That was how Jax and Jerry ended up in a corner room on the ground floor of the jock dorm. Apparently, there had been some objection by the jock frat – the Alpha Kaps – whose members had originally been housed on the third floor of the dorm since there was no off-campus housing available – but whose number had recently grown so large as to dominate the top two floors and part of the first. Unfortuantely, they’d lost the political battle with the housing department – they didn’t own the dorm, yet – and much to the chagrin of the jocks, the room went to the twin freshmen.

Jax was more worried about it than Jerry, probably because his brother had been more of a athlete in high school – Jerry had played tennis. Jax expected a raucous, “Animal House” kind of atmosphere, the constant swilling of beer and blasting of stereos, and they didn’t let him down. Jerry didn’t seem as stressed, but Jax had always been the more serious student of the two anyway. Jax pulled the pair through academically, and Jerry got them through everything else – that was their unique balance.

Even as they approached the dorm, suitcases in hand, Jax’s fears were confirmed. Right in the quad there was a flag football game going on. Shirts versus skins, heavily muscled jocks playing a little too roughly for a friendly game – no doubt they’d say they were “keeping it competitive.” They paid no attention to Jax and Jerry, so intent on their play, except for quick glances while approaching the huddle. None of them seemed interested in the scrawny twin freshmen.

And as Jax was quick to observe, there ALWAYS seemed to be a game going on in the quad. Hell, those jocks would come home from football practice, eat at the student cafeteria along the way, and then start up a game within an hour of hitting the dorm – probably only giving them enough time to take their collective shits and jerk off, Jax thought sardonically. The only time they DIDN’T play on the quad was weekends – Saturdays they had their REAL games, the ones they played for the college, and Sundays they all crammed into the TV lounge to watch the pros.

It was a college obsessed with football. At least, that’s what Jax thought. Jerry just rolled his eyes and laughed it off. “We’re living in the jock dorm,” he said, patronizingly. “Of course that’s how it seems to you. Don’t get your panties all in a knot, Jackson.”

But Jerry was better at socializing than Jax. Of course, Jerry was a little more in awe of the jocks, and they seemed to like that. As a matter of fact, the guy in the next room, Butch – who had the obvious nickname “The Butcher” – had struck up the beginnings of a friendship with Jerry, although Jax suspected it was because Butch liked Jerry’s less-than-subtle hero-worship. They were outside playing catch right now. “Catch,” Jax chuckled – like Jerry even knew how to throw a football.

He was only playing catch so he could spend time with that hulking muscle-beast, the “Butcher,” so he could pretend he was pals with a super-jock. Mr. “I’ve-got-a-friend-on-the-football-team” Jerry. Clearly Butch liked puppy-dog, geeky followers, because he allowed Jerry to become one, even encouraged him – why ELSE would they be playing catch if not because The Butcher liked to show off?

Or maybe, Jax thought, maybe you’re jealous. Maybe you’re jealous of your brother getting along with these big, manly football jocks, and you can’t stammer out a simple “hello.” But he dismissed that notion right away – denial is the longest river and all…

And minutes later, the door slammed open with the entrance of Jerry and Butch, wrestling with each other and laughing as Jerry tried to keep control of the ball while Butch tried to get it from him, wrapping his hugely muscled arms around Jerry from behind. Butch threw Jerry to the carpet, grunting loudly, and dove on top of him. Jerry was nearly winded as the sweaty behemoth grabbed the ball from him, lifting both arms into the air in celebration, sitting heavily on Jerry’s hips, straddling his torso.

And then, in a move that seemed surprisingly affectionate for the big football player, after helping Jerry to his feet, Butch took off the baseball cap he’d been wearing backwards and put it on Jerry’s head. Jerry beamed like it was a trophy. “Looks fuckin’ good on ya,” Butch said, smacking Jerry roughly on the ass – Jerry almost lost his balance.

“Thanks, man!” said Jerry. “This is so cool!”

Butch shrugged it off with his massive shoulders. “Ah,” he said. “It’s nothin’. I treat my buddies right. My teammates even better. My frat brothers like gold.” With a sidelong glance to Jax, he left. “Catch you later,” he said to Jerry. He said nothing to Jax.

“Isn’t he the coolest?” Jerry said, admiring his new hat in the mirror, making sure the college football logo was directly centered over his face. “He taught me how to spiral.”

