The 42nd Annual Fettig High School Career Fair

Kyle

Kyle had signed up for the Air Force Tactical Retreat for one reason only. It wasn’t for a tour of the military base and its many utilities, or to learn any of the interesting historical facts behind the Air Force, or even to interact with another human being (including the bus full of high school seniors that he’d come with and soldiers at the fort). No, all Kyle wanted to do was try shooting a gun.

A rather unusual fellow, Kyle was one to do whatever he wanted. Like most 18-year-olds, he was truly just trying to find his way in the world, but his way was much more unique than others would have been brave enough to try. He decided his outfits by contrasting the crowd, participated in activities for only a short enough time to feel “inspired”, and submitted his homework whenever he felt like it. Because of his attitude towards life, Kyle often ended up in hot water. His strange fashion choices made him an outcast, his low value on participation angered others, and his failure to complete assignments on time landed him in remedial classes. Kyle was definitely a smart kid, but he liked to focus in areas outside of education.

Kyle’s “counterculture” ideology allowed him to explore hundreds of realms of interest. Over the years, he had been obsessed with Australian arachnids, subtropical ecology, and Jupiter’s moons to name a few oddities. While most of his hyper-fixations lasted about a week, a rare few would stick with him. Guns in particular were one of Kyle’s strongest fascinations, having lasted for years. He loved the history behind them, the numerous uses, the models. The way they moved captivated Kyle. Kyle’s parents had always been against guns too, which only strengthened his attraction.

And now getting off the bus, the 5’4 high school senior stepped into the military base with delight. Looking around, he saw many different men scurrying around the area carrying different types of machinery. Kyle was able to name each of the items as they passed by, smiling with pride at his own knowledge.

“Listen up, pipsqueaks!” A thundering voice boomed from in front of him. The major–who was also acting as the host of the trip–towered above the group at 6’6 with a frame that mimicked Hercules. With a broad back, watermelon-sized arms, and Size 18 boots, he was not a man to be reckoned with. All of Kyle’s peers felt this pressure, noticeably quivering in fear. Kyle however did not appear apprehensive as he casually made his way over to the group, scratching his bare face.

“Each of you has been assigned a second lieutenant today to act as your mentor!” The major barked, seeming to not know how to bring his voice lower than a yell. “Follow them and respect them! Treat them respectfully and you will be rewarded! And remember, you are not allowed to touch ANYTHING on the grounds! Rule-breakers will receive punishment–dismissed!”

The major stepped away from the teenagers, revealing a group of young men in uniform behind him. Each of the high school seniors rushed to their respective lieutenants before they began their tour. Kyle, in his usual relaxed pace, made his way to whom he assumed to be his “mentor”. The 6’3 man was holding a piece of cardboard with Kyle’s name scratched on it. He looked to have been a jock before joining the military with fresh, youthful muscles and a goofy smile plastered on his face.

“Hey there, kid!” the man cheerfully pulled Kyle into a bearhug. “Great to meetcha!”

“Who are you?” Kyle blatantly asked, cranking his head up to look at the man. The foot difference was painfully noticeable.

“Name’s Foggy,” the man scratched at his buzz cut while grinning.

“Really?”

“Well, it’s a nickname,” Foggy replied back. “It’s given to soldiers who have a hard time understanding things.”

“What do you mean?” Kyle insisted.

“Means I ain’t the brightest bulb of the bunch,” Foggy guffawed. Kyle stood awkwardly waiting for the other man to finish.

“Alright, Keebs, let’s get a move on. There’s something I wanna show you.” Foggy began to strut his way towards a shed, forcing Kyle to quickly scamper behind.

“It’s Kyle, by the way,” Kyle corrected, slightly out of breath. The height difference forced him to take twice as many steps as Foggy.

“I know,” Foggy was still grinning as they walked past a pair of wooden doors. “But if you’re gonna be a soldier ya oughta have a nickname.”

Kyle sighed, knowing he should just surrender early. “Alright, then why Keebs?”

“Short for Keebler, a perfect nickname for those on the shorter side.”

Kyle stopped as his face grew beet red in anger, but Foggy had already moved on and grabbed what he was looking for. In his hands was a rifle unlike one Kyle had ever seen before. His embarrassed face immediately took a new hue, lighting up as the 18-year-old rushed over. 

