Orientation: Homecoming

By Cris Kane
published June 26, 2014

The final chapter, as the magical punch works more of its wonders and Charles and Jake settle into their new lives.

Orientation: Home-coming

Turns out Mick was right to be concerned about the havoc that could be caused by giving the body-changing formula to straight people. When twelve members of the college’s football team suddenly turned into women, it did not go unnoticed.

That six of their teammates, including the starting quarterback, simultaneously came out as gay, that drew plenty of attention too. (Considering that only eighteen of the players had any of the punch, even Barry and his supposedly infallible gaydar was surprised at that ratio.)

This mass transformation was quite something to see, especially for the foursome watching on the sidelines. Charles, Barry, Jake and Erik all had been through this transition in the past 48 hours and knew what to expect, but seeing so many people simultaneously changing into the bodies they most desired was eye-opening. Barry, who’d witnessed hundreds of these morphings over the years, offered his catty running commentary of the changes, like Tim Gunn after a pitcher of mojitos.

“These straight boys are SOOO predictable,” he whined as one player after another grew long wavy hair and began to fondle the double-D breasts that were unexpectedly bulging under their practice jerseys. The arrival of these enormous racks tended to distract the players from the radical reorganization happening below their waists, as the bulges in their crotches receded and their hips and butts reshaped themselves into more feminine contours. Playboy had their entire next year’s worth of Playmates groping themselves right there on the gridiron.

“Their asses do look nice in those tight football pants, though,” Charles commented. Barry, Jake and Erik all stared at him, concerned about his queer credentials after such a comment. “I’m just saying aesthetically.”

Jake and Erik nodded, with Jake adding, “It is kind of a turn-on, knowing they started out as guys’ asses.” Erik nodded and he and Jake sealed their agreement with an exploding fist bump.

Barry was still giving Charles the stink-eye. “I still think you’re 20% straight.”

Charles grinned. “Just as long as my cock is in the 80%.”

The changes among the gay players were much more varied and indicative of the individuals’ likes, dislikes and fetishes. A tight end lived up to his title, as his muscular buttocks shrank into a firm and shapely ass, and the rest of his body shrank proportionally. One of the tackles revealed a surprising preference as he became shorter…and shorter…and shorter, his head remaining the same size and his body continuing to be extremely buff – until he was now what the non-politically-correct would describe as a muscular midget. Two of the running backs, one of Nordic stock with a mop of blondish curls, the other a shaved-head African-American, began to eye each other as soon as the formula started kicking in. Their body shapes didn’t change much, but the white guy’s blindingly pale skin became infused with melanin and his curls darkened and kinked into a close-cropped afro. His teammate’s skin went from deep black to caramel colored to a sunburnt pink in a matter of seconds, which better matched his new blond mohawk and pale blue eyes. The two kissed each other midfield and fell to the turf, rolling in the grass with obvious intimacy. Barry pointed to them and remarked, “I have a feeling those two were already a couple. Just not so openly.”

The stocky center found himself shrinking dramatically, suddenly swamped in his oversized jersey as his heavy facial stubble and Neanderthal eyebrows receded, making him far less intimidating. His eyes changed to a brilliant green and his lips became soft and permanently pursed. All that remained unchanged were his glutes, which now looked absurdly large on this slinky body. The quarterback changed the least, his narcissism being so great that his ideal fuckmate was apparently himself with a longer tongue and a longer shlong. He ogled the familiar curvature of his center’s backside, which he had stared at during every snap for the past two seasons. Unable to resist, he strode over to the center, pulled down the center’s shiny pants and prepared to ram him with the foot-long appendage which was climbing its way over his waistband. The quarterback licked his lips with a tongue which could now reach the tip of his nose or the bottom of his chin. He spat in his hands and rubbed them along the length of his cock for lubrication. As if by habit, the center got into his hiking stance and braced for the quarterback to put his backfield in motion.

Charles suddenly became aware of a hubbub among the cheerleading squad. He nudged Barry to bring his attention to the transformations occurring there. “Oh my. Looks like the football players shared their drinks,” Barry observed. One male cheerleader who had always triggered Barry’s alarm bells stared down as his sweater unraveled with the strain of his inflating limbs and torso. His already hairless body ballooned into that of a competition bodybuilder, but with no steroids to adversely affect the bulge in his shorts. His skin acquired an unnaturally deep tan as muscle built upon muscle.