“I can’t believe you’re friends with that troglodyte,” Jax said, trying to bury himself in his textbook.

“What’s your problem with these guys?” Jerry asked, turning the cap around so he was wearing it like Butch had. “Just because they’re into football doesn’t mean they’re a bunch of idiots.”

“They’re more than ‘into’ football,” Jax said, setting his book down and sitting up on his bed. “All they watch on TV is football. All they talk about is football. Every activity is centered around football. These guys eat, sleep, live and breathe football.”

Jerry shrugged. “Okay, I’ll admit they’re a little… intense. But football is what they wanna do with their lives, you know, professionally. Same way you’re obsessed with becoming a doctor, right? Give ‘em a break, Jackson.”

So Jax let it drop – at least for a while. Jerry was still a little star-struck at his gift from Butch – he must’ve looked at himself in that baseball cap a hundred times in the mirror – so was unlikely to be rational. Jerry even wore the silly thing to his one o’clock class, backwards like the Butcher did – like all the jocks did. What was going on in his brother’s head?

It wasn’t until Jax was preparing to leave for his three o’clock bio-lab that Jerry reappeared, flushed and a little sweaty, like he’d run back to the dorm – like he’d been exercising – like he’d been working out instead of attending class.

“What’s all this about?” Jax asked, stuffing his last book in his backpack.

“I feel fuckin’ GREAT!” Jerry hollered. “I have all this energy. I swear, if somebody came up to me and asked if I wanted to run a marathon right now, I’d say, ‘Fuck, yeah!’”

And just as Jax was about to comment on his brother’s uncharacteristic use of the F-word, Butch stuck his head in the door, knocking as he opened it. Jerry was overjoyed to see him, a huge smile breaking out on his face. “Hey, Jer, ‘sup?” Butch said, filling the door frame with his mass. “Me and the guys are gettin’ a game together in the quad but we’re a man short. Wanna play?”

“Don’t you have football practice now?” Jax asked darkly, trying to squeeze by the big red-head and get to his class.

The Butcher snorted, showing his contempt. “It’s Monday after a win,” he said patronizingly, like HE was the one talking to an idiot. “Ain’t no fuckin’ practice Monday after a win.” Dismissing him, Butch turned his attention back to Jerry, but made no move to get out of Jax’s way. “So, you wanna play?” he asked. After a quick, sidelong glance toward Jax, he added, “We only need one.”

Jax smiled sarcastically and said, “I got bio-lab. So sorry I can’t join in all your fun.”

Butch shrugged, as if it were truly no big deal – a “whatever” kind of shrug. “Some people don’t got their fuckin’ priorities straight,” he mumbled, as if he himself had once made the choice between academics and football – and football had won. “How ‘bout you,” he asked Jerry. “You wanna come play ball with me and the boys?”

And Jerry barked, “Fuck, yeah!” so quickly that he betrayed himself as a wanna-be – at least, that’s what Jax thought.

He left them there, searching for something for Jerry to wear, and went to his lab. There, for the next hour and a half, he found himself unable to concentrate – he couldn’t help but think of his brother, actually playing football in the quad with those… those dumb jocks!

WAS he jealous? Was that what was going on? Was he jealous of his brother playing football, or for being accepted and welcomed by those hyper-muscled cavemen? His brother had always wanted to play more sports – not just high school tennis – really BE an athlete. And truthfully…? Jax had always harbored an unspoken fantasy about it himself. Maybe he WAS jealous of his brother being invited into their group. After all, what did Jerry have that Jax didn’t? They were both skinny little twins, weren’t they?

And so his irrational thoughts continued until the class let out at five o’clock. Normally, Jax would’ve stopped by the Union to have dinner before heading to his dorm, but he was more anxious to see his brother making a fool of himself in the football game than he was to eat. He hurried along the footpath.

Imagine his surprise then, to discover the quad empty – the game must’ve just let out, Jax reasoned, or else together they’ve all rushed my brother to the hospital. Chuckling to himself, he walked to his room, heard the showers blasting as he passed the communal bathroom and figured he’d reasoned correctly about the game breaking for dinner, and got a surprise when he opened his door.

It wasn’t the first time one of the twins had caught the other one masturbating – they were young men after all – they had needs. Sometimes, late at night, in their own beds with the lights off, one would hear the other jacking and then join in from his own bed, the two of them bringing themselves to their separate, yet oddly shared orgasms. These incidents were never acknowledged in the light of day, but Jax would secretly find it very exciting.

