?”
That was what the Coach said today. Tristan walked back quickly to his room one night after practice. It had been a long day, and Coach Mace and worked them very hard. It was evident that Tristan’s extra bulk and strength, by now way surpassing the others on the team was coming in useful. He had done very well in practice today, and the Coach appeared very pleased. He even seemed to be getting better than the team captain, Randy, who was usually considered the best player on the Riverside team.
Randy Honnecker was not one to appreciate being sidelined however. He was 6 feet even, 200 pounds of hard competitive spirit. He liked being the best player on the team, and prior to Tristan’s arrival, had been the Coach’s favorite. But Tristan came and Randy was not at all pleased when Coach Mace began lavishing his attention on him. It helped a little when Mace yelled at Tristan over being such a disappointment recently, but immediately after that, things started changing.
Tristan was getting huge, for one. He had easily 50 pounds on Randy now, if not more. How the hell did the guy do it? Every time he came for practice he seemed a little bigger, a little stronger. The guy seemed almost swollen with muscle. Hell, it was clear from practice that Tristan was becoming far and away Riverside’s most valuable player. And worst of all, Coach seemed to be paying all this attention to Tristan. It was always Tristan this, Tristan that! Randy was sick of it. Tonight was the last straw. “Star player my ass,” thought Randy. “I’ll show him.”
The wind blew up a flurry of dried leaves across the little alleyway. The single streetlamp lighting the dark path provided little comfort. Tristan wanted to hurry home. He was feeling very hungry and tired, and could only look forward to whatever Kent had ready for him at home. Kent had even taken up a little cooking recently, whipping up a storm in the dorm’s tiny kitchen, a gourmet feast for Tristan every evening.
Tristan heard a voice behind him, and he spun around. It was Randy. And a group of his friends.
“Where do you think you’re going, huh, big guy?” asked Randy. He had a baseball bat in his hand, and swung it around nonchalantly.
“Randy…” Tristan said. What the hell was Randy trying to do? He noticed that Randy’s “friends” were all holding something or other—a steel pipe, a glass bottle, a chain…
“I’ve got some friends I’d like you to meet, Tris. They’ve heard a lot about you recently, and thought they should meet Riverside’s Muscleman. What do you think, huh?” Randy’s group advanced menacingly on Tristan.
Tristan backed off. He hated fights. He was not a small guy, and so even in his younger days was not usually picked on, but his nature was to avoid getting into conflicts.
“Randy, I don’t wanna get into anything here… Please…” he said. He turned and tried to walka way quickly, but he suddenly noticed that, under the streetlight, another group of Randy’s friends was coming towards him. Shit… he was trapped on both sides!
“So, Tris. Tell me what sort of juice you’re on. Huh? Don’t think I can’t tell. All that mass didn’t come from good genes only, you fucking bastard! What kind of shit are you on? You’re becoming a fucking monster now! Huh?!” Randy had a wild look in his eyes and moved quickly towards Tristan.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” cried Tristan.
“Don’t think you can fuck around with me, man!” screamed Randy. “Get him, guys!”
The next few moments were a blur. Tristan saw the group of at least ten men coming towards him, hitting and kicking him with whatever they had got. He raised his arms to protect himself. He felt someone grab his jersery, and ripping it away, and the sharp pain of metal scratching him.
“Randy! No! Stop!” shouted Tristan. He tried to get away, but someone kicked his legs out from under him and he fell heavily to the ground. “Aargh!” The kicks and blows rained down on him, and blood from a wound on his forehead stung his eyes.
“Beat the shit out of him!” Randy screamed. With all his might, he swung his baseball bat straight for Tristan’s face. “I’ll smash your fucking face, you freak!”
The baseball bat seemed to stop in mid-air just inches from Tristan’s face.
“Fuck!” cried Randy. He tried to go for another swing, but suddenly he saw that Tristan had simply caught the baseball bat with his hand. He tried to pull it away, but with an enormous roar, Tristan pulled it out of Randy’s grasp.
The Tristan who stood up was not the same one just a few moments ago. His eyes seemed to be on fire. His torn shirt hung in shreds from him, and under the pale glare of streetlamps, his huge muscles shifted and bugled like armor plates. He held Randy’s baseball bat in one hand, and with the other, wiped the sweat and blood from his face in one swift moment.
“I’LL TEACH YOU TO FUCK WITH ME!!!” the man who was Tristan roared. His attackers drew back, alarmed at his sudden rage which burned from him.
Randy stumbled back. “Oh shit” he said. “Nooo!” He screamed, as Tristan swung the baseball bat at Randy. It caught him on the knee, and there was a sickening sound of cracking bones. “FUCK!” screamed Randy, “my leg!”
Two of Randy’s friends ran up to Tristan from behindand tried to tackle him down, but Tristan turned, quicker than they could see, and threw a punch at one of them. He hit on right on the jaw, and the guy flew into his companion, both of them clean knocked off their feet, and flying straight into the brick wall ten feet away. They slumped down there, unconscious.
Randy’s friends were already running. “Get away from him!” they shouted. Randy tried to stand but his legs would not help him. Tristan turned back to him, looming over him like a giant.
“Tr-Tristan…” stammered Randy. His eyes were full of fear as he shrank before the monster before him. Tristan grabbed hold of his collar, and punched him a few times, very hard, in the face. Blood spurted from Randy’s nose and sprayed all over Tristan’s chest. With a clean, easy motion, Tristan flung him bodily at the retreating backs of his friends. Randy smashed right into them, causing many of them to fall, and with a dull thud, hit his head on the road.
“Fuck!” screamed of his friends, “He’s fucking bleeding!” Randy had a very bad wound on his head. “Get somebody!” There was chaos as the group began to break up, some wanting to run away, some trying to help Randy and ther other wounded.
Tristan did not care about them anymore. He turned almost mechanically, and slowly made his way back to his room.
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