Exchange Program

[6 word request: College Exchange Program Affects Jocks, Nerds]

It was the wrong morning to have “the talk” with Russ. I knew when I saw the tweet blasting around my feed: “Big drama at the Fat Farm last night!” That’s what we called the house that five of the linemen lived in. Nearly a ton of bulky, durable, incredibly hungry human occupied that house, and when beer flowed, emotions ran high.

I was just a running back. When we get angry and sloshed we put holes in walls. Those big buffalo over at the Fat Farm could flip cars if they wanted too, and give them enough beers and enough of a reason and I wouldn’t put it past any of them.

Except Russ. I liked to think that he was different from the rest of them. But I was biased.

Anyway.

There was a metal trashcan bashed all to shit in the middle of the lawn, its contents swirling around the cul-de-sac where the Fat Farm was located. There were lots of pizza boxes and empty bottles of ranch dressing, and a tiny tornado of Big Mac wrappers had formed.

Two steps in the door and Cliff was already in my face. That asshole was icing his face and wincing every time I looked at him. I had heard the rumors; Russ hit him. I hadn’t heard why. “What happened to your face?” I asked. “Shaving accident?”

Cliff growled. I wasn’t afraid of him. 350 pound brute toppled like a tree if you hit him. Now, gear him up and slap him on the field, he would be unstoppable; but that big sally couldn’t take a punch to save his life--as his little performance was demonstrating.

I kicked past the beer cans in the hallway and headed up the stairs. “You going up to that fat fucker’s room?” Cliff asked as he thundered after me. I loved how a guy who actually outweighed Russ by 20 pounds--and, overall, was the more rotund of the two with a huge protruding belly and nowhere near the muscle Russ had--felt comfortable calling anyone a “fat fuck”.

I knocked on Russ’ door but Cliff shoved me back. “Look, I’ve been trying to get in there all fucking morning but the door is locked. And unlike SOME PEOPLE--” (he shouted these last words through the door) “--I’m too civilized to just smash a door off his hinges. WHICH YOU OWE ME FOR, ASSHOLE!”

I didn’t have time for this drama. This guy had five inches and a hundred pounds on me, but I wasn’t going to let him steal my spotlight. I had an envelope folded in half and crammed in my back pocket, but I was planning on laying my speech on Russ from memory, but I wasn’t going to do it with Big Brutus here anywhere within earshot. (Jesus, linemen, time your little tiffs better and quit stepping on my moment!)

Cliff put a fist to his hip and frowned, turning away with a pout. “If you talk to him before I do tell him he’s got some serious business to answer for--specifically about his fist and my face!” The whole house shook as Cliff bounded down the stairs. I was shocked he didn’t crash through them.

I knocked more gently, softly calling through, “Hey, Russ? Buddy? It’s me. I’m alone.” Maybe he was still sleeping. “Look, I really wanted to talk to you if you, y’know… weren’t too banged up from whatever happened last night.”

I heard the lock on the door click, then soft footsteps hustling away. (Soft footsteps? Russ was built like a moose on growth hormones!) I reached out and turned the knob and slipped in.

“Holy shit,” I said when I saw a scrawny little nerd standing in front of the mirror wearing a white t-shirt like a nightgown. I quickly locked the door behind me and slowly walked forward. I’d heard about the exchange program happening--we all got a million e-mails and a pamphlet and had to sit through that one hour movie all about the process--but I had no idea it would affect starters or Captains, and Russ was both.

But even if I hadn’t known this might be happening, I knew the guy--the LITTLE guy!--in that t-shirt was Russ. It had Russ’ pit stains, and the tear in the back from when Russ put on 20 pounds before last season and his back just blew up until he was wide as a movie screen. The rest of his clothes--a pair of sweatpants with boxers still inside, that obviously slid off his tiny frame as he hopped out of bed and pooled on the floor where they lay then--looked ludicrously large as I examined them empty, with only a 90 pound wisp of a guy standing nearby. How could a man have been big enough to fit into those fuckers?

“Russ, are you… okay…”

He pulled himself from his reflection, his eyes wet with tears. I couldn’t believe my big old gorilla of a man was actually about to cry--my heart broke and I wanted to touch him, but I felt like he’d shatter if I moved too quickly.