But as he walked in the room, there stood Jerry before the full-length mirror mounted to the cinder-block wall, dressed only in Butch’s backwards baseball cap and a ratty old jockstrap. Jerry was ruddy, sweat drying on his skin, he looked athletic, pumped like after a workout – oddly masculine and strong – bigger than normal. When Jax walked in, Jerry had been reaching into the cotton pouch of the jock to play with his erection while he looked at himself in the mirror.

There was a moment of embarrassment that passed between them before Jerry grabbed a towel and covered himself. “Hey,” he said, in way of greeting, wrapping the towel around his waist. “Game just let out. I was just about to take a shower.” He reached beneath the towel, slid the jockstrap down to his feet and stepped out of it.

Jax put his back to his brother, making a big deal of putting his books down on the desk, allowing his brother the moment to make himself decent. “How was the game?” he asked, speaking over his shoulder.

Jerry answered quickly, the tone of his voice changing immediately from embarrassment to excitement. “Oh, it was fuckin’ AWESOME!” he said, taking a step toward Jax. “It wasn’t tackle, so there was no worry about gettin’ hurt – not that it mattered. They put me on defense, in the secondary. That means I was further back from the line – I played a position called Strong Safety. It was fuckin’ cool! They told me what to do at first, but I got the hang of it pretty quick. I covered the receivers – it was easy. Lot of running, but I kept up.”

But Jax was distracted by the jockstrap on the floor. He motioned to it with his head and asked, “Where’d you get that? You don’t own a jockstrap.”

An embarrassed smile, the corner of his mouth curling up – he couldn’t help but betray his hero-worship – “Butch… he loaned it to me. You know, to keep everything held tight and safe while we played.” Unconsciously, he touched his balls through the towel.

“That’s a little weird,” Jax said. “Wearing another guy’s jockstrap.”

Jerry snorted. “Don’t worry,” he teased. “It was clean.”

But while Jerry was in the shower, Jax couldn’t help but examine the jock as it lay there on the floor. Such a foreign object to the twins – neither had ever had use for one – Jax couldn’t help but be curious. The jockstrap was anything but clean, however, stained, stretched, smelling as it did of old sweat, piss and stale cum. Jax was nearly horrified by it – and that his brother would put such a filthy thing on his body – then find it enough of a turn-on to masturbate to it!

He understood it even less when his brother walked back into the room fresh from his shower. Something was different – Jerry looked different. Thicker. He moved with the grace of an athlete, like a guy completely comfortable with his body, not the awkward fumblings normal for his twin. His muscles showed some good size, some definition. He looked about ten pounds heavier, if such a thing were possible.

Oddly, Jax’s first thought, his instinct, was that his brother must’ve finished beating off in the shower.

“You know,” Jerry said, pulling out a t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants from his dresser, still wrapped in a loose towel, “the guys think I should go out for the football team – and then, you know, pledge the frat. I’m thinkin’ about doin’ it.”

“What?!? You? On the football team?” Jax almost laughed. “What do you know about football? You’ve never played before today’s game in the quad.”

Jerry looked at him with a confused expression, like he was trying to figure out the joke. “What are you fuckin’ talkin’ about?” he asked. “I played football all my fuckin’ life, since modified in middle school. You on fuckin’ crack? You don’t remember?” With his well-muscled arm, he playfully smacked Jax in the shoulder.

And then, almost as Jerry said it, certainly when they came in physical contact, Jax DID remember it. It was like he suddenly remembered an entirely new and different life for his brother. Yes… Jerry HAD played football. Since he was a kid. Yeah. It was how they had differed as twins. While Jax had the brain, Jerry had been the jock. Jax was smart – Jerry was popular. It had been that way forever. He suddenly remembered everything.

He remembered Jerry’s countless games, his brutal workout sessions, his growth from skinny twin into the well-sized athlete he was now.

Why HAD he made that comment to his brother? Jerry was ALWAYS out on the quad playing football with the guys. He was involved in games almost daily – Jax had clearly misspoken. No, what he’d MEANT to say was, “I mean, those guys are like a hundred pounds heavier than you.” Yeah, he thought. THAT’S what he’d meant to say. He felt strangely dizzy.

