So You Want To Be An Alpha Male (Patreon)

Before college, Isaiah hadn’t actually held any negative feelings towards the sport of football. Sure, it didn’t overly interest him, but he’d watched the Super Bowl with his family every year, and he’d attended the high school championship game to show support for his friends on the team. He’d never once felt inclined to play or even pledged allegiance to an NFL team, but he’d recognised that it was an inescapable element of American society and it was healthier to accept it than resent it. All of that passive support was completely shut down when Isaiah left for college and met Kent Hannigan, the resident of the dorm directly across the hall from him.

Although they were both at college on full-ride scholarships, it was nigh on impossible for the two to be any more different. Unlike Isaiah, Kent hadn’t slaved away over his classwork to earn an academic scholarship that would get him a place at a school that his family certainly couldn’t afford. No, Kent had been scouted out by the college’s football coach, who had promised the school’s dean that he had procured their star new running back for the team. A running back who would lead them back to national championship level. It was true, Kent was an incredibly talented football player, but the issue was that he knew it. He swaggered around like a king in his palace, the rest of them being mere peasants - or worse, servants.

It wasn’t as if Kent was at all unique. While Isaiah had been fortunate enough not to have met guys like him in the past, he was well aware of their type. There were countless horror stories online about the big-headed jocks who ruined the lives of everyone they interacted with and got to walk away scot-free at the end of it. Guys like Kent took advantage of every privilege they could - being born male, having white skin, coming from an old money family, feeling attracted strictly to women - and anybody who didn’t share those privileges was deemed lesser in their eyes. Of those, Kent could only claim credit to one (being born a male and continuing to identify as such), and that made him an easy target for his asshole neighbor.

Isaiah had dealt with a couple of bullies back in his freshman year of high school, but none of them had been quite as obnoxious or entitled as Kent was. His school had also had a hard stance against bullying and had dealt with the matter swiftly, but given the college’s faculty seemed to do nothing but rave about how Kent was going to turn their football fortunes around, Isaiah had little hope that they would take action against their star athlete for what they would no doubt dismiss as little more than “boys being being” and “harmless banter”. He was condemned to suffer in relative silence, and it was that internal struggle that led to his eventual resentment towards the sport he’d always been rather ambivalent about. If Kent knew he’s ruined football for me, he’d probably only consider that another achievement, Isaiah thought miserably. Kent had a nasty habit of worming his way into the more introverted boy’s daily musings, as much as Isaiah wished he wouldn’t.

The issue with the torment that Kent inflicted upon Isaiah was that it was never particularly overt. It came in the form of various micro-aggressions, be it his infuriating decision to nickname him “Izzy” (a name Isaiah was terrified might stick with the rest of the boys on their floor of the dorm building) or how he always had his door propped open and music up loud so that it disturbed Isaiah’s study time, or even the time Kent had intercepted his fast-food order (a rare treat for acing an assessment) and kept it for himself. If he’d just outwardly start expressing his dislike and begin pushing him around or something, at least Isaiah would have more of a case to take to the faculty. Until then, there was no way anybody would even begin to take him seriously - and isn’t that a lovely depressing thought?

The sun had long since disappeared below the horizon when Isaiah made it back to the dorm building after a marathon study session at the school library. He had a big assessment the next day and as his scholarship was conditional on maintaining good grades throughout his study, he was incredibly driven towards delivering what was expected of him. The library was a necessity as he knew he’d never get any decent studying done in his dorm room with Kent making such a racket across the hall from him, and Isaiah appreciated its rustic aesthetic anyway. It was certainly the most calming place on campus, and that was the kind of energy Isaiah desperately needed in his life. Kent was delivering a dump truck of bad vibes to his door on the daily, and as Isaiah reached his dorm, he discovered that it wasn’t just metaphorically either.

Resting against his door were two black trash bags and a rather foul smell was coming from them. There was no doubt in Isaiah’s mind where they had come from. He pushed them to the side with his feet, not wanting to touch them with his hands, and started to unlock his door. He wasn’t quite fast enough to escape into his room before he heard the door behind him open and a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that a grinning Kent was waiting there for him. “Oh, sorry about that, Izzy,” the other apologised, managing to sound not at all apologetic in the process. “I must not have looked when I threw them out.” As expected, he made no motion towards clearing the trash bags out of Isaiah’s way. That would be asking far too much of him, especially considering he couldn’t even be bothered to convincingly fake the apology his words were supposedly expressing.

