Credit To @musclecorps For This Image.

Credit to @musclecorps for this image.

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This story was written as a gift to a close friend of mine who loves a good greaser thug tf. I hope you all enjoy it, too. Due to length, I included a read more cutoff link for this one. Please read it all the way through. You won’t be disappointed.

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My Necklace, My Chain

It’s sort of like a half-remembered dream, this old place, old life. Or maybe I’m living a dream now. Huh. Living the dream. Hell yeah, I am.

Anyway, it started off sort of weird, I guess. I was a pathetic pile of fat and gristle. No job. No future. No motivation. The world beat me up so bad, and I was just … so fucking tired, bruh. Lost my girl, lost my money, lost my home. It sucked. And I just … I wanted to end it, you know?

…

I almost did.

That’s when this guy showed up out of the blue. This guy who just … sat there and smiled and listened. He didn’t see some homeless tramp. He didn’t see a pathetic pound of flesh waiting to be roasted on the pavement under blistering sun. He saw me. And he didn’t care how I looked. It didn’t matter that my clothes weren’t washed. It didn’t matter that I was scrabbled with a thick patchy beard. It didn’t even matter how much my breath stank or how I reeked of BO because I couldn’t find a place to shower and barely got the essentials using public sinks in a restroom.

He. Saw. Me.

He introduced himself. We talked. And like a parishioner to a priest, I confessed everything. My insecurities, my doubts, my anxiety, my history, my misfortunes, my losses. Everything flooded out in a torrent. And, eventually, after all the crap was purged, we got to the good stuff, the piece of me that still dreamed. That tiny, oh so fragile speck.

I don’t know how he got it out of me. I don’t know what tools he used, or what magic he had. And … I guess it must’ve been magic, cause, cause uh.

Uhh..

Uhhhhhh……

Wut were we talkin’ bout again?

…

…

…

Right. Right. My bad, bruh. It’s … a lot easier for me to zone out lately. I do it again, just give it a minute, okay?

So, this guy. He talks to me, and I talk to him. And it’s like, … I don’t know. He just … feels right to be around. You know, like that one guy who’s always nice to everyone, and you just want to protect him because he’s so good to people and you don’t want him to get hurt? That’s what it was like for me.

And that’s basically what he did. I told him my dream. And honestly, at that point, my only dream was to get some clothes on my back, a place to stay, a meal in my gut, a chance to clean up, and to be happy.

And you know what he said to me?

He said, “All right.” He grabbed my hand, and he pulled me. When I asked him what he was doing, he just smiled and laughed. “I’m granting your wish, silly.”

“Granting my…?”

“Let’s go.” He called me by my name, added some sort of weird word at the end of it. Think it was Japanese or something. I don’t really remember. I just remember the sheen of a black duckbill flashing under the intermittent sun as the clouds scudded overhead. Still not sure how he … knew my … name……

…

…

…

The hell am I thinking? Course he knows my fuckin’ name! He’s M—m’boss. Yuh. Boss.

…

I do wut he says.

…

I do wut he says.

Uhhhh … where were we again?

Right. Right. The duckbill. The pomp. The sun kept flashing off it and his eyes when he smiled at me. Hell, when the light shone on him, his skin practically lit up under that leather jacket of his. I thought he had a fuckin’ halo or something.

I also thought the guy might get sunburnt if we didn’t get some shade, so I did what he wanted and followed. He made it clear he’d wait for me to move till I came with him. What choice did I have, make him miserable with me? I couldn’t do that to him. I’d never do that to him.

Why? Because he’s the fucking boss! He made me what I am today! He made me a new fucking man, and I owe everything to him, okay?

OKAY?

Good. Now shut up and listen.

We started in a bar first. He said it was run by some friends, that they’d hook us up, hook me up.

And did they ever. Boss explained he was treating me. My stomach growled from the smells drifting out of the kitchen. Bunch of big men sat on either side, coated in leather. Jacket, pants, gloves, the works. Must’ve been some bikers or something. I … think I remember seeing their bikes parked outside.

Fucking beauties. Harley Davidsons. The rev of those engines, the power vibrating between your legs, the air roaring in your ears, the wind in your face. I’m telling you, there’s no better feeling. Well, except maybe when I work out at the gym or do the boss a favor. Or smoking a cigar. Or flexing.

Flexing feels so good, especially when I’m doing it for the boss.

It’s good to flex for Boss.

Hmm? Being with the boss? I don’t know, it’s … kind of like a drug, I guess. He’s just got that kind of personality, you know?

Well, if you don’t, you will soon enough. He knows everyone in this city. I’m sure he’ll find you when he’s good and ready.

So, you’d think it’d just be a basic meal, right? Nothing fancy or expensive, just enough to fill me up and send me on my way. A good deed for the day, right?

WRONG!

They gave me a steak. A fucking steak! And I don’t mean the cheap cuts. I’m talking about the real quality stuff. Boss said they imported it from Japan. Stuff was like butter in my mouth, only the best damned butter I’d ever tasted in my life. I don’t really remember how much I ate. I just remember Boss laughing. And it was like I just couldn’t stop. The more I ate, the hungrier I was. I was more like a machine than a person, the way I tore through them.

And Boss just smiled and encouraged me the whole time, like it was nothing!

Let me tell you, by the time I finally came back to myself, my jaw was aching so badly. I thought I might’ve dislocated it or something. The lights had come on, and the windows were black. The air reeked of smoke as big burly men lit up cigars and pulled on their beers. I felt … I guess loopy’s the best word. My head was spinning. Or maybe the room was? I guess I was buzzed. Or maybe plastered. I couldn’t tell if the number of empty mugs were because of blurry vision or that I’d actually drank that many. The only place that seemed clear, the only spot that mattered to my addled brain, were those deep blue eyes. They glowed in the light, or at least I thought they did. Was probably the beer or whatever I drank. But damn if I cared. I felt too damn good and too damn full.

And Boss took my hand and waved at the rest of the men in the joint. All of them acknowledged him one way or another. Nods, grunts, salutes, one or two even demanded a promise out of him. Well, maybe demanded is too strong a word. No one demands Boss to do stuff. He just … does it, like, like he knows what we want, and he does everything in his power to make sure we get it, whatever it takes.

He led me to a large pink motorcycle with heart-shaped metal accents. It roared as he ignited the engine, then purred gently as he stroked the handlebars and adjusted the mirrors. Then those same hands were extended to me again.

“Hop on,” he said. I blinked in surprise, and when I asked where we were going, he just giggled and patted the leather behind him. “I told you, silly. I’m granting your wish.”

The wind that blew through my hair was neither cold nor hot. It just was. Of course, I didn’t really have my eyes on wind. I was too focused on not falling off the motorcycle. So, instead, my eyes fell on Boss’ highlights. There were blue swaths that pulled back along the sea of oil on his head. Nah. Oil’s wrong again. I mean, it was black, like oil, but it shone more like … grease, I guess. Yuh. Grease.

I like grease.

Every streetlamp we passed made those highlights pulse with a rainbow of light. You know, kinda like a raven’s wing. It was beautiful. I didn’t even notice when the wind cut out. One minute, we were cruising through the city. The next, we were outside a big apartment building. The same hand reached out to me, and I took it. My legs felt weird from straddling the bike, like they wanted to stay spread, so my walking was sort of awkward at first, but I found a stride that worked while they readjusted.

Boss just smiled and led me up some stairs.

…

A lot of stairs, actually, now that I think about it. But anytime I started to flag, he’d stop and look at me and fix me with that smile. And suddenly I could walk again. I could breathe again, and my legs, well … I guess that wide stretch was sort of useful here. Made it easier to climb.

My legs felt different when we finally got to his door. Heavy, kinda tingly. Boss just smiled at me. “Welcome, Wilbur-kun.”

The apartment was more like a penthouse. The small entryway passed into a broad living room with a large leather couch and soft plush carpet. A giant flat-screen TV was mounted to the wall parallel to the couch. A few other pieces of furniture, like footrests and some easy chairs stood at either side. A kitchen sat off to the side with two entrances on either side of a dividing wall with a big hole cut into it, so you could see the kitchen and whoever might be cooking there.

“Harley, I’m home!”

A big man with broad shoulders strode out from the shadows of a far hall. His hair was like Boss’s, but his streaks were green, instead of blue, and his sideburns, eyebrows, even his goatee was the same neon green. Might’ve been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw his eyes glowing, too, just like Boss’s did. He wore a white tank top covered with a sleeveless black leather vest that complemented his dark skin. Black leather chaps covered a pair of blue jeans. He took one look at me, then fixed his gaze on Boss.

“Another stray dog, huh?”

“This is Wilbur. He’s going to stay with us for the night.”

Harley raised a brow. “One night?”

Boss blushed. “Well, I can’t grant the rest of his wish right now. It’s late, and he needs a place to sleep….”

I cleared my throat. “I, um … I don’t have to stay, if you don’t want me to. Paimon’s been very kind to me already. More than kind, really. I don’t want to cause trouble.”

I think it’s the first time I saw anything close to a hardening in Boss’s expression. Well, hardening is the wrong word. We’re hard, so Boss don’t have to be. It wasn’t hard so much as … determined, I guess. Boss never really gets mean. He’s perfect, and I love him for it. We all do.

“Nonsense. We have a guestroom all made up for you. Dom won’t mind. He’s on shift tonight, and he’s always glad to help when I ask him. He already said yes when I called him at the bar, so don’t you worry.” He smiled again and seized both my hands in his. “Won’t you stay with us, Wilbur-kun?”

The cocked head, the smile, the shiny sparkly eyes accentuated by the blue in his sideburns and goatee. He was every trope of sweet brought into one, and I was growing a mean sweet tooth, though I didn’t know it yet. My hands tingled. My heart beat fast. I couldn’t meet those eyes, so I looked down and muttered, “All right.” I allowed myself one glance, just one.

My heart nearly stopped. He beamed at me with a broad grin that was so innocent, so pure, so … perfect. Harley shook his head, but I saw the smile curving his lips as he folded his muscular arms.

Before I knew it, I was whisked into a room that reeked with the perfume of cigar smoke, leather, polish, and a hint of cologne. A massive king-size bed lay to the side, and a floor-length mirror had been attached to one of the walls, stretching all the way to the ceiling. I was a little wary when I noticed what looked like a switchblade on a side table next to the mirror, but Boss alleviated my fears by flipping not a blade, but a slick comb.

