Ryder the Emo Skateboarder Becomes Aiden the Alternative Jock By kooldoggie
"Oh, fuuuck," Ryder groaned in disappointment, feeling that all-too-familiar urge to change seize his pale, emo-slender body. This had come totally out of the blue, six months after returning to Seattle and getting back to their normal life. Ryder once again worked as a barista at the coffeehouse, giving him plenty of time to work on his poetry and his sketches when he wasn't skateboarding with Justin around town, just two model-pretty scene kids with their boards, standing out from the crowd. Memories of all the transformation adventures they had experienced gradually faded as day-to-day routine took over their lives.
But today after work, Ryder had made the mistake of veering from the skate park where he hung with his friends and deciding to cool down at a bench right by the field where the football players from the local high school practiced. It was a warm spring day, and many of the pumped jocks were shirtless as they ran their plays, a pleasant sight to the gay emo artist, who took out his sketchbook and began taking his art pencil to vignettes of the boys at play. And then his pale, slender hand with the black nail polish had started trembling, and Ryder knew he had expressed entirely too much longing in his soul toward becoming one of those exquisite football jocks.
Grumbling, Ryder threw off his beanie and ran his pale hands through his perfect black hair, ruffling it in agitation. The burning in his slight chest was causing him to hyperventilate. "No, no, man, no!" Ryder whined within his head. He couldn't let this happen now, when he was weak and unprepared. The jock was quickly taking over, he knew, and Ryder fucking hated jocks and their arrogant, stuck-up attitudes, their mindless aggressiveness and blunt minds, although he had lived as a couple such jocks... The sensitive emo panicked at the thought he might even turn out as homophobic as some of those high school kids, whom he had seen calling out gay insults at their fellow teammates. True, he'd been lucky enough to always be gay in even his most thuggish and jockish incarnations, but that might not always be the case. While he still had his mind, he needed to find a way to temper the emerging, raging football jock pushing its way out of him.
He scampered toward a more isolated part of the school, behind the gym, where he might be able to change without notice. He groaned deeply again, his once light, subtle tone of voice seeming deeper and more aggressive. He placed a pale, slender arm against the wall, watching the star tattoos on the flesh already starting to fade as the skin darkened and the muscle grew stronger and thicker. Ryder frantically thought of which incarnation could temper the jock, someone as diametrically opposed to the jock as possible, and then it hit him: Kieran! The little hippie boy, slender and friendly, cute to the bone and open to all, he'd be just the one to fight back against his most aggressive jock impulses. The deed was done; the fusion began.
His slight torso was growing much buffer, his My Chemical Romance T-shirt getting increasingly tighter, the sleeves starting to tear around his growing biceps. Ryder fought his way out of it, letting the now fitness-model ripped torso breathe in the fresh air. The tattoos were fading from his chiseled abs, the stars from off his tight hips, as the navel ring fell out. Fight, damn it, fight, Kieran, the impulse went through his brain. He simply wouldn't be some over-muscled meathead. At last, the muscle was reaching its limit, the bones still strong for sports but remaining rather slender. In compensation, the height had to reduce, as Kieran had been so small. The once gangly, six-foot-tall emo pushed down a few inches, allowing the buffer muscle to look that much more prominent. He would be among the smallest of the football jocks, by no means a hulking linebacker brute, which Ryder had feared, but perhaps a fleet-of-foot quarterback, reliant on his speed and dexterity to run plays and make touchdowns. Yeah, that's what was happening. This jock would have a lot of Kieran's mellowness as well, perhaps would smoke pot occasionally, at parties, when he didn't need to have his wits about him for practice.
Ryder, now thinking of himself more as Aiden, felt all this coming to pass, as the black skinny jeans, now way to narrow for his pumped-up footballer legs, transformed into a pair of tights that conformed to his still small, muscular butt and wicked, speed-skater style thighs. The checkerboard Vans skate shoes became a pair of football cleats, the bulging, hairless, lightly tanned calves above them. Yeah, Aiden was still hot and ripped, if not a big boy like the other jocks. He made up for it profoundly with his tight, coltish muscle, dense strength and lightning speed, as well as his hot looks that had won him many a modeling job. So much of cute Kieran was coming out in his face now, the large blue eyes, the elfin nose with the freckles splashed across it, though the face was a bit stronger featured and squarer on his thicker neck. The black color faded out of the wheat-blonde hair, growing longer to hit his round, wide shoulders. Even a bit of Kieran's braid returned, a shorter one, dropping down the side against his gold-hooped ear to brush against his tanned cheek. Most of the other piercings had disappeared, other than the nipple piercings, and the tattoos left upon his ripped body were a barbed wire around one thick bicep, the old calligraphic style FORMIDABLE returned to the other one. The leather dog collar around his neck turned into a simple silver chain with a locket containing a photo of his boyfriend.
Yeah, Aiden was almost there. He was definitely a different kind of jock, an alternative type, quick in intelligence as well as on the field. He also enjoyed the arts and was a good sketch artist as well. And he played guitar like a fiend, just as Kieran before him, albeit not really into folk tunes but a slightly harder classic rock.
He ran a bigger hand through his long blonde hair, which he kept tied back in a ponytail during games. The other players liked to tease him, calling him "artsy fag." So what if he was gay? He kicked ass on the field and could trash talk back to them, saying they were just jealous since they couldn't have his ass. What were they going to do? They wouldn't risk losing their star quarterback, and even so, Aiden was highly likeable, a gentle guy despite all the trash talk, and a few of the closeted players wondered if they really could have a relationship with the sweet dude. But the cocky jock was too good for them. Besides, he did have a boyfriend, remembering emo skateboarder Justin. He thought he'd forgotten about him, but luckily, they were still lovers, Aiden totally getting off on the skateboarder's artsy vibe and hot looks, of course.
Aiden sighed, allowing his pumped chest to grow more solid. He had wound up at 5'9", 160 lbs. of jock-model madness, a dude proud to go shirtless. But where was his letterman's jacket? He found it on the bench he had left earlier, and he slipped it on, leaving it open to show off the round pecs and carved abs. He changed back into his high-top sneakers, and, with a smirk on his face as he thought of topping his emo boyfriend tonight, he picked up his sports bag and sauntered off toward the arts district where they lived. Justin would be in for quite a surprise.