“Just… try not to let the music go on for too long, please? I have an important test tomorrow,” Isaiah sighed, holding little hope that his request would be adhered to. Indeed, he was fairly certain that Kent’s smile widened at the revelation.

“Sure thing, pal.” Isaiah did his best not to wince. They were not pals. “Have a good sleep, buddy!” And then, as quickly as he’d arrived, Kent disappeared back into his room, although his door remained wedged open partially, allowing Isaiah to hear the starting whirrs of some aggravating dubstep track. Closing his own bedroom door did a little bit to soften the sounds but it didn’t eliminate them entirely and Isaiah was left to huff in disappointment. What higher power was out there who had decided he deserved to suffer by having an over-privileged idiot as a neighbor? Isaiah wanted to have a stern word with them, although knowing how he acted in the face of confrontation, he felt fairly confident that he’d back down rather quickly, just as he always did when he tried to call Kent out on his bullshit.

Much to his surprise though, it didn’t actually take that much for Isaiah to fall asleep. Just some ten minutes later he was safely tucked underneath his duvet, his earplugs in to further muffle the so-called music that originated from across the hall, with the lights off and the curtains drawn to leave him in darkness. Not long after that and he was being welcomed into the sweet embrace of the dreamland, blissfully unaware of what it would have in store for him.

His dream took him to a dimly lit dive bar. Heavy droplets of rain beat against the windows, beyond which Isaiah could see the vague shapes of an unfamiliar city. The bar itself was thinly populated, enough for the college student to have a booth to himself and, despite not yet being twenty-one nor having much appreciation for the stuff, there was a half-empty bottle of beer on the table in front of him. His solitude may have lasted hours or mere moments - it was impossible to tell in the realm of dreams - but it was interrupted by a well-dressed man with one very distinctive feature: his pupils were blood red.

Holding the man’s stare felt like gazing upon forbidden fruit. He was undeniably handsome with his tanned skin, slick black hair and a wardrobe that accentuated the powerful muscles of his body. His sharp jawline was decorated with bristles of facial hair and a scar on his upper lip added to the devilish charm of his appearance. Had Isaiah encountered him in real life, he’d certainly have been caught breathless. In this dream world though, he felt strangely calm within the other’s presence, perhaps even supernaturally so.

“You’ve got good reason to loathe that one,” the new arrival announced, holding Isaiah’s gaze as he lifted his own bottle of beer - where had that come from? - to his lips. He let the comment hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “Nasty piece of work, that Hannigan boy. He’ll make a fine display piece in Lucifer’s Halls one day. Riding the wave of privilege all the way to the Gates of Hell. Such a tragic tale, don’t you think?”

There was a certain weight to the man’s words. Isaiah was left to interpret their deeper meaning, for there certainly was one, but on the surface he already knew what to say. “It sounds more like karmic retribution to me,” he declared in response. “There are people with stories much more deserving of sympathy than Kent Hannigan.” He all but spat out the name, all of the frustrations caused by the obnoxious jock suddenly bubbling to the surface and worming their way through the cracks in Isaiah’s usual polite facade.

“You and I are in agreement there, son.” The man took another long swig from his bottle. Isaiah found himself feeling impatient as he waited for his conversation partner to continue. “Would you like to strip him of some of those privileges?” he asked, the corners of his lips pulling up into a scheming smirk. “Knock him down a peg or two. Strip him of that strength so he’ll never be able to push you - or anyone - around again. Leave him too scared to dare call you by anything other than your name, or so timid that he’ll not just take out his own trash properly, but he’ll do yours too?”

Isaiah thought about a universe in which the man’s ideas were a reality. What would it look like to have him strong while Kent was weak? For him to be confident, and Kent feeble? To dominate the space, forcing the other to shrink away? There was a stirring in Isaiah’s gut as he considered such things. There was no denying that he’d like it all very much. “Such things could never happen,” he reminded himself, his voice coloured with disappointment.