Flick. Click.

“See? Nothing to worry about.”

Flick. Click.

“Dom just really likes the aesthetic.”

Flick. Click.

A blush colored his cheeks. “So do I.”

Flick. Click.

“You don’t mind, do you, Wilbur-kun?”

Flick. Click. Flash.

I blinked dazedly as I looked into those eyes. “I, uh….”

Flick. Click.

“It’s fun, once you get the hang of it.”

Flick. Click.

“You should try it.”

Flick Click.

My fingers twitched. “I … guess I could….”

Flick. Click.

“Gentler. Slower. You’ll shake your whole arm off that way, Wilbur-kun.”

Flick. Click.

His hand was on mine. His other on my arm.

Flick. Click.

“That’s it. Relax. Let the switch go.”

Flick. Click.

“Let it go. And follow the motion.”

Flick. Click.

“Follow….” he instructed

Flick. Click.

“Good. That’s good. That’s right. It’s fun, isn’t it? Sort of relaxing.” He giggled. “Dom loves to do that when he’s fidgety. Well, that or flex. Tell me, Wilbur-kun, do you ever flex?”

Flick. Click.

I had the motion down by this point. I wasn’t sure when I turned to face the mirror. All I knew was that Boss was right. It felt good. I don’t know why, but it did. It still does. I raised my free arm and tensed the muscle there.

Flick. Click.

“Not really.”

Flick. Click.

“Don’t really got much to show.”

Flick. Click.

“Do you want to?” he asked.

Flick. Click.

My brain felt … sluggish, I guess. I felt strange. It was like that tingling had jumped from my arm to my brain. That’s why it took me so long to answer.

I’m lucky he’s so patient.

“I … don’t know.”

Flick. Click.

I took a deep breath. The smell wasn’t so overbearing now. In fact, it was almost like a meal for the nose, if you get what I mean. Sort of fruity and sort of bitter, like sweet and savory, you know? It just … worked. “I don’t know,” I said again.

Boss smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

Flick. Click.

“Yes, Sir.” The words were out of my mouth before I could even think. But that’s when the record scratched. The rhythm broke. I stared at the switch comb and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The polished wood and metal clattered over the side table as I put it back hastily. The thing wasn’t even mine. And the reaction, I mean … sure, I was grateful for his help, but he wasn’t my boss. Well, not yet. I felt … anxious, wrong. “I mean, thank you,” I said hastily.

Boss just smiled. “Happy to help. You can find the spare towels in Dom’s closet. The bathroom is through that door there. Take all the time you need, Wilbur-kun. And like I said, don’t worry about it.” He waved gently. His biker gloves were still on after the drive, and his lock glinted as he turned toward the door. “We’ll be down the hall if you need us. Harley and I like to smoke from time to time, so just follow your nose if we’re not there. I’m sure you’ll be able to find us.”

I blinked heavily. My head still felt off balance, but it was clear enough for me to at least give a proper response. “Thanks.”

And then he was gone.

The towels were in these metal baskets stacked against the wall all the way up to the rods. The whole room was massive. I felt like a kid in the adult section of the department store. Bulky leather coats and massive black boots lined the closet. Out of curiosity, I peeked into a dresser that had been positioned elsewhere. The top drawers were full of accessories. Chains, padlocks, tags, rings, gloves, brass knuckles, and more greeted me from their various alcoves and padded slots. Needless to say, there was a lot of bling.

Below that, drawer after drawer of tank tops, socks, and underwear. The smallest size I could find on average was a XXL, and there were only a few of those. This Dom character had to be a big man to fill that kind of size. I’d find out later just how big, myself. Guess the big lug must’ve been sentimental or something, though, because I did finally manage to find a large tank top to use. Then again, maybe he just used it to show off all his muscle. Boss had said he liked to flex a lot.

The shirt looked baggy when I held it against my frame, but it would suffice for bed clothes. I took it and a ratty pair of sweatpants with an adjustable waistband into the room. I breathed deeply as I braced myself in front of the door, then pulled it open.

My mouth would have dropped to the floor if it could. The bathroom was a spacious master bath complete with some of the most advanced functions I’ve ever seen on shower or tub. Bath salts, air diffusers, incense burners, and loads and loads of hair product were distributed all over the room. Body wash, cologne, loofa sponges, the works. There were jets, oils, salon-brands of hair care products. And the materials that went into the actual room itself! Incredible. I’m talking marble, swanky tile, brass fittings, the works. The room screamed fancy rich boy.

And that fancy rich boy was just outside these doors in the apartment, wearing a black leather jacket and a duckbill pompadour.

My mouth suddenly felt very dry. I smacked my lips and forced myself to move. He expected me to shower, after all. It was part of my wish. The question was, did I want to shower or bathe?

This’ll sound stupid, but I felt too intimidated by the bathtub. I mean, I was a guest. This wasn’t my home. Using all those fancy salts and oils and bubble bath or whatever left me feeling too uncomfortable. Who knew how much he spent on them? He earned the best. Me? I just was a charity case he pulled in off the streets. I didn’t deserve those things. Not yet.

So, I went and used the shower, instead. The thing had massaging jets from every angle, and the whole space filled with steam to make me feel … well, I guess like I was in my own little world. The pressure helped seep the warmth into my muscles and wash away the extra grease and dirt I’d accumulated. The body wash and shampoo smelled like a mix of cologne and fruit. I guess the closest scent I could relate to it was Old Spice’s Wolfthorn from their Wild Collection. I could almost imagine what it’d be like, too, having a mascot for that brand.

A cute white wolf with a winning smile and deep, deep blue eyes….

A dizzy spell hit me, and I struck the marble wall. The cool surface helped to shock me back to a more wakeful state. If this was how I acted in the shower, maybe it was a good thing I didn’t choose the tub. At least, that’s what I thought then.

The rest of the shower went off without a hitch. I shampooed, conditioned, and lathered my body, rinsed, and finally disengaged from the shower.

The towel I’d borrowed was more like a bath sheet. The thing draped practically down to my ankles. And it was clearly designed for someone with a much broader frame than I had. This Dom character was a very big man. And let me tell you, big doesn’t do him justice. He’s swole, bruh, like, uh … just … really big, y’know?

I strode to the mirror, where a brief search through the drawers revealed disposable toothbrushes waiting to be opened, tubes of toothpaste, and another drawer loaded with custom switchcombs, each with their own unique prints and patterns for their handles.

The brushing was no problem. I had my face dried off in no time. My beard was unruly, so I took a set of electric trimmers and buzzed it off. My skin wasn’t entirely cleanshaven, but it looked a lot better, now that I had access to the right tools.

Then my eyes locked onto the hair products themselves. And a set of neon-blue eyes gazed back at me in a way that only a wolf knew how. It was a cartoon, yet it carried the same commanding presence in that stare. His lips were curved in a smile. Hands sheathed in black fingerless gloves held a comb and ran it through a pompadour as he looked at me.

Right at me.

…

I’m not sure what came over me. All I know is that I decided to try some of the stuff. Part of it was instinct, I suppose. And part of it was … something else. Don’t question it, dawg. You can’t understand it yet. Here. You wanted my story. Now you can spot me while I tell it. Dat recorder’s still workin’, right? Cool, bruh. If you still don’t get it when I’m done talkin’, you can ask again, and I’ll explain it to ya nice n’slow.

Now spot me, bro.

So, like I said, I just … had to try the stuff. It wasn’t a lot. I didn’t drain the whole can or anything. Just enough to sort of mess with my hair, help get it more organized, you know? It was too long to really do anything major with. I just wanted to keep it from getting all crazy, jutting into corners and stuff. And, well, you can’t get much stiffer than Pomcrete. My scalp was all tingly after I finished combing my hair. I almost forgot to screw the cap back on before I left.

I got dressed in the ratty clothes and strode back into the bedroom. The mirror was still there, and though the clothes left me feeling diminished, I could still see the hint of tone beneath the skin and bone in my arms. I … may have tried flexing again. It’s … sort of addicting, once you start, you know?

Took some searching to find the laundry basket. I was half-tempted to just throw the thing on the floor, but I didn’t want to be rude. After that, I turned off the light and crept silently to the bed. I’d never slept on a king before, except maybe as a kid. The mattress and sheets swallowed me whole, and I let them.

I don’t know how long I slept. It’d been so long since I’d actually had a bed. Or at least it felt like a long time. I came to slowly, sort of like an air bubble, you know? Not really solid, kind of wobbly, delicate, and easy to pop. I felt safe, warm, and … well, kind of empty up top. I guess it’s because it felt so much like a dream, and I didn’t want it to end.

Bruh, ah’m servin’ Boss. Ah’m livin’ the dream now. Now shut up n’let me tell m’story, dawg.

…

Good dawg.

So, this incense is going, right? And I walk out of the room all tired and sleepy, which is weird, because I blacked out and I’m pretty sure I slept all through the night no problem, but whatever. I stumbled into the living room, where a good four people were standing. Two, I recognized as Paimon and his roommate. I later found out they were married. The other two, I hadn’t seen before.

One was a big guy around the same size as Harley. He had purple highlights in his hair, and the eyes to match. I could see a lot of Paimon in him, so … maybe they were like brothers or cousins or something? I wasn’t sure. Then there was this hulking brute of a man. He was huge, and I don’t just mean muscle. The guy was a giant. His brow was thick and heavy. His shoulders broad as boulders, his face rough and chiseled with a black goatee sprouting from his chin. Black sideburns streaked down the sides of his face and part of his jaw to frame his head like a cinderblock. Streaks of scarlet broke the midnight of his hair in great bands. It’s sort of a family trait to them. If you’re part of their family, you have streaks, and you have pomps.

The man could’ve squeezed coal to diamond between those pecs. Though there was something funny about his eyes. I couldn’t really tell where the pupil ended and the iris began. They sort of … mulled together into one mass. A thick cigar was clenched in his teeth as he talked to the rest of the family, and the air reeked of his blend. Another pink cigarette smoked from an ash tray, blending the gentle lull of rose incense with the starker scent of tobacco smoke. The leather of his jacket creaked as he pulled out his cigar, looked down at me, and exhaled. I nearly reeled from the dizzy spell when the smoke hit my face.

