Camp α (Patreon)

This is the first of several rewrites of one of the many excellent stories published by jd07201990. That this became the first one was probably because it's fairly straight forward rewrite. There isn't any real change in the plot, but somewhat more emphasis on the emotions and relations within the family. It is also the first story I published that I put an image to. I don't even remember all the options, but landed with this one. And as soon as I started to look for a more high quality version I discovered that this one was a morph. Someone had made his body wider and more muscular, and done other subtle alterations to his face, his hair and the door frame.

No I really want to avoid using morphs. It's cheating. But this one looked so much better than the original, without going overboard that I decided to stick with it.

Original Story

 Last summer, I’d had enough of my goodie-two-shoes stepson hiding out all day and night in his room, reading, or gaming. Whatever it is geeks do. He was a scrawny, short twig of a boy, and had dodged every effort I’d made to try and get to know or bond with him. I was sick of it.

So, I signed his ass up for Summer Sports Camp. The very same one MY dad had sent me to the summer before Freshman year. 13 weeks of hell on earth, specifically tailored to make a man out of any prissy, nerdy wimp you sent their way, like it or not. For me, it’d taken alot of getting used to, but half way through, I broke, and enjoyed the rest, excelling in all of the activities and left with a supreme enjoyment for sports and being a man!

My stepson however, did not like it. Not one bit. He complained the entire 2hr drive, demanding he had rights and he couldn’t be forced to do this. However, I explained that the marriage certificate and adoption papers I’d signed just a few months before gave me explicit power to sign his twig-ass up and ship him to wherever I damn well pleased. He fought, sure, but I’d left him just inside the front gate, between the 2 10ft tall barbed wire and concrete fences (did I mention this place used to be a military barracks, then a prison) And waved goodbye as Several beefy men escorted him in.

Throughout the 13 week stint, we got the weekly letters. They allow the boys to send letter home every Friday. Of course, They were always about how much they enjoyed camp, vague details about the activities, all the excitement and what not. My wife didn’t know that sure, the hand writing was her son’s, BUT the words were a pre-approved script the coaches demanded each boy follow in their own words. My stepson was probably hating every second. I couldn’t help but smirk, knowing what kind of boy I’d get back in just a few weeks time.

At the end of the 13 weeks, I offered to go pick him up. My wife was busy preparing a great dinner and a bit of a celebration for his return. She missed her little angel quite a bit. I drive the 2hrs, waited with all the other parents, which was clear that ALL the dad’s decided to be courteous to their wives, since not a single female was present, and finally, the boys were trooped out in groups, wide shouldered, swaggering, lumbering brutes stomping their way to the cars.

I recognized my boy instantly. he seemed to have grown a few inches, his body built thicker, well developed. No longer the scrawny late bloomer He’d been before. But it was the eyes and the obviously defeated aura pouring off him that gave him away.

His hair was buzzed down to stubble, his face had become more square, handsome. I could see a thick Adam’s apple protruding in his throat. his biceps were rounded even at a resting position, he had a decent set of pecs, and his legs were built thick and strong. he was wearing jeans, sneakers that looked like they’d be 3 sizes too large for the boy I’d dropped off, and no shirt. Of course, he must’ve been a bad boy, as shirts were earned, not given.

He didn’t talk, just climbed in the car and waited. it was 45 minutes before he spoke, his voice cracked, and was deeper. I knew this would happen. The Sports Camp loads the foot up with supplements and hormones for the difficult boys. Building them up physically while breaking them mentally.

He complained, again, about all the horrible things they did. Forced labor, harsh, grueling workouts, nothing but sports classes, teaching how to play whatever sport the parents had picked. I’d signed him up for the deluxe football package. He hated it. he fought, resisted, and it all got worse. he hadn’t slept a full night since week 3, and his body was still pumped and throbbing from the 3hr long punishment workout just before leaving. He smelled like a locker room, the thick wiry hair under his arms pouring out thick wafts of BO. and he hated it.

Strange…. they hadn’t broken him mentally…. I was oddly proud. His mind was strong enough to resist military class psychological training. But, with another smirk, I realized it didn’t matter, since his body had been fixed right up. He looked like a typical all American football jock. Smelled like one, even walked like one. A nerd trapped in the body of a little man.

All through school starting in September, I’d watched as things slowly changed. he went outside more, had a few new friends he’d met in HS, most of which were sporty boys who had him out in the yard playing football. And finally, I got the permission slip from him to join the football team. Sure, his mind was still there, he was still interested in nerdy shit. BUT, that body couldn’t stay idle, and now, I’ve got myself a real jock for a son. I couldn’t be prouder!