The head cheerleader, by far the prettiest on the team, was initially aghast to see man-sized biceps and quads growing on her slender frame. An unnatural straining grew in her panties that was barely hidden by her short skirt, and with it her senses felt an infusion of testosterone, which eased her anxiety and inflated her confidence. Her chin became more angular, her cheekbones less pronounced, but her overall beauty remained, her long lashes and beauty mark only accenting the handsomeness of her new more manly attributes. Now unmistakably masculine at over six feet, granite-carved abs and wisps of dark hair showing in the gap between his tight sweater and skimpy flared skirt, the cheerleader’s altered center of gravity made walking in heeled boots unsteady. He knelt down to remove them when the mysterious Stephanie who had been hanging with the cheerleaders all morning rushed over and asked if she could help him. The two locked eyes and felt an immediate unspoken bond.

Suddenly, Barry panicked. “Where’s the jug? My prints are all over it!” As Barry searched frantically for the empty jug that had contained the last of his pilfered punch, Charles looked to the bleachers, where the skinny kid who used to be Coach Phelps had been sitting before the other transformations began. He wasn’t there, or anywhere in the vicinity that Charles could see.

Barry spotted the empty jug lying on the grass near where the quarterback was pounding his cock into his center’s stunning ass. Barry stared at the quarterback’s firm buttocks surging back and forth, still sheathed in tight shiny football pants. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” Barry said as he gave the quarterback’s butt a congratulatory swat. “Good job!”

Barry was still chuckling when he reached the sidelines and stuffed the empty jug into his backpack. Charles expressed his concern that the coach had wandered away, but Barry assured Charles that Phelps would eventually turn up. “But I’ve never done a change that involved that huge an age shift. Odds are he’ll be walking around in a permanent fog. Come on, let’s go before anyone realizes we caused this.”

“YOU caused this,” argued Charles.

“Okay, I caused it. But not on purpose,” Barry replied.

As they started to walk away, Charles turned back to Jake and Erik, who were lying face down on the grass on the sidelines, their attention still riveted on the bedlam reigning throughout the stadium. “Jake, are you coming?”

Jake, his pelvis gyrating rhythmically against the grass, said, “Not yet, but I’m getting close.”

Charles rolled his eyes and said to meet him back at the dorm room when they were through.

Charles and Barry headed toward the exit when Barry stopped in his tracks. “Oh, shit, I’ve got to stay here. If the other cheerleaders realize I went missing in the middle of this, they’ll be sure I was behind it.” He handed his backpack to Charles. “You have to destroy the jug. Find a garbage incinerator somewhere and burn it. That’ll get rid of my fingerprints and any trace of the punch.”

Charles tried to give the backpack back to Barry, asking, “Won’t they suspect me if I suddenly leave?”

“The only person you interacted with was the coach, and he’s probably got a memory like a bowl of oatmeal right now. Nobody else will remember you.” He forced the backpack into Charles’s hands and pushed him toward the exit gate, then went to rejoin the other cheerleaders, feigning bafflement over what just happened.

Charles walked around campus, looking for a place to ditch the empty plastic jug and convinced that he’d be caught at any second. Eventually, he found an apartment building with an incinerator. He dropped the jug down the garbage chute and into oblivion with a relieved sigh. Although he was happy with how the punch had altered his life, Charles was glad to get it out of his life. Nobody, no matter how well intended, could be trusted with that kind of immense power.

Charles was dozing on his bed, wearing a pair of Jacob’s old underpants and a Captain America tee, when Jake returned to the room. Jake kicked off his boots, stripped off his bicycle shorts and flopped onto his bed naked, nearly collapsing the bed with his new weight. The thud shook Charles awake. He sat bolt upright and gazed across the room at his formerly nerdy roommate.

“Sorry, bro, didn’t mean to wake you,” Jake said in his rumbling Vin-Diesely tones. Without even being consciously aware of it, one of his hands lazily rubbed across his pecs and abs while the other stroked his dick. He just could not stop exploring his new physique.

Charles remarked, “So, Erik didn’t come back with you?”

“Nah, he just wanted to have more sex.”

“And you turned him down?”

“Weird, right? I dunno, there’s just something weird about fucking somebody who looks exactly like you. It’s like masturbation once removed. He’s nice and all, but a little too clingy. Now that I’ve got a body like this, I want to play the field for a while. I don’t want to be tied down. Unless, of course, that’s what the other guy is into.” Jake smirked.