“It’s okay,” I began, relieving him of the duty of needing to speak first. “It’s only temporary, maybe just a couple weeks, and I guarantee coach will need you back on the team so bad they’ll change it all back.”

He just shook his head. I took a few steps toward him and then grabbed him, pulling him close.

“You’re so… big!” he said, his voice unrecognizably high. Then he sobbed into my chest. The last time we’d been close like this, my face was buried in his huge hairy upper chest. He was bouncing his pecs against my face because he knew I loved it. The bed beneath us groaned with every tiny shift of my massive man’s body. This little guy I held now felt like he would crunch like an empty can if I applied any pressure.

“Fuck!” I said out loud, causing the little guy to jump. I held his arms tightly, my thumbs and forefingers crossing over each other. I gently reached out and rubbed his shoulder, putting my other hand on his lower back and rubbing gently. I felt like I was steadying a skittish little bunny. “Sorry,” I said in a lower voice. “But… you think Cliff complained about whatever happened last night? If he called in that you hit him, maybe they…”

Russ nodded. He wiped his tears away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t feel… at all like me today…” He paced around the room, tripping over the length of his t-shirt every few steps. I noticed he avoided his discarded clothes as he paced. “I feel so… tired. Like moving is so hard. Which is weird because I weigh, like… nothing! Also, I think… I think I have asthma.”

I took a few steps toward him. He still had his icy grey eyes, his curly brown hair. His body had not only deflated (losing what must have been two-hundred pounds of muscle and bulk) but he had shrunk down as well, standing a good foot shorter than I was now. He was barely a fraction of the man I’d facetimed the night before, asking if he wanted to talk. He was leaving the bar then. He told me some gym monkey started with him and punched him right in the abs.

“Big old keg belly, better than kevlar,” he’d said, giving his iron gut a few good thumps.

But I could still see him in this scrawny little body. I reached toward him and he jumped again.

“I hate looking up at you like this,” he said. Tears welled up again. “Why the fuck am I crying? It’s like… I can’t control my emotions…” He gently slapped himself--I’d seen him full-on sock himself in the face at full size to get himself revved up for a game, and this was the mini-version of it, I assumed--but it only caused more tears to flow. “I know stuff, too… It’s like, I’ve been remembering stuff. All morning. I’ve got a headache.”

“Remembering stuff?” I asked, heading to his closet. I wondered if there was anything he could change into that wouldn’t look so humiliating on him. All I found were 5XL-sized everything. Maybe a hoodie wouldn’t look so dumb?

“Like, algebra. From high school. And a bunch of books I don’t even think I read…” He sniffled, trying to compose himself. “I can name every element. In order. Want to hear?”

There was a note of pride amidst the confusion in his voice. I’m not positive what kind of look I gave him, but it must have shamed him. His posture got even more noodley.

“And I’m forgetting stuff… football stuff.” He sobbed and the tears started again.

I’d put together an old zip-up from freshman years and some beat-up shorts with a long drawstring. He would have to go barefoot but it was better than nothing. “We’re getting you out of here,” I said.

“What? Why?”

“Because if they changed you that quick, that means they made some dork out there big like you,” I explained. “And that means they’re on their way over here with him right now, and they’re gonna take you and bring you to live in his place, wherever that is…”

“So what am I going to do?” Russ said, looking around. His voice got shrill and irritating. I could tell his breathing was starting to bother him.

“We’ll hide you out somewhere. Maybe you can stay at my place. Or, I dunno, I have a buddy who’s in Europe for the semester but his apartment’s paid for. Maybe you can stay at his place.”

“Dude, if I don’t cooperate, how am I ever going to get turned back?” he said. Now it was his turn to comfort me, putting a small hand on my shoulder. “You said it yourself, it’s just for a couple of weeks.”

“I just, I can’t let you go out there and… have people treat you like… like…”

Something big hammered on the door, making both of us jump. The door swung open and an absolute monster duck his head and turned sideways to fit through the door.

I was under the impression that the “student exchange program” would be 1-to-1, as in, the jock takes on the basic shape of the nerd and vice-versa, but this brute looked like he was stuffed with bowling balls. Seriously, he was head -to-toe muscle, not built like a mountainous lineman but like a chiseled superhero! I couldn’t believe the way he bulged when he moved, or how veiny he was. (Or his lantern jaw, or his perfect teeth, or his wavy black hair, for that matter.)

