The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far from the Tree

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far from the Tree

by Fidget

Josh couldn’t be more unlike his father, for all of the usual, stereotypical reasons.

Josh was smart, good grades, good with computers. He was on his high school’s chess club and debate team, and hadn’t played a sport since a particularly bad asthma attack in his last year of Little League.

His father, on the other hand, while by no means unintelligent, fit the jock stereotype perfectly. He was obsessed with following sports and showed zero interest in more intellectual pursuits, quickly becoming frustrated and angry when confronted with problems he couldn’t solve with his considerable muscles.

His parents had been high school sweethearts. His dad was the captain of the football team, and went on to lead the league in rushing yards in college, before a knee injury ended his blossoming career prematurely. His mom had been head cheerleader, but dropped out to have Josh and be a stay-at-home mom while his dad went to college, though complications with his birth had prevented his mother from ever having any more children, in spite of her wishes for a whole housefull. She had died in a car crash when Josh was still a toddler.

His dad had worked as a mechanic in his hometown after his injury. He had never married again, though Josh was well aware that his dad made frequent calls to the apartments of various single women around town.

Josh had tried playing soccer and baseball when he was younger, but it quickly became clear that he didn’t have the talent or the athleticism to succeed. Not to mention that it was boring to mindlessly run after a ball or stand in right field hoping a ball would be hit his way, and he’d much rather be teaching himself to code. Josh often worried that his lack of interest in sports and other stereotypically masculine activities disappointed his father, but if it did, his dad never let it show, and was always supportive of his interests, which Josh appreciated.

One summer day shortly after finishing his junior year of high school, his dad knocked on his bedroom door, and then let himself inside.

“You’re a man now Josh; it’s time you had this. It’s something my dad gave me when I was your age, and it’s the reason I’ve enjoyed all of my success.”

He handed over a box wrapped with white paper and a bright blue bow, the colors of their local high school.

“Open it whenever you want, but be careful with it.”

Later that day, Josh’s best friend Amy came over with her laptop so they could work on their most recent programming project together.

They’d been best friends for a few years now, after discovering how much they had in common their freshman year. They both had interests in computers, chess, and debate, shared very progressive ideals, and were budding activists on a number of important fronts. They were both vegan, and, not wanting to contribute to an increasingly overpopulated earth, had fully committed to adoption over having their own children.

Amy was petite and somewhat attractive, but Josh respected Amy far too much to risk their friendship on a superficial relationship. For her part, Amy appreciated his lack of toxic masculine traits and the way he didn’t view her as a sexual object, so their relationship had quickly grown close without ever becoming physical.

Josh showed her the gift from his father, still wrapped, and told her about the strange things his dad had said about it.

“Should I open it?” Josh asked hesitantly. He could see no reason why whatever was in the box should be overly dangerous (or life-changing, for that matter), but his dad had never been prone to unnecessary exaggeration or embellishment.

“Absolutely! I want to see what it is! It’s weird that he just gave you a random present out of the blue like that though,” Amy responded.

Josh untied the bow and slowly removed the wrapping paper from the box, careful not to rip it, before taking the top off and revealing… an old, deflated football.

Surprised, and more than a bit disappointed, Josh reached in to pull out the unexpected object, but, as soon as his fingers wrapped around the worn leather, what felt like an electric spark jolted into his hand, and he doubled over as what felt like all of the muscles in his body began to tighten and spasm. Between red flashes of pain in his mind, Josh saw fleeting images of himself reveling in his own physical strength as he angrily tore his way through the grips of weaker men on what looked like a football field, before this vision was replaced by one of him pressing himself against a half-naked cheerleader panting with arousal, his prize for his display of masculine virility on the field.

Amy noticed his distress when he touched the ball, and ran over to grab it away as his face contorted with uncharacteristic anger at the pain running through his body as his weak muscles continued to clench.

“Josh, what’s wrong??” Amy asked, but then she felt a strange surge of energy jump from the ball she was holding into her hands as well, and her mind fogged as her body filled with giddy butterflies. Unable to stand with the intense fluttering sensation she was experiencing, she slowly let herself down on Josh’s bed as her mind began to wander aimlessly. Images flashed through her head of short cheerleading skirts, halftime performances, and of a faceless, heavily muscled star quarterback pressing his powerful body and giant erection against an entirely willing, curvy, topless figure that Amy somehow knew was her own even though she didn’t recognize it.

After a minute or so, Josh’s muscles finally relaxed and Amy’s mind cleared of her pleasant daydream. She abruptly remembered what had happened to Josh, and leapt off the bed to check on him.

“No, I’m fine. Let’s just get to work,” Josh mumbled as he tentatively picked the football back up off the floor to put it back in the box, relieved that his muscles didn’t clench up again when he touched it this time.

They didn’t make as much progress on their programming that day as they’d hoped, possibly because the weird experience they’d just shared had kept them from focusing on their work. With both of them unable to concentrate, Amy decided to go home early, and they agreed to meet again the next weekend to get back on track.

“Dad?”

“Yeah son?”

“What was that ball thing in the box? Is it just an old football?”

“It’s an original football from the early 1900s. My grandfather gave it to my father when he was ready for it, he gave it to me, and now I’m passing it down to you.”

“Uhh, thanks.