“What…what is that?” Kyle stammered, shocked that he didn’t know the name of this beauty.

“It’s an experimental rifle” Foggy’s baritone voice had a childlike glee to it. “A weapon’s company is beta-testing it with our base.”

“That’s awesome!”

“You wanna try it?” 

Kyle blinked excitedly. He remembered the paperwork he had signed and the major saying not to touch anything in the premises, but this was what he was here for. And, after a quick sweep, he noticed there was no one in the area. If anything, Foggy would take the blame anyway. He looked to be just over 20, so Kyle reasoned that Foggy couldn’t get reprimanded too harshly. 

“Oh yeah I do,” Kyle nodded eagerly.

“Awesome,” Foggy’s immature grin flew back onto his face. “Have you ever used a gun before?”

“Nope,” Kyle announced glumly.

“Well then let me teach you.” Foggy beckoned Kyle over, carefully handing him the rifle before positioning himself behind the high school senior. Kyle couldn’t believe it, the weight of the rifle in his hands was incredible!

“Alright, give me a second,” Foggy readjusted himself behind Kyle. “I’m just used to this kinda thing at my own height.”

Instantly, Kyle sprouted up like a beanstalk to the sky, ascending rapidly until the top of his head reached the same level as Foggy’s. Kyle twitched as his sightline corrected itself, although he just assumed some of his raven hair had over his eyes.

“That’s better,” Foggy grabbed the rifle back. Kyle’s face instantly dropped in response. 

“All right, first thing’s position,” Foggy started. “We gotta have you standing like a soldier to command this gun.”

Kyle’s body immediately lurched straight, almost as if his spine was pushed against an invisible giant ruler. The small hunch he’d developed over the years was wiped away, replaced by an immaculately linear figure. The rest of his body fell in place: feet together, arms to the sides, and his head looking forward.

“Now let’s go from the bottom up,” Foggy continued. “First problem is the?”

“Feet, sir?” Kyle cautiously answered, his militarized position also affecting his speech.

“Yeah, that’s right, Keebs!” Foggy responded gleefully. “Gotta make sure they’re firm and steady. I’ve always gotta make sure my Size 15 dogs hold me awfully tight to the ground.”

Kyle nodded, not noticing his toes spring forward across the grass. His soles pushed outwards as well, testing the limits of his hazelnut-colored Chelsea boots. Before they could suffer any damage however, their expensive leather was stretched into a cheaper material. It then melded with nylon and suede to form two Size 15 shoes; sturdy yet overused by Kyle’s new, monstrously-sized feet.

“And your legs.” Foggy peered down at Kyle’s legs disapprovingly. “If you wanna shoot, you oughta be able to support your upper body.”

Kyle’s calves and thighs expanded to give him the endurance to do consistent running and hiking. They filled up with meat and muscle, pushing his black skinny jeans out into a pair of combat trousers. While pockets sprung up and the camouflage pattern painted itself on, Foggy continued.

“Now, uh…” Foggy blanked, forgetting the next part of the body.

“My torso, sir?

“Yeah, thanks Keebler!” Foggy patted his meaty mitt against Kyle’s belly. “This won’t absorb the kinda shock you’ll be getting. Try jutting out your upper chest a bit more, and shrinking back your abs like me.”

Foggy demonstrated for Kyle what he meant, pulling up his shirt to display his juicy pecs and hard, carved abs. Kyle nodded respectfully, not noticing his chest broadening before bulking up. A defined six-pack popped out of his abdominals, but they were overshadowed by the two massive pecs with silver dollar nipples that grew in above them. Once again, the fabric of his clothing felt restrained, but luckily the problem was quickly alleviated. Both his trench coat and vest disappeared, and the buttons off his henley popped off and dispersed into the air. What was left softened into a cheap tee that now displayed the American flag, the base’s operation, and the classic olive drab color.