Jerry chuckled. “I said the same fuckin’ thing. They told me they’d help me bulk up, though, so I ain’t fuckin’ worried. With that in mind, I’m goin’ to meet the guys for chow. You comin’?” He slid his t-shirt over his head, pulling it down over his well-developed torso, in such better shape than Jax.

Jax stammered out an excuse. “um… no. I gotta do some homework first.”

Jerry sighed, and launched into the lecture he gave Jax almost every day, the same one he’d given him every day since junior high. “Dude, I don’t know what your problem is with these guys. They’re never gonna accept you if you never let them get to know you.” He leaned toward Jax and flexed his arms before himself, so he could admire them, as he so often did. “Or are you just jealous of your big fuckin’ muscle-twin?”

The minute he said it, it became true. Jax seethed with envy for his brother, like he’d always done. He’d never been able to compete, just watch weakly from the sidelines while Jerry scored the touchdowns, got the glory, had the better life. How he envied his brother that. Jerry was so strong – Jax was so weak.

He couldn’t bring himself to eat with the other football players. He just didn’t feel worthy.

And so, with a disappointed grunt, Jerry put on that baseball cap and left for dinner. Jax could hear him banging on Butch’s door and yelling, “C’mon, Butcher, let’s go! Stop beatin’ off and let’s eat!” in a voice that was rougher than it had been before. Hadn’t it?

Jax was having a terrible time trying to remember.

He heard Butch’s voice through the wall. “Fuck you, dumb fuck. I was waitin’ on you!” Then both guy’s laughter, Butch’s door opening, then slamming closed as the two walked off together. He also heard Butch say, “Good, you’re wearing loose pants…” At least, that’s what he thought Butch had said.

The one thing he DID notice was that the dirty jockstrap was gone, not lying on the floor where Jerry had discarded it before his shower. Not in the hamper or tossed in the closet, and that could only mean one thing: Jerry was wearing it.

Something was wrong – he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. But he couldn’t put his finger on what the problem was, either. He kept having these odd flashes of a skinny Jerry fumbling around on the tennis courts in high school, losing nearly every match to the derision of his team, his knobby knees knocking like xylophone mallets.

But no. Jerry had been a football player in high school. Handsome and well-muscled. Popular. Okay, Jax couldn’t remember Jerry’s number, or his position. No, wait! He COULD – Jerry was number 36, a strong safety, even though Jax had no clue what THAT was. He could recall a whole lifetime of memories connecting his brother to football.

God, he was so JEALOUS of the guy! Why did his brother get to be the lucky one? The jock? Weren’t he and Jerry genetically the same? Why did Jerry get all the breaks?

Not for the first time, Jax wished HE could be the athlete twin instead of the brainy one. He nearly masturbated to the thought of it – like he’d done so many times before. Hadn’t he? Thinking of his brother, of football, Jax started to get hard.

He thought, “Damn it! If Jerry had left that jockstrap behind, I just might’ve tried it on myself. Just to see what it would feel like to wear one.”

Instead, he went to the Union to spy on his brother while Jerry ate dinner with the jock-frat. The cafeteria, on the down-side peak of the dinner rush, still bustled with energy and conversation. Even with the volume of people, Jax was able to find a seat where he could easily see the jocks, who dominated several big tables in the back.

So much bigger than the normal college students, the football players received larger servings anyway, but often went back for seconds and thirds. Even Jerry, at a strong two-hundred pounds, was dwarfed by them. Still, he sat there at the end of the table and ate with the same gusto the rest of the jocks displayed. They reminded Jax of a pack of dogs at mealtime, hunched over their bowls, focused on the task at hand, ready to bite if anyone dared interrupt them.

Just as they were finishing their plates, talking with their mouths full and laughing at their own burps, one of the massive, three-hundred pound linemen walked up to the table carrying a plate literally PILED with meat, thick-sliced roast beef with a dribble of gravy. He set it down in front of Jerry, chuckling when all the guys made ominous “Oooooh,” sounds. Butch, who was sitting next to Jerry, elbowed Jax’s brother and said something that made everybody laugh. The big lineman took the seat across them and started chanting “Eat. Eat. Eat…” until the other guys joined him.

