I was eighteen, and the skinniest kid in my high school senior class of '83. At least, I thought so. All the other guys in phys-ed seemed to be beefier than me. Every afternoon, coming home from school, I trudged into my bedroom, pausing to look dismally in the full-length mirror while I was changing my clothes. I would run my fingers lightly over where my ribs touched the underside of my skin. Yes, I was thin. "Slender" and "wiry" were the words my mother and father preferred to use when describing my physique, but that didn't get around the fact that I had very little flesh on my frame. With the green eyes I'd inherited from my maternal grandmother, and the soft brown hair that continually hung down to my shoulders, I was good-looking. I knew that. The fact that half the girls in the school followed me around trying to get me to go to the prom with them told me so. Unfortunately for them, I wasn't the slightest bit interested.

No, my attention was on the jocks. Specifically, the members of our school's football and baseball teams. The ones whose bodies were so radically different from mine-thick, powerful, and masculine, unlike my own androgynous self.

I tried to make up for the lack of manhood I perceived in my own beardless, sexless features by joining the track team in my sophomore year. An effort to enter the ranks of my idols and become a jock. I suppose I half-expected that a miraculous transformation would occur in me once I had passed into this mysterious realm of manhood's passage. But puberty was not kind; though it spared me acne and mood swings, it also denied me my dream.

I quit the track team at the end of my junior year, despite my coach's efforts to talk me out of it. I told him I would not be running next year because I needed to concentrate on my studies and getting into a good college. He hinted that perhaps I should take into account the athletic scholarships that were being offered around the country at that time. I smiled secretly at his obvious attempts to manipulate the situation to his own advantage.

From the beginning of my senior year, I contented myself with hanging out on the school yard bleachers during football practice, watching the objects of my desire run, tackle, and slam into each other in a ritual of violent play. Funny thing, after I started hanging out on the bleachers in the spring, my classmates started to hang out with me, gravitating towards me as a focal point when their classes were over. I ignored them, but as the weeks passed, they came in greater numbers. After I made it clear that this was my "private time", they still bunched near me, thinking it was so cool to be near me because I didn't need anyone. But it was immediately after the Christmas break that my doom found me.

The day he appeared on the field, it aroused me out of my entranced contemplation of the linemen. I later learned from my contacts that he was a transfer student from another school in the area, and his name was Kyle Thomas, and he was beautiful. He was impossibly huge in his physical presence, and beguilingly graceful on the field, the contradiction coming together in his 6'3", 225 pounds of solid muscle. He kept his glossy black hair cut very short in the military style, and his pale blue eyes leapt out of that ruggedly chiseled face like jets of butane flame. Though I had learned to hide my most visceral reactions from my fellows (I knew I was gay and I also knew I didn't want to share it with anyone just yet), he tested my composure from the first day I saw him.

Against my better judgment, I no longer contented myself to be the passive observer. He was in none of my classes, but I had to be near him, see him up close. So, when the opportunity presented itself, I casually demonstrated an interest in becoming what passed for a sports paramedic for the team. I knew about sports injuries and how to treat them; I had interned with my uncle the doctor two summers ago. The football coach knew my uncle, so he was pleased when I offered my first aid skills to the team.

Looking back on it now, I think I may have been just a glorified towel boy. Yet my reputation was such that the position became much more than that, in the eyes of my would-be cronies, even with the faculty. No one questioned why I campaigned for such a thankless position.

I'm also sure that the allure that the jocks held for me stemmed from the fact that they didn't know me from Adam. They were a stratified bunch; any student not within their immediate circle was a virtual non-entity as far as they were concerned. They had heard of me, sure; but they were contemptuous instead of worshipful or even interested. Of course, they had to maintain a respectful demeanor when Coach was around. But when he wasn't.

Make no mistake; I encouraged their behavior. I gave them all the cues to take advantage of me when they could. I was so tired of the pedestal the rest of the school and my parents had placed me on that I welcomed the change. I wanted to be dominated, I wanted to be bullied.

It started off small, a couple of wisecracks here and there about nothing specific. When I didn't respond with wisecracks of my own, they smelled blood and easy prey. Kyle quickly established himself as my chief tormentor, and that was what I really wanted.