“So, ’Dis is da guy.” I couldn’t help but notice the huge padlock that dangled between his pecs on a thick metal chain as he breathed. A pair of dog tags dangled beneath on a thinner chain. He grunted.

“Ohayo, Will-kun,” Paimon greeted cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?”

I blinked to try to clear the fog from my brain. My lungs were processing incense, cigar smoke, and cigarette smoke. It takes getting used to when it’s all at once.

“Uh, … hi,” I finally managed to say.

The big guy folded his arms and grunted again. I didn’t know if he didn’t like me or if the whole looming glare was just his default. “M—Boss asked yuhs a question, dawg.” His knuckles cracked ominously, and I couldn’t help but notice the metal bands he wore on each of his fingers. All ten of them. “Bettuh answer.”

I swallowed heavily.

“Dom, be nice,” Paimon chided.

The sudden change in demeanor was startling. The thug snapped to attention and jutted his chest forward. A very impressive display when all he had to frame said chest was a tank top, thanks to the fact he hadn’t zipped up his jacket. The shirt strained against his muscle to be put on prominent display. His pecs bounced a few times as he saluted. “Yussuh.”

Paimon giggled. “Why don’t you go freshen up, Dom-kun? You’ve had a long night.”

“Yussuh,” he slurred again. He lumbered past me easily. His heavy boots clunked against the floor, rattling the apartment with every step. The only sign of him that remained after was the miasma of his cigar. It seemed almost to hover in my nose when I turned back to the remaining members of the household.

“So, … that was Dom?” I asked.

“Don’t worry. He’s a big sweetie under all that muscle,” Paimon assured with another giggle. “Would you like some breakfast?”

I blushed again. Everyone else was already fully dressed, and I couldn’t help but notice the distinct presence of leather in all their gear. Not unusual in and of itself. It was more the fact I was barefoot in some ratty sweatpants and an old shirt. Makes a man self-conscious, you know what I mean? “Um, … yes, please.”

So, turns out the one with the purple streaks was named Lavante. He’s sort of an adopted son for the pair. I could hardly tell the difference between them, really. Age-wise, I mean. Guess they must’ve had good genes. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. Kid had a padlock and a set of tags, just like Dom. I noticed Harley only had a chain with a ring tied to it. Lavante had size and mass from his father. That is, his bigger father. Or so the parents joked. His eyes, well, that, I’m not sure who he got it from. They were purple, but they had that sort of empty quality that invites someone to fall in and never come out again. They could be hard or soft in an instant, and there was a sort of … I guess a longing to look at them when I was eating. My gaze kept darting between Paimon’s and Lavante’s faces.

“You smoke?”

I blinked in surprise. I looked at my plate and found it suddenly empty. It was filled almost just as quickly. “Uh … haven’t in a long time,” I said. “Tried it once, got sick. Never wanted to again.”

Lavante frowned. “But you don’t look sick now.”

I shrugged. “Haven’t taken a direct hit since the first time I tried it. Like I said, didn’t really want to.” I was so hungry, but I didn’t understand why. I must have had at least four plates. Maybe, maybe more. The more I ate, the more dazed I felt. Not a bad sort of daze, just … different. Like … I don’t know. I … guess I was happy? Sort of? I guess the best way to describe it is a sort of in-between place. Not like a drug high or anything like that, but definitely not normal either. It was sort of a … I guess a dead space or a neutral zone.

Can’t remember much of what I said during that time. Must’ve said a lot, though, ’cause the clock said it was nearly noon by the time the meal was over. I’d been shoveling so much food, it was only natural when I brought my hand to my face again. My lips curved around. My teeth bit gently. I breathed, and warmth flooded my lungs. I didn’t want to cough this time. I didn’t feel sick. It smelled almost like lavender. Best way I could put it was it felt like my stomach had had enough, and now my lungs wanted something to eat, too. There was no coughing, no gagging, just … a smooth tingle.

“For a guy who’s only had one cigarette, you sure drag like a champ.” Harley was holding a lighter. He flicked the cap shut. A cigarette protruded from the corner of his mouth. Lavante smoked a purple one, and Paimon’s cigarette was the same rosy pink from the one I’d seen in the ash tray.

I pulled the thing away from me, looked calmly at it. I was surprised, but I didn’t feel that usual surge of adrenaline. My lips puckered briefly as I licked them, and my chest tingled as I breathed in the secondhand smoke the others were generating. I … I wanted more. And I wasn’t sure how to think about that at first. “I … guess I just needed the right brand,” I finally managed to say.

“Yuh,” Lavante said in a deep tone.

I dragged. My lungs savored every instant of the smoke. And then I let it go with an equally low, “Yuh…”

Harley didn’t say anything else. He just rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Paimon smiled kindly. Lavante, … Lavante sneered. And like a game of Simon Says, I felt my lips contorting in time, pulling aside to bare my teeth and match his look.

Paimon giggled in delight as I leaned back in my chair and spread my legs. I felt so good, so relaxed there. I don’t know if it was a high from the smoke, the food, or something else, but … I felt safe. I could be at peace there. I could live in a place like that. It wasn’t how I was raised, but it felt like home. Like I belonged there, could always belong there. I just had to… had to….

Had to what?

I shook my head. What … was I thinking? This wasn’t my house, wasn’t my place. I couldn’t live there!

The cigarette dropped from my lips. I fumbled, but I couldn’t catch it. The thing hit the floor and broke apart. Fortunately, it fell on tile, so the ashes were easy to clean, but the butt was ruined. And whatever fantasy world I was falling toward with it.

“S-sorry,” I said awkwardly as I stumbled to my feet. “I’ll clean it up.”

Paimon kept smiling. “Don’t worry about it, Will-kun. It happens.”

My throat was suddenly parched, probably from all the smoke. I guzzled a quick drink from the sink, then turned back to the table. “Um, where do you keep the broom and dustpan?”

It didn’t take long to clean up my mess. By then, it was time to clear the rest of the table, too, so I helped. I had to pay for my night there somehow, after all.

What happened after is sort of a blur to the extent that Paimon took me out to get cleaned up. Well, more cleaned up than I already was. We started at a barber. The owner was a big man who reeked of cigar smoke. He was a massive in every sense of the word, standing at what had to be at least seven feet tall with bulging muscles to match. His face was wreathed in gold that merged with his pompadour. Green stripes streaked on the left side of his hair, even going so far as to color part of his beard. A bold fashion statement, but this was a bold sort of man.

And one who took command in his shop.

He took one look at me, and I was in the chair with a cape tied around my body. I’d trimmed my beard just fine, but my hair was another story. Since I’d already showered before, he didn’t feel the need to give me the whole package. In his words, “This ain’t a fuckin’ salon.”

Paimon laughed and beamed that smile at me again. I could barely see it through the haze of smoke that started to fill the room. The barber wasn’t one for talking, but he definitely was for smoking. He chopped off the extra-long locks and rubbed something into my scalp that left it all tingly and cool. For such a big gruff man, his hands were surprisingly gentle. I wouldn’t say I fell asleep exactly, but … I guess my brain sort of shut off for a while. It was just so … relaxing, bruh.

He lathered up my face, anyway, and scraped the rest of the stubble down around my cheeks and lower jaw. Then he added some weird stuff to my sideburns and my chin before a hot towel treatment. That’s when I really blacked out. Next thing I knew, I was staring into the mirror while those same hands ran a comb through my much cleaner hair. Something felt … different, but I couldn’t place what. I just let it go. It was hard to think with all that stroking over my scalp, anyway.

I caught sight of a familiar cannister. A white wolf smiled up at me, this time proffering a rose while the other ran a comb through his pompadour.

Pompadour.

…

Pompadour….

Pomp. That’s what was different! The hair over my forehead swept up like the crest of some giant wave ready to crash at any second. Only, it was held together by something solid. Something thick. But … my hair didn’t feel heavy. It moved. It followed every stroke, every tug of that gentle comb. And the more it did, the more I felt that familiar high settling in as my scalp tingled. Before my very eyes, I watched the wave grow taller, thicker, fuller. And so very, very shiny.

“You look good, Will-kun.” Paimon smiled.

“He’s almost done,” the gruff man said. “Needs a little more pump.”

I raised my brow. “Pump the pomp?” It was like my vocal cords were lax. Instead of my higher tenor, they’d lowered to a baritone. I sounded like I’d just woken up. And … I guess I sort of had?

The bearded man’s lips curled into a smile. “That’s right.” His fingers and the comb raked through my hair again, and my eyes rolled in uh, … uh, … wut’s da word for blackin’ out from feelin’ good?

…

Yuh, that’s it, euphoric bliss.

“S’good ta pump da pomp,” he growled in my ear as the comb stroked my sideburns.

I shuddered. I felt so pampered, so relaxed. The smell of the cigar smoke, the aftershave, the pomade, and the undertone of leather from his extra-large vest left me feeling … well, at home, I guess.

Though, on second thought, maybe that vest was XXL? I … don’t remember. I just knew he was big, and it was big. And suddenly, I didn’t mind that I had a new hairstyle anymore.

Besides, Paimon was paying for it. Who was I to object? I mean, he said he was granting my wish, and so far, he’d delivered. So, … maybe this was part of my wish, too? It … really did feel good having that look. And my hair was so shiny. When the barber finally backed away, I couldn’t help but run my fingers through it just once.

I gaped vapidly at myself in the mirror. My pupils were a lot bigger than I remember, but Paimon just smiled as he pulled me from the chair. My chin prickled, and I scratched the patch of hair that had grown in by my cleft. He placed something in my hand. When I looked down, I saw the familiar sight of a polished switch comb. Streaks of blue and silver lit up against the black accents. They seemed almost to swirl the longer I looked at them.

“Your fingers will ruin the look,” Paimon explained. “This should let you play with it without damaging anything. Think of it as a part of your wish. You can’t have clothes without accessories.” He gasped as he looked to his watch. “And speaking of, we have an appointment to keep. Let’s go!” He beamed at the barber as he pulled my arm behind him. “Arigato, Axe-kun!”

The barber grunted and offered a two-fingered salute to the smaller man. His deep voice rumbled after us. “See you again soon, Will.”