“Hey guys!” he said in a deep baritone voice, clapping a hand over a massive pec. “Geez, sorry, still getting used to these vocal cords--and I feel like I have the lungs of a whale!” Russ had taken a step back and behind me. He had a death grip on my shirt.

“Uh, hey,” I said, taking a step forward. The big brute shook my hand. I mean, my teammates’ hands were huge, but I had no idea how muscley a hand could be!

“I’m Spencer!” he boomed. Spencer stomped into the room and stooped to one knee to shake Russ’ hand, like he was talking to a pet. “Hey, are you the guy I’m swapped with? Nice to meet you, bro! Cool room!”

Spencer looked like he was about to explode out of the Granite State University sweatshirt he was crammed into, and the sweatpants (which fit him like capris) were splitting at the seams. “Hey guys, I hate to be weird, but… mind if I help myself to something to wear? I feel like if I laugh too hard I’m gonna pop out of this thing.”

Without waiting for a response Spencer headed to the closet, rifling through Russ’ clothes. “Oh, wait,” he said, tossing a duffel bag to Russ. Had I not been behind him to catch him, it would have smashed him flat on the ground. “That’s some of my clothes for you--Russ, is it, right? Man, Russ, I’m really excited to switch things up for a little while. I fucking LOVE being this big! I can’t wait to go to the gym…”

He paused after grabbing a big tank top and some shorts. “Hey, bro, are you on the team too? You wanna go lift with me? I mean, I feel like I’m strong as shit, but I have no idea what I’m doing in there. I don’t want to look like an idiot!”

Russ had pulled a couple of items out of the backpack and looked at them sadly: a tan polo shirt with a corner pocket and a pair of pleated khakis with the belt already threaded. He walked toward the door with the items, staring at them--no doubt pondering how tiny they were, yet perfectly sized for his new body.

“Russ, this is still your room,” I piped up, but he was already gone.

Spencer stripped down without fear in front of me. He needed my help to pull the sweatshirt over his huge lats, and the as he struggled to get his sweats off his huge quads, he just tore them off, letting a MASSIVE dick flop free.

Russ’ body, when he was big, was hairy and soft, bulky but solid. Hugging him was like wrapping your arms around a warm chimney. But this guy was shredded, hairless, and shiny. He was pale, too, but probably only because up until a few hours ago I assume he was as small and sickly as Russ now was. I had no doubt he’d be walking around shirtless whenever he could--and with that big floppy monster cock, I imagined he’d probably have no fear striding around the locker room showers, either. He had trouble stuffing it into Russ’ pants. I felt like I was betraying my guy for even thinking it, but his soft dick was about as big as Russ’ at full mast.

Russ softly padded into the room as Spencer was pulling socks on his massive (size 17 I guessed) feet. Spencer grinned, flashing a big, pearly white smile and bouncing his bushy eyebrows. “Holy shit, those clothes look a little baggy on you!” he said. It was undeniable, but my heart broke for Russ as he struggled to bear the comment. “Oh, by the way, they said medical conditions have kinda shifted, so…” Spencer reached into the bag and handed Russ an inhaler. “Give that a puff, little guy. You’ll feel a ton better.”

Russ looked from me to the giant musclepile next to me and squeezed the inhaler. He blinked, his posture reacting as the medicine took effect.

“Anyway,” Spencer said as he flopped down on Russ’ bed. (THe sound of that frame creaking really triggered some memories.) “There’s a guy outside ready to take you back to my place. Careful with my roommate, though. He’s a real bully. You should have seen his eyes when I woke up this morning! I think he’ll be relieved to know he’s back to living with a little guy again. My advice? Make sure you’re out of the house before he gets home in the morning, and wear headphones when you study. He fucks really loud and comes out of his room naked a lot. Plus, he’s gonna smoke cigarettes in the house. I asked him not to and he legit gave me a wedgie.”

Russ’ body tensed, but I heard a horn honk outside. I peered outside and there was, in fact, a van out there waiting.

“Holy fucking shit!” It was Cliff. He had ditched his ice pack (and his face looked FINE) but he grabbed Russ and hoisted him right off the ground. “Look at you! Is that you in there, big guy! Holy shit!” He shook so Russ so hard I was afraid the little guy would be concussed.