Jerry, in good humor, jabbed his fork into the pile of meat, getting a cheer from the jocks. He took a bite, and then another, and then just started shoveling it into his mouth. He ate like a starving man, like he hadn’t eaten in days – each mouthful he took seemed to make him hungrier. Jax couldn’t believe it. To the cheering of the jocks, Jerry abandoned his fork, grabbing the meat with his bare hands. Just as he cleaned the plate, another appeared before him, the pile of meat even higher. Jerry just kept stuffing it in, gleeful, basking in the fraternal atmosphere.

Finally, unbelievably, three plates later, he finished. Filthy hands, filthy mouth, he looked like a toddler at the grown-up table, licking himself clean – his fingers, then his plate, then, as if to thumb his nose at their challenge, Jerry began eating the left-overs off the other guys’ plates. They laughed and joked – Butch wrapped an arm around his neck.

And then, proudly, with a gravy-smeared smirk of satisfaction, Jerry put his hands behind his head and leaned back as if to stretch. That was when – even from across the cafeteria – Jax saw Jerry’s distended gut, his swollen stomach stuffed full of cafeteria-grade rare roast beef. Beyond full. A water-balloon pushed to its limit.

The jocks saw it, too. Butch patted it and made some joke that caused all of them to laugh sharply – probably a pregnant joke, Jax thought. Really – that’s how his brother looked.

There was something different in Jerry’s expression, too, though Jax couldn’t quite identify it. Jerry looked almost dazed, confused – simple – but Jax wrote it off to digestive issues. At least until the jock-frat got up to leave. Jerry stood with the rest of them, but he seemed weak, disoriented. Butcher was right at his side though, supporting him with a meaty arm around Jerry’s back. Butch was acting more like a brother than Jax was, sitting over here spying, and it burned Jax a little bit.

Or was that the jealousy again?

He hid in the library for a while, trying to do some of his work, but found himself unable to concentrate – he kept thinking of Jerry, and football, and odd images of a skinny, almost recognizable teen playing tennis, memories that were being stomped on by the heavy-legged jocks.

Finally, he gave up and went back to the dorm to try and sleep. Naturally – and not surprisingly – the upper two floors, the floors reserved for the Alpha Kaps, were blasting with a party. “Good God, do they ever STOP?” Jax thought, listening to their heavy feet and muffled chanting through the ceiling. And where was Jerry? Was he up there WITH them? Would Jax ever stop being jealous of his jock brother? Or did he mean soon-to-be-jock brother?

He fell into a fitful sleep – the drumming and chanting from upstairs a vibrating accompaniment – desperately trying to remember Jerry as a knobby-kneed tennis player, but it was nearly impossible. Thin, restless dreams about Jerry happily transforming into Butch’s muscular twin while Jax sat there and watched, feeling the loss.

About three in the morning or so, Jax was woken by the door in the next room slamming open – the door in Butch’s room. Some drunk laughter, then heavy bodies engaged in some sort of fight, or wrestling match – Jax heard them through the cinder-block wall, banging and crashing around Butch’s room. Grunts and exhalations, giggles and expletives – like their games in the quad, “friendly but competitive.”

Then Butch’s deep voice, obviously drunk but still commanding. “Yeah, fucker. You like that, don’t ya? Look how fuckin’ big it is. Yeah… you want it? Yeah, do ya? First, say, ‘I’m a big, dumb jock.’”

Then the other voice, the one Jax didn’t recognize. Though from its depth and power, he knew it was another of the Alpha Kap brothers, another one of those muscle-freaks. “I’m a big, dumb jock,” said the other voice, with a slight giggle at the end – the guy was enjoying the tease.

“Say, ‘Football is my fuckin’ life! I can’t think about nothin’ else! Just football, football – FOOTBALL!’”

The other voice, more serious this time, “Football is my fuckin’ life! I can’t think of nothin’ else! Just football, football – FOOTBALL!” Some moaning attached to the end of that. Like the statements were sexual.

“Say, ‘Butcher’s my fuckin’ GOD!’” Butch was panting.

In the throes. Powerful. “Fuck, yeah! Butcher’s my fuckin’ GOD!”

Then – the orgasm – which, undoubtedly, shook the whole dorm. Jax had never heard anything like it. Even with his limited experience in sex, Jax knew that whatever these guys were feeling, it was far more intense than anything that had ever happened to him. He could hear them scream, then gasp, them mumble expletives as the moment diminished.

“Holy fuck,” said the voice Jax didn’t recognize.

Butch barked a laugh. “Told ya it was fuckin’ awesome! Told ya.”