One day after practice, while the guys were showering down in the locker room, I was fixing the laces on my sneakers when someone draped something like a huge pale snake on my naked shoulder. I yelped in surprise and staggered against the lockers with a bang, even as I recognized it as a very large flaccid penis.

Kyle looked down on me in all his naked glory, the basement ringing with his teammates' laughter. Under the pretense of confusion, I scanned him from head to toe. It was hard to imagine that perhaps he had not reached his full growth, because in all ways he was a man. His chest was exquisitely sculpted, his pecs jutting forth like an overhanging cliff, the curly black hair around his groin traveling in a line along his stomach and vanishing midway up his torso. His thighs were huge, especially when compared to my own; when he slowly and deliberately stepped over the bench that separated us, it was like tree trunks coming alive and moving of their own volition. He had the shoulders of a bull, and, when he flexed his coconut-sized biceps at me for intimidation's sake, I nearly fainted. My self-control buckled underneath this assault on my senses; my cock stiffened, and my face flushed when I realized that if Kyle took this moment to look down at my crotch, the jig would be up.

With a savage grin, Kyle cornered me against the locker, his dick waving millimeters from my face. I could smell him, a scent of maleness and sweat and sex that dizzied me like wine. He grabbed the edge of my tank top in his fist and pulled me up off the floor to give an evil chuckle in my face.

"What's the matter, pretty boy?" he said over the ruckus, doing a little bump-and-grind against me. "Too much man for you to handle?" His teammates roared with renewed hilarity.

My mouth was too dry with desire for me to answer him. With maddening liberty, he shook me like a terrier shaking a rat. "C'mon, answer!" he barked. Then, he did the thing I was most afraid he'd do; he grabbed my crotch with his free hand, and found my manhood rock hard.

His only reaction was a widening of his nostrils, and an even bigger grin. "Hey, guys!" he called. "Check this out! The punk's got a hard-on!"

Kyle let me go as his teammates in various states of dress and undress clustered around us both. Their hands pawed me roughly, exploring my body, squeezing my cock and fear blended with my increasing arousal, both heightening to a fever pitch. I dared not come. This was the borderline of true danger. I didn't know how they would react if I actually climaxed right then and there. The fantasy was fraying at the seams.

Then, as if by consensus achieved through instinctive, communal thought, the team stripped off my tank top, my shorts, everything was peeled and ripped off of me. I did not resist. Finally, I stood before the entire football team in my bare skin, humiliated, and incredibly hot as they poked and prodded me.

"Wow! Look at him!"

"Skinny little fucker, ain't he?"

"That's what the girls are all screaming about? Ha!"

"He's nothin' but skin n' bones, man!"

"He's a scarecrow!"

"Yeah, that's his name!"

"Scarecrow! Hey, Scarecrow!"

"Our new mascot, Scarecrow!"

"Wait," Kyle interjected. His friends immediately quieted down, and he gestured for them to follow him as he stepped towards another corner of the locker room. They quickly huddled and started whispering; every so often one of them would look my way and snicker. I strained to hear what they were saying, and all I caught was, "great joke, man" and "yeah, I could use some of that".

My erection was just starting to fade when Kyle and the gang tromped back over to me.

"Okay, Scarecrow," Kyle began. "This is how it's gonna be. Unless you want us to spread this all over the school, you're going to do whatever we say. Clear?" I nodded stiffly.

"That means we're gonna do whatever we like with you, and you're not going to tell anybody about it."

I nodded again, this time managing to croak out, "What do you want?"

Kyle's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "It talks!"

General laughter took over the room. After it subsided, he said, "Well, you wanted to be up close and personal with us, right? Well, we're going to give you what you want." He grabbed his cock, and it stiffened and lengthened in his palm as he stroked it.

I fell to my knees. "I can't, it's too big," I begged.

Kyle grinned again. "Yeah, it's too big for ya now, dummy. We know that. You're too skinny to take it. I'd break you in a sec if I decided to use this." He shook his dick at me. "But we're gonna change that."

"H-huh?"