Logic dictated that couldn’t be true. There was little chance of me ever going back to that barbershop again. But even so, part of me believed him. And before I could stop myself, a deep, “Yuh,” had already escaped my lips. I didn’t see the smile, but I could feel it as we passed the door back into the busy streets.

Two massive men in thick leather biker jackets and pants strode into the store behind us. The familiar smell of cigar smoke trailed with them, and I breathed deeply, despite myself. Their pompadours were far larger than mine and looked near the point of collapse. There’s only so much pomade can do before you have to trim yourself, you know. Then the door shut, and we were gone. My head swam with the events that had happened so far, but we weren’t done yet. And Paimon had a lot more places to show me.

Next up, we arrived in a clothing store. Paimon smiled as we strode through the entrance. The fresh smell of leather hit me like a wall of bricks. I felt that same urge to mess with my hair again but did my best to resist it. I flicked the switch comb, instead. It helped a little.

“Let’s get you some clothes, Will-kun.”

I could hardly object. Not because I didn’t necessarily want to, but … well, I just felt … I guess I was foggy up top, ya know? Don’t think much up there anymore. And … I guess things slowed down when I was with him. Every time I saw that smile, I just felt … different. That same feeling from the haircut came back again and again. And it would always get stronger.

“I don’t—”

“Trust me, you’ll love it!” He grinned. His eyes flashed. Or maybe I was just that lightheaded. Suddenly, I was sitting in a mirrored room. I … don’t remember much of what happened. There were a lot of shirts and pants. Jeans, chaps, tanks, muscle tees, boots, dog tags, chains.

And the padlocks.

Bruh, when you find that right padlock, and it just … clicks, you know it’s right. And you know you never want to unlock it again. Must’ve tried … I don’t know how many different combos before Pai found one that worked.

I wore a black tank top that hugged tightly to my chest. It was like … like I was getting a hug. A really soft hug. Every breath left me feeling the fabric as it expanded with me, then slowly retracted. It was like … well, I guess it was like it was alive, you know? The compression was in all the right places. I looked … different, but … a good different. I had this dull brown that was almost black when Paimon first found me. But when I was a kid, I had this super bright blond hair, like … the sun, basically. Platinum grade, ya know? Didn’t need no bleach back then. I was au naturel. It was funny, seein’ that same bright shine pop against m’new black duds.

I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. Things were just … weird, but in a good way. I felt good. I wasn’t ripped, but the time with Paimon had helped me to see I wasn’t so bad off as I thought. The mirror only helped prove that more. The gut I thought I had was hardly showing now. It just sort of pressed gently against the waistband of my new leather pants. I could see the hints of muscle tone in my arms. Nothing big, but present, you know? Enough to show there was potential.

Huhuh. I see that potential in you, too, y’know.

The boots Paimon got me clunked heavily on the floor in a sort of march as I got used to the feel of them on my soles. A minute later, it felt … well, it felt almost like I wasn’t wearing anything, really. It felt natural to let the weight carry my legs to a heavy slam. Gotta know how to throw m’weight around, you know?

“You look amazing, Will-kun!” Boss cheered.

I blushed. “Y’really think so?”

“Hai.”

He smiled again, and I couldn’t stop myself. I zoned out again. I came to posing in front of the mirrors. Boss was clapping. Something felt off again, but I couldn’t quite place it. I kept staring as I transitioned from pose to pose. Archer, crab, and whatever other ones there might be. I frowned as my eyes fell to my crotch. That was where the feeling was strongest. Something was different down there, but I wasn’t sure what. It looked … fuller than what I was used to. Were the pants cut differently, or was I actually…?

A loud snap echoed in my ears, and I was suddenly aware of a cold and heavy chain draped over my neck and chest. A heavier blunt square object practically burned between my pecs with how cold it was. The fabric hardly did a thing to protect my skin. I almost lost control of my breathing.

“What do you think, Will-kun?” Boss asked. I didn’t even hear him sneak up behind me. He seemed so much smaller from his place next to the platform.

“I, uh….”

“Isn’t it nice?”

I peered at the lock. Its blunt edges. Its dull faded blue paint. It had been used before, worn, beaten, but still not out of commission. In a lot of ways, it reminded me of, well, me. I could … relate to it.

“I guess, but … isn’t it a little much?”

Boss giggled. “I don’t think so. Now we’re twinsies.” He raised his own padlock and chain. They glinted in the light. “See?”

The light made me blink. I … couldn’t really think of an answer, but I wanted to talk. So, uh, yuh, m’body did the only thing it could do. “Uhhhhhhh….”

His laughter flooded my ears as his hands wrapped around mine and guided them to my lock. Next thing I knew, I was staring at two padlocks. “Like this, silly,” he said.

“Oh.” I nodded. The light was duller, but it was there, hidden, deep in the faded murk of the paint. A sort of pale reflection to the brighter silver of Boss’ padlock. One that left me wanting to find the source. Wanting to delve deeper. Wanting to seep into that fog. I found myself nodding as I stared.

Flash. Dull. Flash. Dull.

Flash…

Dull…

Dim flash..

Dull….

Dimmer.

Dull………

“Will-kun.” The voice sounded so far away. “Will-kun.” It called again. I felt his hands wrapped around my forearm, pulling gently. The blue and silver fog that I’d been so focused on slowly receded. I blinked blearily as Boss came into focus. “You really like that padlock, don’t you?”

My head felt … slow, full, … Idunno, just … not like it used to be, you know? All I know is he asked me a question. And … I had to answer. I didn’t really think about the answer. I just … spoke. Was like a kneejerk reaction, you know?

“Uhhhh … yuh….”

He giggled. “I’m glad. Come on, Will-kun.” He led me by the hand. My hips jingled. A glance down revealed I’d gained more chains than when I first started posing in front of that mirror. But … the jingle was nice. Comforting, you know? Followed the beat when I stepped. It still does. I like lettin’ people know ah’m comin’.

We stepped out the store without paying. The cashier waved it off and silently passed a huge leather jacket on a hangar for Boss to carry. He giggled as he seized the hook. “Arigato!”

My heart nearly stopped from the cuteness. My breath caught. My chest lurched. And suddenly, I was grabbing my lock like a lifeline. I followed him out the store like a puppy. I wasn’t really in a state to say anything. I could barely concentrate enough to follow behind him. The clunk and the jingle reverberated in my ears again and again with every step.

But when I saw his arms start to droop, I swooped in. My hands seized the jacket, and I felt the hangar straining against the crooks of my fingers as they curled to hold it over my shoulder. I knew it’d be rude if I didn’t say anything. Heck, he might think I was stealing. I had to say something, do something.

“If you’re gonna treat me, at least let me help.” It came out gruffer than I intended, but his smile told me he understood what I meant to say. I suddenly felt very much exposed. A flush rose in my cheeks, and I looked away bashfully, then cleared my throat. “So, who’s this thing for, anyway?”

Boss giggled. “A friend. I wanted to pick it up for when he’s ready.”

“When he’s … ready?”

Paimon nodded. “Uhuh. To join our family.”

“Like the others at the apartment?”

“Uhuh. They’re just a bunch of big sweeties, like Dom.”

“Dom is … sweet?”

Paimon laughed again. “Once you get to know him.

“He doesn’t … look sweet.”

He placed his hands behind his back and sort of bobbed or rocked as we walked. You know how the upper body just sort of sways sometimes when you’re actin’ cute without trying? It was kind of like that. “Well, then, what does he look like to you?”

I was taken off guard. “… To me?”

“Yeah!” He beamed at me. “Be honest.”

I nearly stumbled. My head rang. Or … was that the dog tags and the padlock knocking against each other? Guilt flushed my cheeks this time. After all, Boss knew Dom a lot better than I did back then. “Promise not to be mad?” I asked softly.

“Hai.”

I couldn’t help myself. It just … burst out of me in a rush. “He looks like a street thug waiting for an excuse to beat someone up.”

Paimon’s smile didn’t falter. There was no hardening. His grin widened. “I know. Isn’t it great!” He giggled.

“Great to … be a thug? Or great to look like one?”

“Well, both, of course, silly. It’s great to be both.”

“Great … to be both….” I trailed in utter disbelief. He all but admitted he liked thugs. Genuine street thugs. Outlaws, muggers, the kind of guys you don’t want to run into in a dark alley at night. And he let one of them live in his house?

“Why don’t you flick your switch comb, Will-kun? You look anxious.” Snap went the comb in his hand. The tines parted his hairs like the Red Sea, and they closed up behind just as quickly.

Before I knew it, that tingle from the barber was back again. Little pricks tugged at my pompadour, pulling loose hairs back into line, stimulating my scalp, and tugging … well, it felt like they were tugging deeper, somehow, if that makes sense. You know, like when you do weeding and pull the roots out of the dirt? They pull a bunch of clods with them. It was … sort of like that, I guess. Or at least closer to it. My heart stopped thudding, and I just … sort of let it go. More like the gardener made me let it go. I still remembered what Boss had said. I still knew Dom was a thug. But … I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t suspicious. I just … was.

“See? You’re feeling better already.”

The flash went off again. I wasn’t sure whether it was his padlock, his pomp, his eyes, or his smile. Maybe all of them at once. I blinked slowly and nodded. It was sort of natural with the heavy steps I’d been taking. I felt like a giant bobblehead, and I was stuck in yes mode.

“Uhhhhh….”

Boss giggled. “You’re so adorable when you’re like this, Will-kun.”

Another yank. Any suspicions were pulled away with the roots to clear the way for … something. I knew he’d complimented me. I knew compliments deserved a response. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” We walked on for a block or so in silence, just letting the jingles ring while I kept weeding my brain. Boss pulled out one of his pink cigarettes and lit it. He toked it for a while, then finally spoke again. “Say, Will-kun?” He breathed into the air. A breeze blew it to my nose. The response was instinctual. I breathed in as much of the stuff as I could.

I groaned out an, “Uhhhh, … yeah?” as my eyes rolled. It was like someone had just watered the bed I was weeding. Every stroke came easier as stalk after stalk pulled loose with clod after clod of wet, muddy dirt.

Spattering.

Oxidizing.

Clearing out more and more.

Leaving behind less and less.

And I couldn’t stop it. Or … maybe I didn’t want to, bruh. It’s seriously that ple-uhhhh … intoxic-uhhhhhh…. Good. Yuh, like … really good, bruh.