“You slut,” Charles joked, flinging a pillow at Jake, who fired the pillow back at Charles. The force of the impact propelled Charles backwards into the wall and knocked the breath out of him. “Holy shit, you’ve gotten strong.”

“Yeah, I’m like constantly pumped”, Jake said, raising both arms so he could see his biceps peak. “Guess what? After things calmed down at the stadium, the assistant coach said they had a lot of holes in their roster now…”

“So to speak.”

“And he asked me and Erik if we wanted to audition.”

“It’s not called auditioning. It’s called trying out.”

“Kill me, I’m new to this. Man, if you told me two days ago that I’d be…TRYING OUT for the football team, I’da said you were nuts. But now, I feel like there’s almost nothing this body can’t do.”

“There’s one thing it can’t do, and that’s walk around campus buck naked. What do you say you and me get some clothes that fit?”

Jake’s cock rose at the thought of how great he would look in nice clothes, stylish clothes, clothes that his mom hadn’t bought at the thrift store. He pulled on some of Charles’s old sweat pants, a Packers tee with large armholes and a pair of Charles’ old Nikes that pinched his size-14 feet. Charles slipped on his borrowed board shorts and flip-flops and the roommates headed out to shop.

In the days after the unexplained transformations, media from around the world descended on campus. Everyone had theories about what could have caused such dramatic changes to spread through the football team. Radiation, sunspots, hormones in the city water supply. One professor of medieval studies came forward with a crazy story about a potion he had read about in a coded book from the Fifteenth Century, but when he couldn’t produce the volume which he swore used to be in his office, his theories were dismissed by even the looniest internet conspiracy nuts. Authorities did interview Barry, along with all the other football players and cheerleaders, but found no evidence that would connect him to the changes. Eventually, Coach Phelps of the football team became the prime suspect behind the changes. There had long been whispered rumors about his sexual inclinations, and he had disappeared from the stadium around the time that the transformations occurred. His red shorts were found behind the bleachers at the stadium with his wallet and cell phone inside the pockets. SInce then, there was no sign of him. It was like Coach Phelps didn’t exist any more.

None of the “change-ees” seemed uncomfortable in their new skins, although some who had undergone the most extreme changes, like the cheerleaders who swapped genders or the tackle who was now four-foot-three, did have trouble remembering that they even had a life before the change. The public was almost universally accepting of these people who’d been altered by the mysterious occurrence. There was no evidence to indicate that they had initiated the changes. It wasn’t their choice to be women or gay, that’s just who they were now. Because he was one of the large group who had been modified, it was much easier for Charles to explain to his family why his body had changed and for them to accept it, but now he had the courage to tell them that he had been gay even before the switch. His inner strength and his ability to look out for the underdog, characteristics which were always essential to his being, helped the charismatic Charles become a leader in gay causes on campus.

Charles and Jake helped each other ease into their new personas. Despite his new body’s innate abilities, Jake still had a lot to learn about football, so Charles gave him private lessons. Jake still retained his intellect, but between the demands of athletics and the kind of exciting social life he’d never experienced before, he was no longer the A+ student he had been throughout high school. It was a trade-off he didn’t mind making and, after a while, he rarely thought about his life before the punch.

They loved to kibitz on each other’s looks as they experimented with new images. No matter what, Charles’s new buzz cut never grew a millimeter longer, although he did discover that he could dye it, so he toyed with different colors before settling on a bright red ’do for most non-formal occasions. It went well with the gold hoops he had in both earlobes, but he had to make sure to keep the earrings in overnight or the holes would heal up. Similarly, he could still work out and get a good pump going at the gym, but it never made him gain an ounce. Once the punch had given you your ideal body, clearly that became the default you were “stuck” with and to which you would always revert. Similarly, Jake would occasionally get tired of dealing with his flowing blond locks and once went to the barber to get them shaved off completely, but by morning it had all grown back to its original length. If looking like Tarzan was the worst of his problems, he figured he could live with it. He took to tying it into a ponytail – except on game days, when he let his hair hang out from under his helmet.

Charles also discovered that he had been right about his new body being well-suited for the water, as he quickly became a rising star on the college’s swim team. Barry would sometimes come to the meets to root for Charles, although Charles suspected he was mainly there to ogle the other swimmers. One day, Barry approached Charles and informed him that he was sure one of the opposing swimmers was attracted to Charles.