“Let’s look at those arms,” Foggy said as he brought them up to the right position. “It looks like you got the posture right, but there’s something off about the size…”

Kyle tilted his head barely in confusion, not knowing how to answer the statement. Kyle’s triceps and biceps exploded with muscle, becoming strong enough to lift heavyweights. The new musculature stretched out the sleeves of his tee, making the American flag almost look like a tattoo. A dusting of hair also coated his arms, fluffing up his pits and making his new mitts appear a little ape-like.

“Huhuh…” Foggy guffawed.

“What is it, sir?”

“I don’t remember…” Foggy replied honestly, having forgotten the problem. “But bro, you don’t have to address me like I’m your superior. In fact, you should act like you’re an Alpha–your voice should command respect.”

Kyle grunted in response, his vocal chords shifting as his neck stretched horizontally.

“You gotta look the part too,” Foggy commented. “See my stubble here? That’s how I get other’s attention. It makes me look older than I actually am.”

But your personality says otherwise, Kyle thought to himself. He brought his shoulder up to rub his own stubble, itching it as his jawline pushed out to give his face a more heart-like shape. His nose also broadened too, perfectly shaped to release huffs of disappointment.

“Do you dye your hair?” Foggy spontaneously asked.

“Obviously not,” Kyle’s voice reeked with disapproval and a deeper base resonance.

“Oh,” Foggy didn’t pick up on Kyle’s aggression. “I just think you’d look better with a different color, something more brown…and shorter too.”

Kyle, bewildered, rubbed a hand through his coppery quiff and down his shaved sides.

“Anyway, when you shoot you gotta make sure to thrust a bit too, show off the massive goods if you know what I mean.”

Foggy winked before grabbing Kyle’s package and slightly pulling it forward. Neither of the men realized it, but Foggy’s motion didn’t actually move Kyle’s crotch. Instead, his cock had been lengthened out to a girthy 7 inches. His balls too had been ripened, almost doubling from their previous size.

“Hey!” Kyle yelled, pushing Foggy off him. “I don’t swing that way!”

“Neither do I,” Foggy chuckled. “But your little man says otherwise.” Kyle looked down at his cock, now completely erect at 9 inches from all the action. He quickly shoved a hand down his pants and readjusted.

“Can we continue?” Kyle asked impatiently.

“Oh sure,” Foggy giggled, having already moved on to a new topic.

“What now?”

“Your attitude, bro,” Foggy kept chuckling. “You’re acting like you’re like a decade older than me.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, a frown molding his lips downward. He was almost 30 and somehow was still dealing with immature kids like Foggy. Wrinkling his brow, Kyle wished he hadn’t been set up with this college-aged dope.

“Of course I’m older than you!” Kyle scoffed. “You can tell by my hairline, my musculature, my maturity.”

“Your funk,” Foggy added while wafting a hand in front of his nose. “Oh wait,” Foggy lifted an arm and sniffed his pit before apologizing: “It’s just me.”

Unfortunately, the damage was already done. A cloud of body odor began to emit off of Kyle’s brawny body.

“Hey! What are you two doing over there?”

Kyle quickly put the rifle down, afraid of getting caught.

“If I find out you two were playing tonsil hockey-”

The major rounded the corner, cutting off as he approached the two men. They both immediately straightened out and assumed the position: feet together, arms to the sides, and heads looking forward. The major appeared displeased.

“Lieutenant, what happened to your mentee?” Before Foggy could respond, the major noticed the gun and figured out the answer for himself. He let out a small disappointed exhale, knowing he’d have some paperwork arriving from Fettig High School very soon. Why couldn’t kids just follow the rules these days?

“Nevermind,” the major quickly retracted his question. “Soldier, introduce yourself!”

“Keebler, sir. First Lieutenant.” Keebler’s words were fast and choppy, his booming tone annunciated every word.

“Alright then,” the major mumbled. “At ease, you two!” The major grumbled to himself as he walked away, realizing it was a mistake to have let any high schooler go with Foggy.

Once the major was gone, the men relaxed. Keebler grabbed the rifle and took a seat on the bench.

“Should we get back to work, just like the major said?” Foggy asked, his classic grin reappearing. Keebler appeared indifferent and didn’t respond back, yet Foggy knew what the answer was. There was a reason the rifle was resting on Keebler’s lap after all: he was trying to hide just how eager he was for some “tonsil hockey”.