…

Fuckin’ sweet….

Right, right. The story. Sorry.

So, Boss is talkin’, and he asks me a question. “You knew what Dom was when you met him, right?”

I nodded. “Uhuh….”

“How?”

I shrugged. The cold leather of the jacket brushed against my bare arm, and goosebumps raised on my skin. “Just … looked like one is all.”

Boss giggled. “You took one look, and that’s how you knew. I guess the old saying is true, then.”

I … couldn’t follow that. “Wut?”

He beamed at me again. “Well, it takes one to know one, silly.”

Another click like the slot of the padlock slamming home echoed in my ears. Or … maybe it was my head? I had enough holes left for both to work. I took a moment to stretch my arms. The fabric of the tank strained against my back and pecs, and I rumbled like a bike engine. The comb flicked shut, and I put it back in my pocket. “But … ah didn’ know. Yuh told me….” My mouth and throat felt … tired, like they didn’t want to put in the effort for a whole sentence. I let it slide. I was too buzzed from the weeding.

Boss giggled. “Nuh-uh,” he sang. “You guessed all on your own, Will-kun.”

He laughed again. And my head spun as blood surged through my body. I felt … different, but I couldn’t place how. Everything hugged just right. My body was bulky and … I guess hungry is the best way I can put it. It needed something. I needed something. My free arm lifted and I clenched my fist. That good feeling I talked about before came back. Only this time, it brought its bigger bulkier brother. My skin writhed and stretched as the sleeping pythons that were my biceps surged to life. It flowed like sweat or water down to my pecs, my abs, my crotch, my legs.

“Are you hiding something, Will-kun?” Boss asked playfully.

I felt my crotch inflate, just like my biceps. I spread my legs in a swagger as the flow bulked me up. “Fuck….” I groaned.

“I’m right, aren’t I, Will-kun?”

I couldn’t really think. I barely heard what he’d said. Could hardly process. “Uhhhhh…huh?”

He laughed as we stepped through a pair of glass doors into a room filled with a haze of cigar smoke. The clank of metal hitting metal struck again and again. It rang louder than my padlock and tags ever could. We stepped up to a reception desk. Boss smiled at the guy manning the computer. Dawg had ta be almost hulk-sized. A real muscle beast in a tight tank top with a mean sneer.

“Welcome ta Dawgmaker Gym. Whadaya want?” His voice was gruff, and his scowl would’ve driven off anyone who wasn’t already used to dealing with him. He asked me. Didn’t even seem to care about Boss. Then again, Boss is a regular here, so he didn’t need to ask.

“Tank, this is Will-kun. He’s here to work off some steam.” He smiled. Tank’s scowl deepened. I felt my body tense as I shifted my weight to stick part of myself in front of Boss.

“You got a problem?” I growled. My brow furrowed, and I glared right back. Paimon was nice to me, did so much for me. I wasn’t gonna let someone try to hurt him because of me.

“Tank, Will, play nice.”

The voice was soft and nonplussed, kind as always. My shoulders slumped. The fire building in my chest died, leaving more smoke to join the gym’s atmosphere. Tank backed off and averted his gaze from Paimon’s stare.

“Sorry, Suh.”

Paimon smiled. “There. All better now. Let’s get along and give Will a membership.

Tank saluted, allowing his pecs to show off and bounce in front of Boss. “Yussuh.”

Boss giggled at the sight and blushed as Tank tapped away at the keys. I think he did everything to keep flexing his pecs while he did it. I felt my own pecs tighten at the sight. My arms felt warm, loose, and tingly. When he was done, he handed me a lighter and a freshly cut cigar he’d chopped on the desk. Then he handed me my membership card. His eyes looked kinda funny, but I couldn’t say how or why. Was probably the haze from the smoke, anyway.

“On da house,” Tank lowed when I tried to return the cigar. “Part a’da deluxe package. Give it a long drag before yuhs works out. Oh, and, uh … welcome ta Dawgmaker Gym, dawg.”

I nodded numbly as Pai-dawg shepherded me onto the main floor with the jacket still draping over my back. My fingers twitched, and my chest heaved as I breathed the smoke in while heavy punk music and a repetitive bass thudded through the space.

Everyone in the gym was big, burly, and either lifting weights or flexing in front of a mirror while they lit one up.

Even Mistuh Pai-dawg was smokin’. He looked at me expectantly. “Well, Will-kun?”

“Uh, … wut?” I asked.

Paimon smiled and extended his hands. “Give me the jacket. I’ll hang it up. You light up that cigar, okay? I know a cranky smoker when I see one.”

Cranky smoker? For some reason, that didn’t sound right, but … at the same time, I kept craning my neck toward the ceiling, as if I could make myself grow into the cloud, like some mountain. Y’know mountains make their own clouds, right? Mistuh Pai-dawg taught me that. My head felt dizzy again. My arms moved almost on their own as I handed him the jacket. I got a lungfull of smoke in return.

“See you soon, Will-kun.”

The flash went off again. This time, it repeated as I flicked my thumb over the lighter and the flint went off.

One. Two. Three times. Finally, I lit up on the fourth. It was hard to work the little wheel with such a thick thumb. Kept sayin’ I needed to get a zippo. They’re built for big guys like me. Anyway, I held the flame to the head and waited. When it was good and smokin’, I took a drag.

My eyes rolled. My head shot back. My whole body relaxed. “Fuck, ah needed dis,” I swore. Like a magnet to a charge, the smoke surrounding the room seemed to zoom at my face all of a sudden. It was just me and the mirror. The weights clanked as members grunted through their sets, and I felt a sort of rhythm to it.

Clank. Clank.

One. Two.

Clank. Clank.

Flex, you.

I dragged.

I flexed.

I breathed.

I flexed.

I grunted.

I flexed.

One. Two.

Flex. Grunt.

One. Two.

Follow through.

One. Two.

Burn away.

One. Two.

“Flex and obey….”

“Yussuh….”

Thick hands felt up my biceps, adjusted my form and stance.

“Like this, dawg.”

The smoke burned in my lungs, but it was a good burn. The ash settled in my brain. I didn’t care.

I grunted and followed the coach. A man with a shock of black hair with shiny gold stripes running through in a pomp grinned at me through his shades. His jacket looked like it would break apart any moment under the stress of his arms. He bared his teeth at me as he looked over my bod. “Lookin’ good, dawg.”

“Feelin’ good,” I rumbled back. My lips pulled back in a half-sneer, half-grin. I kind of liked how growly my voice got with the smoke.

And then he was there again. Mistuh Pai-dawg smiled as he laid a hand over my bicep and beamed at the otha’ dawg. “Thanks for keeping him company, Jackknife-kun.”

Jackknife grinned and saluted Mistuh-Pai. “S’good ta greet a new dawg.”

Mistuh Pai-dawg laughed. “Treat him nice when he starts work, okay?”

Jackknife sneered as he swaggered off. “Don’t I always?”

Mistuh Pai-dawg had ta crane his neck ta look at me. Then he giggled and turned to the mirror. “Still going to say you’re not a thug, Will-kun?”

I blinked dully. The ash and smoke had seeped from my brain to my eyes, making them cloudy and indistinct. “Uhhhh … nun-uh….” I meant to say I wasn’t a thug. ’Least … I think I did. But I think Mastuh Pai-dawg took it th’ otha’ way.

“Good dawg.”

Like the Three Billie Goats Gruff, the biggest, strongest, baddest high bucked me off the bridge and right into the rapids.

“Let’s work out, thug.”

I didn’t think. I couldn’t think. But … I tried. I wanted to. It’s just … the clanking weights. The thump of my padlock against my chest. The heavy bass beating, beating, beating into my thick skull. Tamping down the dirt. Tenderizing the meat in my head. Beating the bone into a new shape. I squatted. I curled. I hefted. I thrust.

And the more I worked my body, the slower my head moved. The duller my thoughts became. The thicker my skull. The blockier my jaw. All that dirt and smoke put a filter over the windows. I stared at myself in the mirror. There were no pupils there anymore. No definition. Just a vague sort of emptiness, like a hollow in a mountain or an attic you never visit. It was just … there. Running on autopilot. Running on fumes.

The fumes from my cigar.

Fumes of smoke … and grease.

…

And leather.

I lost track of time, of everything but his eyes, his urgings.

…

He’d cheer me on, and I would lap it up like liquid energy.

“That’s my Will!”

I grinned.

“Good dawg. Can you do more?”

“Yussuh…”

Another set. Another excited laugh. He clapped that time.

“Arms and pecs next! Pump it up, dawg.”

“Yussuh….” I grunted. I pumped, and that pump strained my skin. I could almost hear it creaking as the muscle writhed and swelled with every rep.

He hummed. “You could use some bigger traps.”

I seized a pair of dumbbells and started shrugging and lifting to work my wings and shoulders. I could almost see my Adam’s apple throbbing, pulsing, expanding as my lungs heaved and my neck thickened with my shoulders.

“Yussuh….” I hardly even recognized the sound of my own voice anymore. It was a habit, acknowledgement. Nothing more. Nothing more than call and response. The more I listened, the better I felt. I was addicted. I didn’t want it to end. It couldn’t end. It wouldn’t end. I refused to let it end.

“And a broader back.”

“Yussuh.” Again, I worked. Crack went my shoulders. Suddenly, my chest was broader, my shoulders wider.

“Good thug.”

“Yussuh….”

Veins swam up and down my arms as they strained, like worms through the dirt. Processing, consuming.

“Yussuh, what?”

“Ah’m a good thug….”

“Say it again.”

“Ah’m a good thug.”

“Again.”

“Ah’m a good thug.”

“That’s my Will.”

This time, something was different. One last shift yanked in my brain. A nail in the coffin, a compacter on the dirt, whatever you wanna use for an analogy. All I know is, he was right. I was his Will. I did wut he wanted, because he made me feel so good. If … if this feeling would never end, I’d do whatever, be whatever he wanted. The dumbbells crashed into the rack, and I whipped around to fall onto my knees before him. Even then, we still were looking almost eye-to-eye.

He’d called. The program was set. The training demanded I answer.

A good dawg obeys.

“Yussuh….”

“Yussuh, what?” he asked.