“Don’t tell me. Your gaydar.”

“Nope,” said Barry, “my Speedo-meter.” He discreetly nodded in the direction of the boy’s swimsuit which was obscenely packed with a rod that nearly matched Charles’s. Charles’s eyes roamed upwards, past an Olympic-class torso to a self-confident smile, an adorable face, deep blue eyes which were fixed on Charles, and spiky chlorine-bleached hair. Barry watched as Charles practically melted at the sight of this Adonis. “Oh, man, you’re in the deep end now.”

Homecoming weekend was always a huge celebration on campus and, after the bizarre events of orientation week, things had finally settled down enough to put everyone in a party mood. Charles’s parents came to town to attend the homecoming football game with their son and his new friend Keith, who Charles introduced as a swimmer from one of their rival schools. Charles’s folks were pretty sure that “friendship” was not a complete description of Charles and Keith’s relationship, but they opted not to probe for further information. Once in a while, Charles got the itch to be on the field, but he was generally thrilled with the turns his life had taken.

Barry stood in front of the stands with the rest of the cheerleaders. He was regularly partnered with Stephanie who loved the feeling of her body being tossed in the air, carrying no memory of once being 300-pound Steve, who would have needed a catapult to become airborne like this. Barry would become frustrated with Stephanie’s lack of focus, as she was constantly looking toward the sidelines at her strikingly handsome boyfriend (once a strikingly beautiful cheerleader), who was on his way to becoming one of the team’s stand-out wide receivers.

Jake and Erik both made the varsity football squad, although they were still riding the bench until their skills improved. They decided not to let on that they had been part of the great metamorphosis, since basically nobody on campus knew them before the change anyway. It was easier to claim to be twin brothers who’d always been like this. Erik even legally changed his last name to Jake’s, to make the story more believable, but Jake thought Erik did it primarily because he was still obsessed with Jake. From time to time, they still fucked when no one would find them (it would seem too kinky for actual brothers to be so into each other), but to the campus at large, Jake was a very eligible and very gay football player. He had even hooked up with the quarterback a couple of times, although the QB was usually inseparable from his former center. The center was now too spindly to play his former position but seemed happy to stay close to the team as an equipment manager. If only he could stop the quarterback from making the same damn joke about “managing my equipment” every single time they made out. Jocks could be such Neanderthals.

The home team won in a blow-out, leading to much revelry on campus and off. While Jake and Erik celebrated with the rest of the team, Charles and Keith decided to check out an 18-and-over gay club they’d heard about. It was Charles’s first time in a gay disco, and the sights and sounds were overwhelming to him. They took to the dance floor immediately, where the other patrons urged the boys to strip off their shirts. Keith didn’t have to be asked twice, flinging his mesh tank top into the rafters, to the whoops of the crowd. Charles peeled off his sleeveless hoodie soon after and tied it around his waist.

Charles was surprised to see Mick standing against the wall in leather shorts and a black vest, surveying the crowd. “Oh my god, I see an old friend over there. I need to go talk to him.”

“Abandoning me already?”, said Keith.

“Never,” said Charles, rewarding him with a long soulful smooch before maneuvering his way off the floor.

He approached the imposing Mick cautiously and shouted over the music. “Hey, there! Remember me?”

Mick looked at him without moving his body. It took a few moments of study before the lightbulb went off. He yelled back, “The hair threw me!”

“Just something I’m trying! I’m surprised to see you out and about! I thought you never left your castle!”

“After Barry almost exposed the whole operation, I had to clear outta there! Figure I’ll find some remote corner of the world where I’ll be less conspicuous!”

“Then what are you still doing in town?”

“Just hoping to find a companion for my travels!”

“Oh! Seeing anyone you like?”

Mick shook his head, wincing at the pounding beat of the music and the flashing strobes. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, you don’t have the patience to deal with young brainless kids any more! No offense!”

“None taken!” Charles noticed a flask sticking out of the back pocket of Mick’s shorts.

“I thought this was a booze-free event! I see you brought your own!”

“It’s not booze! It’s the last of the punch!”

Just being in the presence of the punch again gave Charles the chills. “That’s all that’s left?”

“I can’t make more until my newt dealer is sure the heat has died down!”

“Aha! Well, it was nice to see you again, Mick! Good luck in your travels!”

