Super Bowl BBQ

“Fuck bro, you gotta try one of these kebabs. They’re fucking sick!”

Evan’s jaw dropped. He was staring at his best friend Joe—or at least, it used to be his best friend Joe. Joe has invited him over for a Super Bowl BBQ. He just bought a new grill and was excited to make his dad’s “special kebab recipe.”

One bite of the kebab and Joe began to… change. There was no better way to describe it; Joe had always been something of a slacker, pale, soft around the middle. But in the span of one commercial break, Evan watched his good friend transform into a meat-head jock. His skin bronzed, his flab disappeared, and his muscles got so large, they tore the Patriots shirt from his back.

“Evan, bro, you still there?”

Evan shook himself out of a trance. He’d always considered himself to be pretty straight edge (with an emphasis on the “straight”) but he couldn’t stop undressing Joe with his gaze. To be honest, he didn’t really need to; Joe was very, very shirtless, and his shorts were so tight, Evan could easily make out the shape of his dick through the sweaty fabric.

“Joe,” Evan said, “what did you put in those kebabs?!”

Joe laughed a dopey laugh. It was so hot. “I told you bro, it’s my dad’s secret recipe. It’s more fun to watch football when you look like you could play it.”

“… Right.” This was too weird. Never in a million years would he have been attracted to Joe. But here he was, trying to hide his erection and entertaining the very real possibility of turning into a huge, football jock just like him. Maybe just a bite?

Evan took one of the skewers off the grill. The meat sizzled, dripping hot juices all over the freshly charred onions and peppers. “Here goes nothing,” Evan said, and took a bite.

One bite became two. Two bites became three. “Woah, bro,” Joe said, “slow down!” Evan looked down. He’d eaten two whole skewers. Joe ate only one.

Evan was sweating balls. “What’s going to happen?”

Joe shrugged, “dunno. I’ve never eaten that many.” And then he grinned. That stupid, dopey grin, “maybe you’ll turn into an actual football player.”

Evan gulped. He was becoming acutely aware of his body, of his shirt, pressed tight against his chest, his dick, which was so big it was forcing his zipper down. He scratched his face. Stubble was coming in thick. And Evan could barely grow a mustache before…

“I have to use the bathroom—“ he rushed inside the house. As he walked, his massive shoulder blades caused the fabric stretched across his back to strain. His shoes were so tight now that his feet were a full size bigger, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to get his pants off.

The second he slammed the bathroom door, he started to try. He had titan legs now, powerful thigh muscles capable of propelling him across a field at lightning speed. With arms strong enough to throw a touchdown, he tore his shirt from his chest. Evan’s pecs heaved up… down… up… down…

Man, transforming was a real workout. It was like his body was going through a thousand high-intensity training sessions all at once, making years of progress in a matter of seconds. Abs that would have taken years to carve out appeared instantaneously, a beard that’ve taken months to grow sprouted on his face in less than a minute.

He’d worn boxers that day, but you wouldn’t have been able to tell: his underwear was flush up against his skin now, constricting around his ass and riding up his thighs. In addition to all the muscle growth, his libido was off the charts, and he could see the veins on his uncut cock through the drenched boxer shorts.

“Fuck… FUUUUUCK.” Evan growled, his voice deeper. He let out a primal victory cry as he tore off his shorts and shot a load all over Joe’s bathroom. He gave his muscles another flex. So this is what it feels like to be a football player. Suddenly, being at a BBQ watching the game felt so strange; he needed to be playing it. He needed to be out on the field, representing his team. He needed to hear the roar of the crowd, feel the cameras on his face. On his body…

Joe was in the middle of grilling some more kebabs when Evan stepped outside, looking a lot more like Julian Edelman than gangly old Evan. He had a towel from Joe’s bathroom wrapped around his waist, though it was doing a poor job of hiding his rock hard cock.

“He bro,” Evan smiled, “you have any clothes I can borrow?”