I panted. My chest heaved. My tank felt paper-thin against my chest from all the sweat making it cling to my hulking body. I was built like a beast, and I felt like a beast. A beast who’d just been given an order.

A beast who had to obey. The cigar was long gone, but he gave me another dose of smoke as he smiled at me. He brushed my sideburns with his biker-gloved hands. Another blow. Another crack. My jaw got thicker, broader. And my neck swelled to match. The smoke flooded my brain, and with it came the clarity, the answer that was so blinding I almost blacked out right there.

“Yussuh, Massuh Pai-dawg….”

I was Massuh Pai-dawg’s Will. What he wanted, I got. What he wanted done, I would get done. My skull rang with the shouts of thousands of voices all echoing the same things over and over.

Serve Massuh Pai-dawg.

Obey Massuh Pai-dawg.

Protect Massuh Pai-dawg.

Good thug.

Good dawg.

Greaser thug.

Greaser dawg.

His beautiful soft hands cupped my face. “Time to suit up, thug.”

“Yussuh.” I rose to my feet. The jacket slid easily over my body. The cold leather and the smell of polish completed the scent that I’d been craving. I turned to the mirror and took in the whole look. The dog tags flashed as I grinned and flexed both my biceps.

New words had been engraved on the tags and the lock itself. My new name was carved in black on the padlock. First tag read, Will on one side and Property of Paimon Prowler on the other. The second tag read If found, please return to this address. The address followed. A phone number was on the other side.

“What are you?” Massuh asked again.

“Ah’m a big dumb greasuh thug for Massuh Pai-dawg.”

Massuh smiled and patted my sideburns. “Good dawg. That’s my Will-kun.”

Bliss. That’s the only word for it. “Yussuh.”

Paimon nodded. “I think you’re ready now.”

My brow furrowed. “Ready?”

He giggled and led me to a door with faded paint that barely read STAFF ONLY. The door opened. A massive storeroom greeted us. Crates, lockers, loading bay, the whole nine yards was there. Impossible hulking figures laid back against storage crates or stood by a chalkboard with the layout of some sort of building. One look at them, and I knew what was up. Rhinos, wolves, lions, rats. All with hands and feet, like real people. It wouldn’t have made sense to me before, but now, now I knew who they were.

They were my fellow dawgs. I lumbered to the lockers. A mask was already waiting for me to join the heist.

Massuh smiled at me. He looked different now. He was a wolf with white fur, but I knew it was him. “I knew you’d fit in,” he said.

I blushed and grunted, then flexed to work off the stress.

Massuh giggled again. “Come straight home after, thug. Dom and I want to hear about how your first day on the job went, ’kay?”

My legs smacked together. My chest thrust forward. My arms raised and flexed as I strained every muscle in my body to give the biggest profile for him to view. The room rang with all our voices. “Yussuh!”

We were linked.

We were one.

I finally disengaged and lumbered toward the truck. The other thugs soon followed.

They all stared at me as I sat on the hump at the front of the truck’s cab. I knew what they wanted me to say. I knew what I was supposed to say. And I said it.

“Let’s roll, dawgs.” I groaned. I shuddered. And Wilbur was gone for good. My mind emptied and blended with the other dawgs as the plan echoed over and over in our heads. I sneered.

I was a big dumb greaser thug.

A proud member of Massuh Pai’s Dawgs.

And it was time to get to work.

A dull husky chuckle flooded the cab as a final parting phrase echoed across my link to Massuh.

“Wish granted.”

And now you know my story, s’time I granted yours.

Wanna Smoke, dawg?

This is the audio version of my previous hypnosis script sand induction. It is designed to put the listener into trance and implant a trigger for future use in other files that I intend to create. This is a binaural track, so headphones are advised. Please let me know what you all think. As usual, my rules apply. Minors, please don’t listen to this. Your minds are still developing, and I don’t want to risk implanting anything that doesn’t belong there or should grow naturally. Adults, don’t operate heavy machinery or drive while listening to this. It is designed to help put you into a trance state. So, make sure you’re relaxed and secure when you listen. Thanks, and please tell me what you all think. Thank you! ~Omni

Here is my Patreon for those who want to donate.

The School of Buff Jocks Part 4

At the request of a new Patron, instead of a custom story, he desired the next chapter in this commission series to be published. In accordance with that request, I am now publishing the next chapter of The School of Buff Jocks.

If you would like to support me and my work, please join my patreon. For $3.00 a month, you get to enjoy incredible transformation, muscle, and hypnosis content. Or if you go for a higher tier, you can also get a custom story. Thank you for your patronage! Details to be found on each tier. I look forward to writing more for you all soon. Please, enjoy the chapter. Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

---------------------------------------------------------------- “Great job!”

“You’re doing great!”

“NICE AND SLOW. KEEP PUSHING.”

I furrowed my brow as I finished my set at the leg press and passed over to Andrews. “Is it just me, or does Jim sound … different?”

“It’s part of his design,” Andrews explained as he logged in. “The better you perform, the bigger he gets and the deeper his voice becomes.”

The avatar for Jim that appeared looked more like Atlas or some other giant. His skin or whatever that surface was called looked shinier and seemed to have gained more graphic definition. Had there been a patch recently?

“Welcome back, Coach Andrews. Are you ready to resume your teacher training?”

Andrews shook his head. “Another time, Jim. I’m here to work out.”

Jim nodded. “Linking to machine now. Please don’t forget to finish your module. It is important to learn and grow, so that you may better teach.”

“I won’t forget,” he promised. “Remind me when the workout is over.”

“Your reminder is set. Now let’s get to work.”

“So, when am I sup-posed to notice the difference?” I rubbed my throat and drank some of my protein shake. Those cracks were happening more and more often.

“You’re not,” Andrews said as he pushed against the press. “At least, most people don’t. Either that or they don’t care. I’m not sure which. Stone explained it to me once. It’s basically meant to help students adapt to the idea of their voices deepening as they get older. The farther along they get in their education, the bigger Jim gets, the deeper his voice becomes, and, as a result, the more natural it feels for them to let their voices drop when the time comes.”

“Because they’re talking to someone else whose voice is deepening with them?”

“Exactly,” Andrews said. The veins on his legs had begun to stand out as he continued to push. “In other words, you don’t have to worry so much about social awkwardness.”

“What about late bloomers?”

Andrews shrugged. “They get there when they get there. You know how strict we are here about bullying, Derek. We don’t like it and we don’t tolerate it in any form. We’re all part of one big team. Players who don’t understand that will either learn or get tossed out. It’s that simple.”

 ----------------------------------------------------- 

Stone’s smirk was smug as he folded a leg casually and peered at me. “Forgive me for sounding so juvenile, but I told you so.”

“Look, Mister Stone—”

“Please, call me Coach.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Coach Stone. Just because I made friends with Kyle doesn’t mean I’m over what happened to me before.”

“But you haven’t had any more of those nightmares since,” he noted. “And even if you haven’t completely overcome your past, this is a definite sign of progress. You’re beginning to see one of the most important truths any of you children can learn, the fact that people are people, and each should be judged on an individual basis, rather than being lumped into a social stereotype or clique.

“Take you, for example.” He pointed his pen at me. “You would be considered the stereotypical nerd. You enjoy things like anime, comics, manga, videogames, and other products of that genre. You do relatively well in school, and you don’t cause trouble. However, lately, you’ve also been branching out into other areas, like the gym and outdoors. And you’re comfortable wearing more than just baggy clothes. Your stereotypical nerd wouldn’t be able to do that, or rather wouldn’t have any desire to. And yet, you seem to enjoy it, or at least not hate it so violently as your stereotype would suggest.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that those stereotypes have roots in truth. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be stereotypes in the first place.”

“Perhaps, but it also doesn’t change the fact that in this case, in this time, that stereotype has yet to fully apply, and you know that and acknowledge it on at least some level. It’s that simple.”

“For you, maybe. Not for me.” I shook my head.

“Then it seems to me that the next stage of your therapy is clear. Observe. Look at the behavior of the ones you mistrust, these stereotypical jocks, and see if they really do act in the way you’ve been treated previously. If they don’t, then you’ll see that the stereotype is far from absolute, and hopefully have less aversion toward being in the same space as them on your own.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.”

Stone smiled. “I think I can manage.” He lowered his pad. Anyway, that’s it for our session today. I have another appointment who should be—” A knock sounded at the door. “And there he is. We’ll pick up again next week. Don’t forget to try what I suggest, Derek. I think you’ll be surprised at what you may find.”

We shook hands, a ritual Stone insisted on as part of his attempts to bond with me. Then he escorted me to the door. You ever heard of getting caught between a rock and a hard place? Well, I got stuck between a Stone and a beef Frank. The guy had to be at least half a foot taller than me. The school’s logo strained against his swollen thigh as a pair of sweatpants clung to his legs. His torso took up most of the doorway, and his hair had been cut down to a short stubble with sharp angles that emphasized a masculine jawline and brow ridge.

“Hey. I’m not too early, am I, Coach?” His voice sounded congested, a sort of forced low that was part diaphragm and part cold, only this guy looked healthy as a horse. Hell, he could’ve been a bull with how thick that neck of his was!

“You’re right on time, Francis,” Stone said mildly. “Derek here was just leaving.”

He blinked slowly and looked down at me with murky green eyes. “Oh.” He stepped aside to let me pass. “Sorry, bro.”

“No problem.” I strode into the hall as Stone ushered the behemoth in. For such a diverse school, it seemed we were getting an awful lot of buff students on campus. I waved briefly to the office staff on my way to the main door. Tight button-up shirts strained as they waved back. Their stubble glistened under the fluorescent lights. Again, with the buzz cuts. I hadn’t noticed it before, but a lot of the staff seemed to follow that style. A few of the kids were sitting in chairs waiting for their turn to meet with Stone or some other official in the offices. Some chugged shakes. Others were running through their homework modules. Others still were reading intently.

“Got it. Finally,” one of them hissed in triumph as Jim issued his congratulations and the familiar tone of his module absorption.

One of the bigger students smiled. “If you’ve got a problem, go to Jim.” He chuckled and scratched his crotch. And like the contagion of a yawn, I felt a sympathetic twinge of my own building.

“Huhuh. Yeah, it’s good to go to Jim,” the kid replied and smiled.