“Dude,” said the other guy, “FOOTBALL is fuckin’ awesome!”

“Careful, little bro,” said Butch. “You’ll get me hard again.”

A few more laughs, a non-intimate goodbye – probably a high-five or a solid pat on the ass, Jax thought sardonically – and then he heard Butch’s door open again – SLAM open again, like the guy didn’t know his own strength, then the sounds of a big body drunkenly stumble into the hall. Jax waited to hear him make his way down to the exit before falling back asleep, but instead it sounded like he was coming closer.

Then the guy was at HIS door – Jax heard him fumbling with keys. Holy cow, he thought. This drunk idiot thinks he’s on a different floor or something…

But then the key turned, and the door opened, and in shambled one of those massive monsters, silhouetted by the bright amber light of the hallway. Shoulder to shoulder, he came so close to filling the doorway that he had to turn his body slightly just to enter – Jax, frozen in fear, unsure of what to do, pretended to be asleep, opening his eyes only slightly to look through soft lashes at the hazy mass before him.

The big, muscular jock ambled into the room, swaying drunkenly, and the door shut behind him, robbing the room of light. Jax heard him shedding clothes, mumbling expletives to himself as he did, and then the collapse of what had to have been nearly three-hundred pounds of dead weight as the guy passed out in Jerry’s bed.

Jax was nearly ready to speak out when he heard a banging on the wall, from Butch’s room next door. In answer, the guy in Jerry’s bed thumped back once with the side of his fist. A drunk giggle, buried in the pillow.

He heard Butch’s voice through the wall. “Isn’t it great?” asked the Butcher.

The monster moaned. “Football is fuckin’ awesome!” And mere seconds later, Jax heard the distinctive sounds of masturbation coming from that side of the room. Not even trying to be subtle, the guy pounded on his cock, grunting and growling like a man who thought he was alone. The worst part was, Jax couldn’t help but get hard himself, remembering all the times he and Jerry would beat off together in the dark, late, late in the night. Not that he dared join in now, even if his hand had found its way to his own budding erection.

“Yeah…” the big jock moaned in his deep, gravelly voice. “Fuck yeah…”

He came quickly, but intensely, thrusting so hard as to lift his lower back off the bed in an athletic arch – there was just enough ambient light in the room for Jax to make out the bulky shape. It went on and on, amazing when you considered the gigantic jock had just cum minutes before in Butch’s room.

And what an orgasm! From the way he was carrying on, you’d think it had been WEEKS since he’d gratified himself. He moaned and screamed – it went on forever!

Then the bulk of him collapsed in the bed, panting heavily. Finally! Jax thought, still disturbed by his own responsive erection.

Then Butch’s voice, through the cinderblock wall. “Isn’t it fuckin’ awesome?” he asked.

“Yeah,” the guy in Jerry’s bed mumbled. “I fuckin’ love football.”

And then Butch whispered the words that would keep Jax up for the rest of the night. “Quiet man,” Butch said. “You’ll wake your brother.”

The guy in Jerry’s bed snorted. “Fuck that,” he mumbled, drifting off to sleep. “Love football…” And then there was light snoring coming from that side of the room, even breathing – Jock-Jerry was asleep.

Jax lay in bed wide awake, horrified, when a few minutes later he heard Butch moaning through the cinderblock wall – then the Butcher’s obvious orgasm while screaming “Football’s fuckin’ AWESOME!” in his rough, deep voice.

In response, Jock-Jerry moaned in his sleep and rolled over, which increased the volume of his snoring.

Jax lay awake in bed, caught between confusion, horror, and growing curiosity. His BROTHER? How could that hulking beast that stumbled into the room be his brother? His brother wasn’t a freak – was he? No wait… maybe he was. Jax could almost remember…

A knobby-kneed tennis player – no, his twin had played football all through high school. He could remember it so clearly – he could envision both he and his twin as skinny, awkward youths, as well as easily picturing his brother putting on pound after pound of muscle while training during the off-season. Both sets felt equally real, but Jax could tell that the football memories were working hard to beat the others out of existence.

So why did Jax feel it was so important to retain the truth, the knobby-kneed tennis player? It would be just as easy to give in. As a matter of fact, whenever Jax let himself have the football memories, it turned him on a little. He was suspiciously willing to wager that if he beat off, it’d be that much harder to remember the old tennis stuff at all.

That was obviously what Jerry had done. •