"From now on, you're gonna be our boytoy. And soon, you'll be our fat little boytoy." He reached out and pinched my flesh insolently. "You're gonna be our little piggy, and we're gonna get you nice and plump so that when we decide to fuck you, we're not fucking skin and bones. It's only fair. Most of our girlfriends won't put out because they say we're too big or too rough, and the others, well, they're chasing your skinny ass. By the time we're through fattening you up, you'll be a big lard-ass, and we'll see who's attractin' the girls then."

"But I..."

He slapped me gently on the mouth. "Ah-ah-ah," he warned. "No back-talk." He turned to face the rest of his compatriots. "C'mon, guys! Let's get dressed and fatten up our little piggy!"

They made me dress up and took me to the pizza parlor at the mall, where they cornered me in a booth and bought a half-dozen large pizza pies. They took turns urging me to eat, giving me warning looks and squeezes on my arm to force the slices down my throat. Kyle sat right next to me, reaching under my shirt and rubbing my stomach when it started to expand from the pizza. He cooed at me while I chewed and swallowed, and his touch....oh god, his touch was like silk. My gut muscles relaxed under his constant attention, and I ate far more than I thought I ever could, my cock as hard as it was back in the locker room. I managed to get down a pizza and three quarters of a second before my belly was rounded like a gourd.

How am I going to keep this up? They can't be serious! I thought. There was no way I was going to be able to eat enough to ever gain any weight. My metabolism was just too high, but I couldn't tell them that.

It was when Kyle hugged me mockingly in a friendly fashion before we stood up that I accidentally felt his erection through his sweats. Dumbfounded, I let the guys lead me away from the pizza place to the ice cream shop across the way. As hard as it was for me to believe, this force-feeding was exciting him as well!

As soon as I realized that, I thought, well, maybe I should give this a shot. I wanted to be heavier, and if a football team couldn't fatten me up, then nothing would.

Then again, looking at my motivation...

As I sat down to the six-scoop sundae the team bought for me, I took a deep breath and dove into what would be the strangest and most erotic experience of my life.

Three days. Three days of hanging out with the football team. Three days of almost non-stop eating.

They were the most surrealistic three days I had ever experienced. My parents, my friends in the neighborhood...they faded into the seemingly endless background of the hours I spent being fed by the physical giants I had once secretly worshipped from afar.

They were determined. God, once they had put their minds to the task, they were like pit bulls. You would think they were fattening the turkey for their Thanksgiving feast, their dedication was so unwavering. And the lengths they were going to unbelievable!

It was Kyle who charmed his way into my parents' house Friday night and won them over with his one-hundred-thousand watt smile. It was he who spun the fabrication that would allow he and his fellows to dominate my every waking moment during that first weekend.

"Oh, sure, Mr. and Mrs. Johnston," he said as he graciously accepted the glass of lemonade my mother offered him. "Your son's been a big help with the team. That's why we wanna take him along with us; 'cause he's part of the team now."

"In just two weeks?" my father wondered aloud.

"Oh, stop it, father," my mother said. "Haven't I been telling you how popular our son is?" She patted me on the shoulder with a proud smile. I watched bemused as my parents fell under his spell. It was a little disconcerting to be discussed as if I weren't present, and to see Kyle demonstrate social skills of manipulation that rivaled my own.

Kyle finished his drink with a flourish and a tinkle of melting ice. "Ma'am, I have to say, this is the best lemonade outside of my gram's house I've ever had." He handed her the empty glass and flashed her the pearly whites again. She didn't have a chance. She was almost as smitten with Kyle as I was.

"Sir," Kyle said, addressing my father directly, "it's not like the Scarecrow here ..."

"'Scarecrow?'" My father guffawed. "That's a good one! It fits!"

Despite the mutual infatuation we had with our guest, my mother and I were both about to protest, but Kyle was quick to add, "Everybody on the team's got a nickname like that...Slick Man, Fleetfeet...mine's 'Bull'. It's just for fun, ma'am."

"Mother, don't be so sensitive," my father chided. "It's all in fun, like the boy says." He picked his pipe up off the coffee table and started to fill it from his tobacco pouch. "I'm sure we've taken up enough of the boys' time. Why don't you show Kyle your computer system? Maybe then you could explain it to me," he joked with Kyle.