The others nodded or added their own affirmations as they popped caps off their bottles and drank deeply. My brow furrowed as I thought about it. The green stuff was supposed to be for the team players, wasn’t it? So why did everyone else seem to be carrying a bottle? Even the secretaries had some at their desks.

All that drinking and gulping left me feeling thirsty. I reached to the side of my backpack for the familiar bottle. Off came the cap. Pop went the seal. Down went the drink as I walked out the door. I smiled as I scratched my crotch and my muscles tingled. I’d ask about it later. It was probably nothing. “Huhuhuh….” The anxiety left me, and I smiled as my biceps tensed and my shirt perked. The fabric slid out from under my belt as I took a deep breath, exposing skin to the cool air of the school for the briefest of moments. I shuddered, and for the first time, I took the time to simply zone out and focus on how my body felt. My legs were taut, the cuffs of my pants exposing the ankles of my school socks. The jockstrap was tight against my legs and rear, and the polo I now wore strained against my chest when I breathed. The changes had been so subtle, but now that I took the time, it was obvious. “Looks like I’m going to need a new uniform soon.”

I heard it before I saw it. The locker room door slamming open, followed by the rip of shredding fabric. A curly redhead with shamrock eyes strode bare-chested, hefting the rags of his former shirt like a trophy as he walked toward the Nurse’s office. The pump on his arms was immense. His body was built specifically to take heavy blows and never budge. He was a walking pile of meat. As for the talking, well … that was yet to be seen.

Truthfully, I don’t know why I followed him. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe I was curious. Or maybe I was just too buzzed to care about anything and going with the flow. Regardless, I trailed behind to see what came next.

My heart beat as heavily as my breathing as I waited outside the door. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to hide. Was I embarrassed? Was it something else? Finally, I heard the razors buzzing to life from behind closed doors. I don’t know if it was curiosity or what, but at that point, I just … moved. One minute, I was outside, the next I stood there in the middle of the plain tiled waiting room. The buzz was coming from one of the examination rooms. When the door finally opened, the familiar stubble of the angular induction cut stared back at me. A compression shirt had replaced the polo that had once rested on the boy’s chest, and my chest tingled at the sight of the slab-like muscle tone that stood out against the spandex.

He walked past me without a word. And, honestly, I don’t think I was in a state to say anything, myself. It was sort of like when you’re dreaming and you want to talk, but you can’t, and you have to watch yourself move around, instead. The nurse stepped out with one of the aids and eyed me carefully.

“Another one for size change.” He sighed and rolled his eyes as he picked up a tablet. “Name?”

The word released me from the spell, at least in part. “Derek Jones.” The moment I finished, my mouth clamped shut again.

“Dorm?”

“26-B.”

“All right,” he said in a bored tone. “Let’s get your measurements.”

I walked out with a new pair of pants and a bigger polo shirt. The pants hugged in all the right places without being too tight or short, but the polo felt loose and baggy. I felt … I guess almost ashamed of that feeling. It was weird.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll feel right at home in that shirt soon enough.”

I frowned. What did he mean by that? “Uh, okay, I guess.”

“Your new clothing will be delivered in the next few days with the next shipment. Let us know if there are any troubles with the fit, okay?”

I nodded numbly. My eyes drifted back to the open door. The floor was littered with curls surrounding a sturdy metal stool.

“Was there something else I could do for you?”

“I, uh, no. I guess not.” I chuckled again out of reflex. It was almost like a defense mechanism at this point. “Thanks for the new clothes.”

“You can thank Mister Stone. He’s the one funding all this.”

“You mean we don’t have to pay?”

The nurse shook his head. “No. Now how about you move along? I have the sneaking suspicion you’re not going to be the last one coming to me for a fitting today.”

Of course, he was right. It was time to move along. I’d gotten what I came for, even if I didn’t know that was why I’d come. But now I was immobilized by another question, and my head was thinking about as fast as molasses as it echoed over and over again.

Move along to where?

I didn’t know.

“Huhuh.”

Be comfortable.

Where?

I scratched my crotch.

Be comfortable.

Where?

Two hands guided me toward the door. My feet moved. My head was … full is the best way I could describe it. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t think. I just … walked, like a wind-up doll put in motion. No real destination, just … moving forward.

Where?

Corridors yawned. My legs moved. Left. Right. Left. Right. I’d turn. I’d shift. I’d turn again. The question remained.

Where?

I don’t know.

Where?

I don’t know.

Where?

I. Don’t. know.

It took a while for me to realize my walking had taken on that same cadence, as if my whole body were answering my brain, shouting back in its own way together, defiant, resolute, and … something else.

I don’t know.

The question was dulling.

I don’t know.

Growing quiet.

I don’t know.

As though it had lost its voice. Or maybe lost the will to object? Or ... was it drowning?

I don’t know.

Just a fading echo, the last bubbles.

I don’t know.

The answer reverberated through my skull as the quagmire hardened and set. I was completely in my head. Or maybe I was completely out of it? Who knows? You can’t really describe it. It’s something you have to go through yourself to really get. Popular media would probably call it no-mind.

I don’t know how much time passed. All I know is that, finally, illumination struck, like a sledgehammer shattering bedrock. Like a wedge breaking open a mold to reveal something beautiful.

And it was.

It wasn’t that I didn’t know.

It was that I didn’t care.

“Huhuhuhuh….” My chest shook with the explosive force of the epiphany. The fabric of my polo brushed against my skin. The realization was so revolutionary, so lifechanging somehow, despite how simple it was. “I don’t care.” I grinned like an idiot. Or maybe like a stoner on a high? I definitely felt high.

“That’s right, smartass.” The voice was soft, gentle, … proud? My legs stopped moving. The setting sun blazed over Kyle’s face as he smiled at me, igniting his eyes with emerald lightning as the world came back into focus again. I’d somehow transitioned from the hallways to the track outside. My legs felt like jelly. And like a set of gears cleaned by WD-40, my brain cast off the rust and started to work again. I stumbled into Kyle’s waiting arm.

“Easy there, little bro.”

“What … happened?” I shook my head to dispel the last of the debris. My throat felt like someone had covered it with horse glue and squeezed it so tightly that only a straw could fit through.

Kyle shrugged. “You sized up.” Then he smirked. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I … how did … what?”

He handed me a bottle. “Drink,” he said. “You’ve been walking a long time.”

No protein drink this time, just water. But the flood helped dislodge some of the cake that had built up. My voice didn’t croak so much when I looked at him. “Why did I—?”

“You said so yourself, smartass.” Kyle chuckled. “You didn’t care.” He guided me back toward the dorms. “Lucky for you, you’ve got teammates that do.”

“What?”

Kyle chuckled again. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get you to your dorm, so you can sleep. And maybe take a shower.”

“A shower?” The wind blew, and I felt the cold patches as we hobbled along. “Oh.”

“Yeah, all that walking’s bound to break a sweat eventually. Your jock is probably soaked.”

“Shut up, dumbass,” I grumbled.

Kyle laughed. “Sure thing, smartass. Sure thing.”

I didn’t realize it then, but as I got my second wind, I matched Kyle stride for stride. That lumbering swagger I’d seen on Kyle, then on the football team, on Barry the baseball player, and finally that redhead from earlier, was mine now, too.

 ------------------------------------------------------- 

“You guys notice anything kind of … weird lately?” Slater asked as he squatted under Kyle’s careful observation. The layout of the bar was designed to allow him to stand inside a sort of rectangle while the weights were stacked on either side. That way, he’d be able to bend and rise with equal weight distribution. His thighs had grown in the last couple of weeks. There was a firmness about them that I hadn’t seen before. His calves jutted with hard, tense muscle that all but consumed the fat that had once been there.

“Weird how?” Jackson was busy pumping some dumbbells to strengthen his arms and upper body. The exercise also allowed him the freedom to observe Slater as he trained under Kyle’s guidance.

“I don’t know. Just … different, I guess.” Slater shrugged. “I can’t really put it in words. Things just feel … off. Sort of snug, I guess?”

“Snug?” Kyle smirked, but … I don’t know, it felt sort of … meaner. I guess … maybe it was a sneer? At the very least, it was smug.

“Shut up, dumbass,” Slater grumbled.

“Takes one to know one, Slayer.” He chuckled. “Can’t wait to weigh you.”

“Fuck off!” he snarled. The weights crashed to the ground, and the whole gym suddenly became quiet. All eyes turned on us. Honestly, I’m not sure who was more shocked; us or them. The only time we’d ever seen this side of Slater come out was when he succumbed to gamer rage in online matches. He’d never lost his cool in public before.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

I stiffened. We hadn’t even heard him approach. Yet there he was. Coach Stone towered over us.

Kyle shrugged his broad shoulders and smiled casually. “Slayer here’s just losing his shit, because he knows he’s going to lose a bet we made.”

“Is that so?” He set his eyes on Slater and folded his arms over his massive chest. “Is this true, Slayer, was it?”

Slater mumbled as he averted his eyes. “It’s Slater.”

“Well, Slater, it appears you’ve managed to silence the whole gym. That’s not an easy task.” He peered at the rest of the onlookers and raised his voice. “All right, folks. Nothing to see here. Get back to your workouts or get out of the gym.”

Like the flick of a switch on an assembly line, the gym began to move and breathe again. It seems I wasn’t the only one intimidated by Coach Stone. Those silver eyes lingered on me briefly, passed over Jackson, then shifted back to Kyle and Slater.

“Now what, exactly, is the nature of this bet to prompt that kind of reaction?”

Slater was silent. He still wouldn’t meet Stone’s gaze.

“I bet him I could get him over 240 by the end of a month, and that if I did, he’d have to talk with Andrews about joining the wrestling team,” Kyle supplied.

“And if he won?”

“I’d have to take a cheat day and hang out with them for an anime marathon while we veg on snacks.”

“And this prompted such a reaction because…?”

“I teased him, Sir.”

Stone raised an eyebrow. “And has this teasing rendered you mute, Slater?”

“No, Sir,” he said softly.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Slater.” The rebuke was gentle, but the command was ironclad.

Slater did so reluctantly, though only just.

