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To onlookers it looked like Richie Incognito getting post-game congratulations by his proud father, Richard Senior, the son scooping his father into the air with his huge sweaty embrace. “Good work, son. You’re a goddamned champion. Couldn’t be prouder.”

“You know it, pops,” Richie said with a confident grin.

Their relationship hadn’t always been so tight. Years back, when Richie was blowing his god-given talent and opportunity at being big in the NFL by getting rowdy and drunk, bullying teammates and destroying his reputation with racist voicemails, Senior decided his son needed a lesson in gratitude and respect.

One night, Richie fell asleep in his own bed after kicking out some dumb whore he’d picked up at the bar. He passed out, his big beefy body sprawled out across his silky sheets, but when he woke up he felt weak, achey and exhausted. The room he woke in looked familiar--fuck, was the house he’d bought his parents?--but he was shocked into hysteria when he looked into the mirror and saw his father’s weathered face staring back at him. He looked down at his new frame, patting every inch to make sure it was real. He hadn’t been this short, this scrawny, in his whole life!

A phone next to the bed rang, startling Richie out of his hysteria. He answered it and heard his own voice coming back at him. “Morning, son. Sleep well?” said “Richie” on the other end. “Pulled some strings, son, and called in a few favors. You know I’ve got some off-the-beaten-path connections, the same ones I called on when you were younger to make you such a big goddamned beast on the field. For a little bit we’re going to swap spots--I’m gonna get your career back on track, and you’re going to cool your heels at my place for awhile.”

“Gimme back my fucking body!” Richie shrieked, shocked at the unfamiliar voice--his father’s voice!--that came when he spoke.

“Not a chance, son. Can’t have you screwing up all I worked to give you, can I? Maybe while you’re sitting there dealing with my goddamned arthritis, pissing every twenty minutes because of my damned prostate, not even able to get it up without pills, you’ll learn a damned lesson about gratitude and putting your gifts to proper use.”

Before the swap, Senior had sent Richie’s mother on a month-long trip around the world, giving Richie-in his dad’s body--time alone to think. Richie tried calling some of his buddies from the team but they thought he was some crazy old guy playing a practical joke or worse, going straight up senile.

A week after the swap, Richie’s dad showed up at his house. “You know how much this flight cost me?” said the big body Richie was used to seeing in the mirror. He never had a good perspective on just how big he was until he was outside himself! The brawny  man stomped through the door and shoved his old “dad” to the ground. “I’ve gotta be back for practice tomorrow. I can’t be here dealing with your shit.”

“Please, just swap us back,” old, feeble Richie begged. “I swear I’ll be grateful and fix what I fucked up! Just don’t leave me like this!”

“Goddamned fuckup,” growled the oversized guard, reaching into his pants pocket and producing a little black baggy. “This shit was expensive and hard to come up with. Blew a bunch of your savings just getting it.” He untwisted the knot and unfurled the bag in Richie’s face. Black, shimmery dust clouded around. He choked and coughed, felt a tingle in his lungs and sinuses that spread warmly through his body.

“Now,” the big “younger” man said, folding his arms across his broad chest. “You ready to act like my dad now or what?”

Richie blinked and said, “Of course son, how else would I act?” In his brain, he screamed profanities, tries to form the words to tell his body-stealing father to go fuck himself, but instead he warmly uttered, “You’d better be getting back son. Don’t let a visit to me get between you and football!”

A grin spread across the thick man’s face, his dimples popping, and he winked at his old “dad.”

“Much better. Take care dad. Tell Mom I said what’s up.” Then RIchie found himself alone in his house--no, his father’s house!--calmly walking to the TV and watching some boring history show.

Weeks passed and Richie found himself totally aware in his father’s body but unable to do or say anything that his father wouldn’t. He found himself yearning for his son to call him, to tell him when things would go back to the way they were, but every time he picked up the phone he could only leave a supportive voicemail saying how proud he was of his son and how much he missed him.

Months passed, and Senior kept focused on the field, doing eveyrthing he could to right his son’s reputation. He beasted through games, and found it his honed physical prowess exhilarating. He worked harder than anyone else on the team in the weight room, dominated the field, and otherwise kept his mouth shut and his nose clean.

Originally he’d planned to swap back after he’d gotten things back on track, but he’d gotten used to being so big and powerful, having so much money to sling around, having women throwing themselves at him, and basking in the adoration of fans while beasting through the NFL. The thought of turning down that life to go back to sitting around his house, popping Cialis just to fuck his withered old wife, totally turned him off. “Just another year or so and we’ll swap back,” Senior would decide, reconsidering after the year had passed.

To onlookers it looked like Richie Incognito getting post-game congratulations by his proud father, Richard Senior, the son scooping his father into the air with his huge sweaty embrace.

“How’s mom?” asked the big lineman.

“She’s doing great,” Richie found himself saying. “We’re going on a cruise soon. Your old man is in the mood for romance.” As he heard the words Richie was horrified to realize what it meant he would be going through with his own mother.

“Too much info, dad,” his big son laughed, giving him a rough, playful shove.

“Please switch us back soon!” Richie begged silently but he couldn’t form the words. He watched sadly as his old body, bigger and stronger than it had ever been while he was in it, strutted away.

—

BrandedX2: “Big Guys Taken Down a Notch”

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