My face reddened with embarrassment at being sent along "to play" as if I were still five years old. But if it bothered Kyle, it didn't show. I mumbled, "C'mon, let's go upstairs."

When we were out of sight of my parents, I felt a slap on my backside that made me jump halfway up the staircase. I whirled around to find Kyle towering over me in the second floor hallway. He pressed me against the wall and grabbed my crotch with one hand, massaging it slowly. He slipped his other hand down my tank top, tweaking my almost non-existent nipple insolently. I gasped at his touch, terrified that my parents would catch us here, but at the same time, a wave of overwhelming pleasure washed through me that he had the upper hand here, and that he knew it.

"Let's go into your room, little Scarecrow," he whispered into my ear. "I have something to show you."

Oh, Lord, I thought, but there all conscious thought stopped. I fumbled with a doorknob I had turned thousands of times before this, but for some reason I was unable to manipulate simply. I was shaking with the power of his presence, here, in my family's home, heretofore sacrosanct of sexuality.

When I finally got the door open, he pushed me through. All of my senses were thrumming with the nearness of our encounter outside. When I turned to face him, he was larger than life against the backdrop of my bedroom; he dwarfed everything around him. I heard the click of the tumblers in the door lock. I smelled the faint scent of Old Spice as Kyle took off his varsity jacket and threw it on the floor. He didn't seem nervous or worried that someone might knock on the door at any moment when he continued to undress. Me, I was petrified with desire for him and fear of discovery.

"Take off your clothes," he commanded. Obediently, I slipped off my tank top, and paused.

"I didn't say stop, did I, Scarecrow?" he snapped. "Take it all off!"

My heart was pounding as I kicked off my shoes, shucked my pants, then my jockeys. When is this going to stop? When is he going to laugh and tell me I'm a fag? I didn't expect anything less. There was nothing that I had seen in Kyle during the weeks we had been together that would convince me that he was going to go any farther then this personal hazing.

I stood naked in the center of my bedroom, trembling, my skin vibrating under the slight draft coming from the window. I was dimly aware of being grateful that I preferred my blinds shuttered and the curtain drawn at all times, and that my mother respected my privacy enough not to disturb that while she was cleaning the house.

Kyle moved around behind me, and let his fingers travel up my spine. I surprised myself and didn't flinch as he stroked my shoulder blades. As he moved away from the door, I saw myself in the mirror, vulnerable, skinny, younger than my eighteen years in the light of my eternally bright desk lamp, cock bobbing up and rigid with want of release. Kyle was taller than the top of the mirror; his head disappeared as he changed position, his body rendered as a faceless god who owned me, body and soul.

"Scarecrow," my god murmured, "do you see yourself?"

"Y-yes."

His hands strayed to my meager buttocks, cupping them as he leaned against me. I closed my eyes and prayed as he spoke. "No strength in that stick of a body of yours," he continued. "No flesh. No meat."

"I ... I know." This time, my entire body was mantled with my shame; the redness spread across my skin like sin.

"That's gonna change, Scarecrow." He leaned against me again, shoving me toward the mirror. "It's all gonna change." Shove. "Better be ready for it." Shove.

Finally, I was forced to lean against the mirror to avoid being toppled. Up close, I saw the shadows of my ribs under the dark spots of my pecs, the ghost of bone jutting from my hips. My cock was the fleshiest part of me, smooth, cut, seven inches with the honey of pre-cum glistening in its single eye. I shivered as I remembered Kyle's far larger manhood in the locker room.

Suddenly, his hands came into view. One grasped my cock, the other came to rest on my stomach.

His breath was hot against my ear. "This is what's gonna happen to you, Scarecrow." He stroked my shaft and massaged my stomach, still somewhat full, but no longer distended. "You're gonna get fat, boy.

His hand drifted up from my stomach to the flesh under my jaw, tugging it gently. "You're gonna start gettin' a double chin first. Then your face is gonna start roundin' out. Then, you're gonna start gettin' tits." He pinched my nipples, pulling on them, and I reeled with the sensations shooting through me. "Your tits will swell. Then your ass will start gettin' wider, and wider, and your thighs'll start rubbing against each other when you walk." He patted my buttocks in an obscene yet thrilling parody of my mother's touch of comfort earlier. He paused, and I was so lost in his words that mentally I stumbled.