“Jesus!” I said, grabbing Cliff by his big arm. I couldn’t budge him though. “Put him down, you fuck!” I looked to Spencer, who was playing with his balls in his sweatpants and staring off into space. When he noticed my gaze, he looked at the situation, then at me.

“Why are you staring at me?” he asked.

“Fucking do something! He’s hurting Russ!”

“But he’s HUGE--” Spencer began, then a smile spread over his face. “Oh, so am I!” he said. But by the time Spencer was on his feet, Cliff had put Russ down. I grabbed my little right tackle and stared at him as if I could assess his injuries that way. Cliff walked over to Spencer, punching the big guy in his huge pec and feeling up his big arms.

“I thought the whole exchange thing was supposed to work, like, you turn into him?” Cliff said, eyeing up the pro-bodybuilder-sized behemoth. “Russ wasn’t built like this! And I don’t think you’ll be much of a lineman with a body like this…”

“I’m not really sure, but the guy in a lab coat said to me on the way over that when I got all of Russ’ athletic traits it ignited some--how did he say it? Like, hidden gene-stuff, or something…” He shook his head and chuckled. “I feel like I know the word for it, but I can’t think of it… anyway, I guess if I’d hit the weights instead of the books I’d have big muscles like this.”

“And if not for football and eating like a pig, Russ would be smaller than the dumps he used to take,” Cliff said with a chuckle.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said to Russ as I guided him by the shoulder out the door. He took another puff on his inhaler. As we walked down the stairs, I pulled the envelope from my back pocket. “Hey, Russ, I had this… for you to read, but… aw, screw it…” I crouched down and looked him in the eyes. I could tell that was still him in there. He blinked and squinted.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I think I need glasses now... “

I shook my head. “Look, Russ, I don’t care what’s happened. I just wanted you to know… This doesn’t change anything. I’ll still be right there with you this whole time. I won’t let your roommate fuck with you, and… fuck, maybe you can tutor me in school or something?” As I reached up to touch his face he jerked away.

Russ looked around, making sure we were alone. “Look, I can’t talk too much about this…” he said, his head sagging, “and I didn’t want to tell you like this, but… Coach set up the exchange because he found out I was fucking someone on the team. I punched Cliff because I thought he told, but… I don’t know who did. Maybe one of the damned towel boys, I dunno... “

I balled up my fists, seething with rage. “Are you… fucking… kidding me?”

“Look, when this is over, if this is ever over…” He pulled away. “I have a real shot at the pros, but not looking like this,” he said, gesturing to his tiny body. “And that asshole upstairs might be stealing my spot on the team. Coach might leave me like this for good! But if he doesn’t, we’re through… and we can’t be seen together, or else you’ll end up like this too.”

It was a lot to process. I felt like big Russ had punched me, right in the gut. The truth behind what he was saying was undeniable--but I didn’t care about swapping with a nerd! I didn’t care about losing out on the NFL either.

But apparently Russ did.

As he walked out to the van, I crumpled up the envelope in my back pocket. I saw the looming shadows pass over me from behind before I knew the two big bastards were even there. Spencer slapped a hand on one of my shoulders. Cliff grabbed the other.

“We’re gonna hit the gym!” Spencer said proudly as Russ was carted away. “Cliff says he wants to see how much this big ass can squat! You down?”

Numbly I nodded. As Spencer headed back inside, Cliff leaned down to my ear.

“So I’ll be honest, buddy, I’ve always been a little jealous of your little rendezvouses with Russ,” Cliff said, patting my ass. I jerked away. “You have to know I’ve been eyeing you up since freshman year, right? And I wasn’t the one who squealed--honest, I wasn’t! I respect two guys’ right to fuck around on their own time as long as they’re still performing on the field--but I did kinda overhear what that dickbag Russ said to you on the stairs, and… well, I’d never do that to you!”

“Fuck off, Cliff,” I said, feeling tears start to well up in my own eyes.

“Hey, buddy, I dunno if you picked up on it or not, but that big muscle haus upstairs seems just a little too eager to be around other guys, if you know what I mean. Undeniable vibe! So I say maybe you and I make it our project to break in that big muscle ass? What do you say? Fun idea?”

It was definitely the pain talking, but I couldn’t deny how appealing that was.