“They could,” the handsome stranger insisted, “If you make a deal with me, that is.” His smirk spread wider - too wide - and he leaned across the table towards Isaiah. “All I want to know is what you’d be willing to give me in return.”

With his heart thundering in his chest, Isaiah thought long and hard about the other’s words. Outside the dive bar the rain seemed to have progressed to a full on thunderstorm, and Isaiah noticed that the establishment was now completely empty bar the two of them. He couldn’t escape the man’s gaze forever though, and as they locked eyes once more, the college student felt a part of his conscience being ripped away. “Anything you wanted,” he confessed, sounding far more sure of his declaration than he truly was. In fact, it felt forced and unnatural, but it was too late to take the words back.

“Now that’s what I like to hear!” As the man’s lips parted, Isaiah was greeted to the startling sight of sharp fangs and he felt suddenly faint, as if his heart was giving out. The stranger pressed his hands onto the table between them and rose up to his feet, easily closing the distance between their faces. For a moment he lingered there, almost taunting him, before finally pressing their lips together and then invading Isaiah’s mouth with his tongue. While he didn’t have much to compare it to, it was the strangest kiss of Isaiah’s life. There was an unrivalled intensity there, but as soon as their lips had made contact he felt impossibly hot, like a supernova had exploded inside of him. His own flesh felt like a prison as he lost himself more and more to the hungry nature of their kiss until the world itself crumbled away and all Isaiah knew was an insatiable desire and a cavalcade of hellfire.

Even as Isaiah sprung back into the waking world he was still left with the echoing intensity of the dream. It very quickly became clear though that he had more than just a strange dream to be worried about, as his body had begun removing itself from underneath the sheets all without any instruction from Isaiah itself. His demotion to the passenger seat of his own body only became clearer when he stretched out his arms, rose to his feet and marched across the room and parked himself in front of the mirror. For the briefest moment his pupils flashed blood red and had he still had any sort of control, Isaiah would have yelped in alarm.

But that was just a dream, he attempted to rationalise, even as his body turned from side to side and proceeded to check out his reflection. It couldn't have been real! There’s no way it was real! That perceived impossibility couldn’t contradict his current situation though. It was undeniable that there was something supernatural at play.

After a moment, a low chuckle broke forth from his lips. “You don’t need to be afraid in there,” the being in control of Isaiah’s body assured him. “I’m going to be taking very good care of you. In fact, I’m going to be giving you precisely what you told me you wanted. Which, speaking of, why don’t we get started on right now?”

Isaiah mentally chanted a prayer as the man - the demon - from his dream steered his body towards the door and directly across the hall. It was still incredibly early in the morning; all was quiet and he was mercifully alone in the corridor. The rap of his knuckles against Kent’s door sounded like booms of thunder, and he persisted until there was finally the sounds of movement coming from within. When the door was ripped open, Isaiah was confronted by Kent’s usually (and infuriatingly) handsome face contorted into an expression of anger that only grew darker when he saw who it was disturbing him at such an early hour.

“Izzy, what the fu--” The words had been cut short as the being in control of Isaiah clasped his hand around Kent’s throat and squeezed. Under normal circumstances Kent would have had no difficulties pushing him away - not that Isaiah would have ever dared to even entertain committing such an act of violence - but the jock seemed suddenly helpless. He staggered back, still caught within Isaiah’s grip, who kicked the door closed behind them to ensure that nobody other than the three of them might witness what was to come.

The next words that left Isaiah’s mouth were not only of a language he had never heard of before, but they were also spoken in a bassy voice that he couldn’t have ever possibly produced. The strange words came out as something of a chant that was repeated three times over, and with every passing second his grip around Kent’s throat seemed to grow stronger. The jock was red in the face and sweating and there was clear terror in his eyes as he looked down at the quiet kid he had been so cruel towards for the better part of two years.