Charles sidled his way to the bar to buy a couple of bottled waters from the chiseled shirtless bartender. As he waited for his drinks, Charles noticed a forlorn balding man in his forties standing on the fringe of the crowd. His attempt to fit in with the crowd stopped at rolling up the sleeves of his blue Oxford shirt and unbuttoning its top two buttons, exposing a few paltry greying hairs on his pale chest. Inclusive by nature, Charles decide to go speak to the man and welcome him to the club. Maybe give him a little thrill by flaunting his lean cut body up close.

“Hi there! I’m Charles! What’s your name?”, Charles screamed above the inescapable bass line of the music.

The man looked puzzled, as if there was no way a guy this hot could be approaching him. He quickly glanced at Charles and nervously looked away, shouting, “Robert!”

“Welcome, Robert!” Charles struggled to think what he could possibly talk about with this man a generation older than him.

Eventually, Robert broke the silence (if you can call it that, considering the din of the music blasting through the club).

“This is my first time in a gay club!”

“Me, too! It’s a lot to take in!”

Robert nodded and the conversation ground to another halt. Charles watched as Robert’s gaze was drawn to Mick, leaning against the wall with his powerful hairy arms crossed over his furry chest. Robert’s attention lingered there. Charles knew this look by now. A smile came to his lips. “I’ll be right back, Robert!”

Charles set his water bottles on the bar and asked the bartender to watch them for him, then slithered his way back toward Mick, clapping him hard on the shoulder. “I just realized I never expressed my appreciation for what you did!”

Mick stared straight ahead. “Don’t mention it!” Then, for emphasis, he looked Charles directly in the eyes and said firmly, “Seriously, don’t mention it! To anyone!”

“You got it!” As Mick looked back to the dance floor, Charles slapped Mick on the ass, while simultaneously slipping the flask from Mick’s pocket. “Just want to thank you properly!”

Mick grumbled gruffly, showing no sign that he realized his flask had been pilfered.

Charles made his way to the men’s room, where every stall seemed to be occupied by at least two people. He finally found an open stall and closed the door. Opening a bottle, he took a long healthy swig, then refilled the bottle with punch from the flask. Satisfied that the dosage should be more than enough for a transformation, he screwed back the cap, tucked the flask in his back pocket and returned to the dance floor.

“I brought you a water!”, he said, handing a bottle to Robert.

Robert looked appreciative but hesitant. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“You looked like you could use it. Go ahead, drink up!”

Robert took the bottle and opened it, not noticing that the cap had already been unsealed. He took a sip, and liked the taste. He returned the bottle to his lips and downed the entire contents greedily.

Charles pointed toward the wall. “You should go talk to my friend Mick over there!”

Robert looked intimidated. “I couldn’t talk to him!”

“Go ahead! I think you might have a lot in common!” Especially in a few minutes, Charles thought.

He pushed Robert in Mick’s direction and grinned as Robert made his first fumbling attempt at conversation.

Carrying the remaining untainted water bottle, Charles squeezed his way back to Keith at the center of the dance floor. Not wanting to be around when Mick eventually realized his flask had been stolen, Charles yelled, “I think we should leave!”

Keith looked confused. “But we just got here!”

“I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.” Charles smiled his perfect smile and raised his immaculately sculpted eyebrows. Instantly, Keith was eager to leave. He took Charles’s hand and led him toward the exit. In passing, Charles noticed that Robert and Mick were still talking, and that Robert had his fingers in his collar, as if it was starting to feel too tight.

On the way out, Charles and Keith passed a dance cage where a shaggy-haired skinny twink had just stepped into the spotlight to an approving roar. His bright youthful eyes flashed and he grinned, clearly loving the attention. He was wearing nothing but sneakers, a sequined jockstrap, and a coach’s whistle. “A coach’s whistle?”, Charles thought. He paused to get a better look at the dancer’s face, but Keith yanked him through the exit door.

Once outside in the cool evening air, Keith noticed the flask protruding from Charles’s back pocket. “Hey, wait a second. You’ve got a flask and you didn’t tell me? Give me a slug of that.”

Charles stopped in his tracks, took Keith’s hands and looked him over, studying him from the top of his spiked ’do down to the leather sandals on his feet. He shook his head. “No way.”

“Why not?”, Keith demanded.

“Because you’re perfect as is.”

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