Then, impossibly, I felt something huge part my ass-cheeks. Before I realized what was coming, it seemed like a log had slid into my ass chute. I bit down on my lips to avoid crying out, and tasted blood on my lips as the invasion continued as inexorable as doomsday. God, the pain! But I wanted him in me, so badly that I would kill for the pleasure of being filled. And he held me with all of his strength, supporting me as we merged. I writhed around the pillar of his manhood, a sacrifice on the altar of all he was.

As the pain subsided, the pleasure of completion replaced it, but it was nothing compared to the start of his fucking me. I cried inside my soul at the sheer totality of it. I didn't wonder how he'd managed to sheathe himself in me without a clue or warning of his intention. I was lost on his mastery of me.

As his hips ground against my back, his words became more guttural while he continued to describe my fate, massaging my stomach almost exclusively now:

"...But the best part will be your belly growing. Tonight was nothing, man, we're gonna shove meals down your throat every hour we can get with you. It's gonna start with little love handles and your navel gettin' a little deeper. Then your pants are gonna get too tight. By that time, there'll be flesh on your stomach, hangin' down over your belt. You know what I mean? We're gonna fill ya up. I'm gonna fill ya up. You're gonna get a gut that sooner or later everyone that knows ya is gonna see. You're gonna be our little porker, our little fat bitch."

I think I moaned; whether it was denial or affirmation is lost to me. He was jerking me off faster now. I was coming to the brink. I felt him becoming savage in his thrusts. My world was collapsing in what sounded like thunder, but was only the gritted breath of animals in heat. I saw in my mind what he intended for me, and I gave myself over to the mindlessness of being his chattel.

"You are getting fat," my mother announced one Saturday morning.

"What?" I said, swiveling away from my computer keyboard to face her. My face reddened as I tried to hide my embarrassment and surprise at her observation. "What was that?"

"I said, you're getting fat," she repeated good-naturedly as she folded the last of my denims from the laundry basket into my drawer. "I don't think these jeans are going to fit you any more, but I'm going to put them in here for now anyway, until I think of a place to put them."

I wanted to ask her what made her say that, but she continued without any prompting, seeking to allay my concerns. "It's to be expected, really. Your body's changing, like everyone's does at your age. You grow some, but not gain any weight...then, you put on the weight but you don't grow...It happens to everyone, sweetheart."

I felt too strange to comment. I continued to shuffle my emotions around long after she left my room. I closed and locked the door behind her, then I drew the shades and turned to look at myself in the mirror.

I didn't know what to think. I was simultaneously thrilled that she had noticed, and filled with a weird shame at my arousal. It wasn't my mother that was turning me on, by no means. Her observation was just the most concrete sign of the slow metamorphosis I had begun three months back at the command of the object of my intense infatuation.

Even without taking off my clothes, I knew there were visible changes in my appearance. My face was no longer gaunt or birdlike; it was well-rounded now, my cheeks fuller, the curve of flesh that was a double chin shaded under my jaw-line. There were two tented spots on my T-shirt where my pecs had plumped and grown. "To think this was once too big for me," I thought as my eyes traveled down to my stomach area, where extra flesh was causing the fabric to slope outward, showing the beginnings of a definite gut. My shorts were transitioning from being snug to tight, and my thighs rubbed each other when I moved. Mesmerized, I let my hands drift under my shirt and over my crotch to gently squeeze my belly and my cock, both of which were now firm and silky smooth. I inhaled sharply at the sensation, and closed my eyes, thinking of Kyle, imagining it was his hands touching me.

Not for the first time in months did I think, "What's happening to me?"

We went on that camping trip in the mountains about a month after my initiation. I'd never liked camping before, but I found myself looking forward to it, and dreading it at the same time. The thought that this was still some kind of sick practical hazing joke was never far from my mind. My situation was precarious; if this situation ever got out at school, I wouldn't be able to finish the year. Worse still, I'd have to explain it to my parents. It was all too much to think about. I pushed all worries aside the morning during spring break that the team came to pick me up to go.