Once the chanting finished, Isaiah was treated to the visual of another impossibility becoming a reality. The tall and beefy jock before him slowly began to shrink, losing inches of height and his muscles starting to deflate, like a balloon slowly having its air released. Kent thrashed against Isaiah’s grip but was simply too weak to free himself and within thirty seconds he found himself at eye level with the young man he had once towered over. His broad shoulders looked as if they had been forced together, and his once powerful chest looked sunken and undefined. His boxers - the only thing he had been wearing when he’d answered the door - had dropped to the floor as a result of his waistline shrinking and his tree trunk legs thinning drastically. The “monster” that the star running back had always talked up and regularly grabbed as a taunt was now anything but - he couldn’t be working with any more than three inches!

Kent was still handsome in the face but he no longer possessed the kind of body that would garner him attention from lusting women and envious men. Indeed, the vast majority of the other guys on campus would now easily dwarf him in size, just as he had once dwarfed Isaiah. He looked like he’d never even seen the inside of the gym before and certainly not like the star player of a college football team! Even his neck was skinnier, with Isaiah’s grasp reaching almost three quarters of the way around it. He was, for all intents and purposes, completely feeble and pathetic.

The drastic changes to Kent had only just settled when Isaiah’s own transformation began. Still occupying the position of a spectator from within his own body, Isaiah could only watch as the fingers around his tormentor’s neck thickened and his forearm became bulky and firm. Newfound power pulsated through him and his muscles began to swell, pumping up like a tyre. His dark skin was stretched out around upper arms that were not too far from the size of footballs, and pectorals that created a shelf on his torso. Even his ass was affected by the changes, his rather disappointing derriere becoming plump as the muscles of his glutes firmed up to create a pair of perfect globes that were all but asking to be kneaded.

The overall inflation of Isaiah’s body soon forced him to be looking down at Kent, as his height rose over six feet and eventually settled at six-foot-five. The pajamas he had worn to bed the previous night were stretched to their very limits across his huge muscles, and the seams had split in a number of places, teasing at the godly physique beneath the fragile fabric. He felt like an ancient greek statue, standing so tall and being blessed with such sculpted muscles! He was so solid all over, like the ground was begging him to come closer. Even his manhood was heavier, thicker and longer; the tenting of the front of his pajama pants was nothing short of obscene!

Finally the newly enlarged Isaiah let go of Kent, and his former bully dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Long gone was the former jock’s fighting spirit. Instead, he began to weep at Isaiah’s feet, gasping and whining with shallow breaths. His distress was of little concern to the entity within Isaiah’s body though, who used his magnified strength to rip the garments from his body and let them fall upon Kent’s diminished body. Now completely nude and a vision of muscular beauty, Isaiah turned his back on the pathetic excuse for a man and returned to his own room.

When his body settled once again in front of the mirror, the real Isaiah was given his first opportunity to truly inspect the changes to his body. He had gained at least one-hundred pounds of pure muscle and grown at least eight inches taller. None of the clothes in his wardrobe would fit him with his new proportions, that was for sure! “I take it you like my handiwork?” his body asked in a voice that wasn’t as deep as the strange chanting from several minutes previously, but instead carried a natural bass to it.

I don’t even know what to say, Isaiah thought in response. I look like a goddamn superhero! He desperately wanted to explore those muscles for himself, but try as he might, he simply couldn’t force himself back into the driver’s seat. Dread began to creep through him as he thought ahead. Are you going to be keeping my body? You can’t, I didn’t agree to this!

The rumbling laugh that followed did little to put Isaiah at ease. “I’ll be keeping it for a time,” he explained, “Thirteen weeks, to be exact. The typical price for a deal like this. By the time I’m done with this flesh though, I’ll have shaped you into the alpha male you’ve always dreamed of being - not just in body, but also in mind. You’re too sensitive and too intelligent for your own good, Isaiah. Once the thirteen weeks are up, you won’t have to worry about any of that ever again!” There was a twisted sense of glee practically dripping from the words and while Isaiah was reassured that he wouldn’t be a prisoner in his own body forever, a new sense of fear installed itself within him. Just who would he be when the deal was finally up, and would he live to regret making such a hasty agreement in his dreams?

As his attention returned to the mirror though, and the beautiful display of masculine power that greeted him there, Isaiah supposed he could learn to live with - and love - the consequences of his choice.