Kyle, with his usual charisma, assured my parents that we would have a good time and that the coach would be meeting them at the bus station in an hour.

My father was beaming the whole time; he'd often tried to get me involved in more "manly" activities with him, but his work schedule and my reluctance had both conspired to erect this invisible barrier between us when it came to things like that. My mother fussed as usual, and made sandwiches for the entire team to eat on the way. I watched with a mixture of amusement and dismay: I knew I would probably be made to eat those sandwiches on the trip up to the campsite, in addition to the snacks the team had threatened to bring along.

As planned, when we got to the rendezvous with the other members of the team, Kyle called my house and told my parents that it looked like the coach had had a family emergency, so he wouldn't be accompanying the team after all.

From what I heard of Kyle's side of the telephone conversation, my mother wasn't too thrilled about the idea of the team going anyway, but my father was easily convinced that the team could get along fine without the coach, as long as I managed to check in every once in a while during the week.

Since Kyle's brother owned a used car lot, it was no problem for Kyle to "borrow" a couple of vans for the week after collecting a deposit from the rest of the team for his brother's peace-of-mind; they'd done it before. As soon as we were well on the road and out of the city, Kyle turned around from the front passenger seat, and said, "Guys, let's do it."

I was sandwiched between two of the defensive linemen when he said this.

Immediately, they grabbed me, and started stripping me of my clothes. I only half-resisted; I had expected this, even though I hadn't thought that it would start quite this soon. Pretty soon I was down to my briefs.

"Start passing him around, guys!" Kyle yelled, and the team cheered. I was lain across the laps of the three that were seated behind the driver's section. Without hesitation, they started feeling me up roughly, pinching my ass, squeezing my nipples, licking me all over as if in preparation for a gang bang. They did this for several minutes until they were sure I was nearing the edge. Then, they started to feed me.

They fed me for an hour and a half. I was shoved back and forth between seating arrangements like a party favor while the sandwiches my mother made were thrust down my throat and my cock pumped as I chewed and swallowed.

They never let me come, however. The world sort of faded in and out that entire time.

By the time we arrived, my stomach had grown several inches. I could barely walk; the food was pressing my gut outward like a gun. Kyle had parked the vans on a dirt road hidden in the woodlands of the surrounding area, so the team felt no compunction to give me back my clothes. I was forced to walk to the campsite in my jockeys, while the team laughed and rubbed my swollen belly. Thankfully, one of the guys had smoothed insect repellent over the entire length of my body when he'd "had" me in his lap.

They set up camp; I wasn't "allowed" to help, Kyle's orders. Instead, someone had to keep feeding me while the team put up the tents. My belly wasn't to deflate at any time.

It was torture. They shucked their T-shirts, their skin soon glistening with sweat while they worked and then played under the afternoon sun. All those bodies, heaving and exerting right before my eyes, all different builds and musculature's joining each other in the rites and games of manhood. It felt as if I were beholding a sacred mystery. Then I thought of myself as the fattened calf, and I shivered, with anticipation or fear, I didn't know.

Kyle took his turn feeding me cold pizza and potato chips when the sun was going down. I had never felt so full for so long in my life. If someone had told me a year ago that this kind of bondage would happen to me, I would have written them off as a nut case. If they had told me I would enjoy it, I would have buckled the straitjacket myself.

Feeling his hard body propping up my own as I leaned against him, I was hard, but allowed no release. He murmured in my ear words that I can't recall but which I knew had to do with my degradation and my transformation, and I gasped with pleasure and fear at the sights he painted.

When I returned from that week-long camping trip, I had gained 10 pounds, and 2 inches to my 28" waist.

Now I was here...34" and thirty pounds heavier. I had reached a milestone: by myself I couldn't have gotten past my original 28" and 130 pounds. Now I weighed 170...but that wasn't going to be enough. For my height of 5'9", I was going to have to hit 200 before I could even begin to satisfy Kyle. And hiding the extent of my weight gain from my parents was getting harder and harder. My stomach was softening some, but still spilled over the waistline of my shorts. I was thrilled and terrified.

"What's happening to me?"