“Back straight,” Stone continued. “If you’re going to take criticism or punishment, you should do it proudly.” He leaned over and planted a thick hand on Slater’s shoulder. “I’m not here to punish you, Slater. No harm was done. No one is hurt. You just lost control of yourself. It happens to every boy at your age. Some yell, others fight, and some just lose themselves in a fantasy world. We all have our coping mechanisms. What matters is which ones we choose to keep and which ones we choose to replace.” He squeezed briefly and smiled. “Now I don’t want this happening again, okay? Yelling is fine, if you need to, but this equipment and the gym are expensive. And more importantly, if you’re willing to do this, then one day, you may get angry enough to hit someone with one of these weights. That’s not something I can let happen. So, from now on, for the foreseeable future, I’m going to arrange some meetings with you. Jim will alert you of the scheduled times.”

“But—”

“No buts, Slater. And I want your full name.”

“But—”

“Now, Slater.”

Slater slumped in defeat and gave up the name.

“Good. I’ll be expecting you on time in my office. Derek can give you directions.” His eyes flashed briefly as he returned to his full height. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“Yes, Sir,” Slater mumbled.

“And you. You’re Kyle Fredriksson, aren’t you?” Stone asked as he turned his attentions to the other party of the disturbance.

“Yes, Sir, Coach.”

“Did you push him to this?”

Kyle straightened and threw his shoulders back. “Yes, Sir. Though only a little,” he clarified. “Slayer doesn’t like to lose.”

Coach Stone turned his gaze on me and Jackson. “You two are the neutral party here. Is he telling the truth?”

Jackson nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Jones?”

I nodded. “He doesn’t usually get this angry.”

Stone nodded. “Then we’ll find out the root of that anger later. For now, carry on, gentlemen. Those muscles aren’t going to grow themselves.”

“Yes, Sir,” we all replied.

Stone turned to leave, then paused. “Oh, and Slater?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Next time, try laughing it off instead. You’d be surprised how much that helps.”

“Uh, yes, Sir,” he said awkwardly.

“As you were, gentlemen.” Stone waved behind him as he passed into the rows of machines and out of sight.

My whole body tingled as he walked away. I reached absently and adjusted my crotch, where the sensation felt strongest, then shuddered. Kyle grinned at me.

“You heard the man, Smartass. Grab some dumbbells and work those arms. If we can campaign together, we can work out together.

I rolled my eyes but obliged him. “Whatever you say, Coach.”

“Not a coach.”

“You’re sure acting like one,” I teased.

Slater smirked. “Point to DJ.”

“Trust me, you haven’t seen coaching till you’re working out on an actual team. I’m just teaching you how to handle it.” Kyle chuckled. “Now how about you put that snark into finishing your set?”

“You did agree to follow the routine for the month,” Jackson pointed out as he curled his weights. “Stop now and you’ll forfeit, and you’ll have to talk with Andrews about joining the team regardless.”

Slater’s lip curled as his hands clenched tightly around the bars to either side of him and he pulled the squat bar back up. “Guys, I’m not in the mood for getting in trouble with Stone again, so could you just can it about the bet?”

“Or you could try his advice,” Kyle pressed. “Trust me, it works. DJ knows.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why did you have to drag me into this?”

“Because you’re the smartass?”

That name was really starting to get old. Especially when Kyle used it for ammunition. But he did have a point. I had firsthand experience, and Slater would probably take it better from me than from the lug that was currently putting him through hell. For a dumbass, Kyle had a keen mind for strategy. I sighed, then turned to face Slater. “Look, it doesn’t work with everyone, but for me at least, it helps relieve my anxiety attacks, okay?”

“And you think I should try it?” Slater asked.

“I think you should use your own judgement.”

Slater chuffed as a hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “And point for you.”

“I wasn’t aware I was playing.”

He smirked. “Didn’t you know? Everyone’s playing the game, DJ.”

I cringed. “Why did you have to bring back that accursed meme?”

“Because it’s fun.”

“And with that stealth kill, Slater the Slayer finally takes his place on the board,” Jackson said in his best impression of a sports commentator.

A weak chuckle burbled from Slater’s lips. “About time.”

“Do my ears deceive me, or did I just hear him laugh?” Kyle asked.

“Don’t push it, jock boy.” But despite his threatening tone, Slater smiled.

“Nah. I just push up, bro,” Kyle returned as he flexed his arms.

We couldn’t hold back at that point. The air filled with our laughter. Slater spread his legs a little wider and resumed his squats.

“Whatever you say, Kyle.”

Kyle grinned. “I’ll hold you to that, little bro.”

Credit goes to @musclecorps for this image. If you like this story, please consider joining my patreon. For just $3 a month, you get exclusive access to meathead, muscle, hypnosis, and other transformations and story content that you won’t find anywhere else. The more patrons I get, the more time I’ll be able to spend writing for y’all, instead of job hunting. Check it out. And thanks in advance. Now that the self-advertisement is over, I bring you another story. Please note it is semi-hypnotic. While not intended as a script, it may have the same effects as one. Read at your own discretion and be careful to avoid driving or operating heavy machinery. You have been warned. I am not responsible for any bad results that may follow.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Locker Jocker

You see those doors? Yeah, I’m talking about the lockers. I’m not stupid, bro. Just ... different. I used to be like you. Nosy, smart, self-centered. Well, I still am that last one.

Huhuh. Yeah, bro. I’m cocky. What’d you expect? Got a lot to be cocky about with a bod like this. You think I’m juicin’, right? No way I could get this way on my own. Tryin’ to find evidence.

See, bro, I used to be like you. I used to hate big guys like me. And I get it. Really, I do. I’m a cocky fucker who loves to show off and teach people just how ALPHA I really am. But at least I know what I am. I admit it. And no matter how much people like you try to shame me for it, I love being a BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD. There’s nothing wrong with being a BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD. This place, ... well, it’s where I was reborn.

It’s where I became a BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD.

And bro, I’m never going back.

So, how’d I do it? Well, I figure I’ll show you. Off the record. Trust me, bro, you won’t even know how to put it on the record after I’m done showing you.

Huhuh.

Nobody’d believe it.

*SLAM*

That’s locker one. Don’t worry, bro. I’m not gonna hurt you. That’s not what I do. Nah. Just gonna show you my side of things, you know?

*SLAM*

S’funny, really. You know the old trope, right? Jock bully locks a poor flimsy nerd in a locker....

*SLAM*

And the nerd just gets--

*SLAM*

--Locked away. Huhuhuhuh....

See, bro, BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEADS like me don’t hurt their bros.

*SLAM*

We help our bros grow.

*SLAM*

Not gonna hurt you, bro. Just gonna make you feel a little more comfortable. Go on. Unbutton that shirt of yours. Better yet, tear it open. It’s more fun to show off. Trust me. All you gotta do is stretch just a little bit. A small stretch and a tiny FLEX.

And suddenly,

*SLAM*

POP goes the button.

Huhuhuhuhuhuh. And that’s not the only thing to pop, bro.

*SLAM*

S’like a chain reaction, a reflex, bro. Can’t fight it, bro. Like a jumpscare, y’know? It just happens, and suddenly your whole torso just tenses and flexes. Your chest just gets so tight. And before you know it, your pecs are just bouncing back and forth, bro.

*SLAM*

Back and forth.

*SLAM*

Back and forth.

*SLAM*

Pop. Pop. POP!

*SLAM*

Huhuhuhuh. And it feels so good, bro. Like a firework going off in your brain. Or ... maybe from your brain. Idunno, man. I’m just a BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD.

All I know is--

*SLAM*

--It feels good to flex, bro.

And the more the muscle POPS the harder it is to stop.

*SLAM*

To stop flexing.

*SLAM*

To stop enjoying the moment. Because, bro, working out your body feels so awesome.

And all that fear and anxiety, that worry about what others think, what you think. It just gets...

*SLAM*

Locked away, bro.

Huhuh. Just ... shoved into a locker.

*SLAM*

And forgotten.

*SLAM*

Actually, no. I didn’t forget about it, bro.

*SLAM*

I abandoned it.

You know why? Because it feels so fuckin good to just GROW INTO A BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD, BRO.

*SLAM*

Flexing.

*SLAM*

Lifting weights.

*SLAM*

Just ... not thinking for a while.

*SLAM*

Bro, it’s the most incredible feeling in the world. Just like ... like the brain gets tied to the muscle and it’s not just about flexing. It’s like ... like every time you grow bigger and stronger, your muscle, your meat, rewards you.

Symbiotic relationship, bro, you know? I put my focus into my muscles. And because I put my focus into my muscles, they reward me with pleasure.

*SLAM*

Pleasure to not think, bro.

*SLAM*

Pleasure to just be a BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD.

And not even care what others think about it.

To just ... be you.

Confident. Cocky. Carefree.

*SLAM*

And you know why we can do that? Why we BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEADS can just not care about what others think or judge?

*SLAM*

Because BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEADS don’t care. We just shove it into a locker, just like I said before.

*SLAM*

Scared of bein’ dumb?

Shove it in the locker.

*SLAM*

Worried about what others will say?

Shove it in the locker.

*SLAM*

Bored of your reps?

Shove it in the locker.

*SLAM*

Outgrowing your clothes?

Shove ‘em in the locker.

*SLAM*

You can borrow some of mine, bro. I always carry spares.

*SLAM*

You wanna join me on the gym, bro?

Huhuh. Yeah, bro. You look good in a tank top. Shows off your muscles.

*SLAM*

Come on, bro. Smile for the camera. BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEADS love to show off.

That’s it, bro. One more locker to go.

You wanna do the honors?

...

...

...

*SLAM!*

Good choice, MUSCLEHEAD. Huhuh. Let’s pump you up, bro.

You wanna get pumped, right, bro?

...

You know why, bro?

...

Cause you’re a BIG DUMB MUSCLEHEAD, just like me bro.

C’mon. Say it, bro.

Just like me, bro.

Say it now.

I KNOW YOU WANT TO....

I’m not normally one for commenting on politics in my feeds, but I found this beauty on YouTube just now from EyeWitness News ABC7NY, and I think it needs to be shared. This woman has the right of things, and I love how she tells off the rest of the violent protesters for setting a bad example and making life harder for her and others who are trying to make a difference in their lives and others across the nation. And especially for those who are struggling in these hard times. We need more people like this woman. Can’t say I enjoy the cursing that was edited out, but she has solid and very important points. And I salute her for her bravery. I’m still of the opinion that all lives matter, including public servants like firefighters, nurses, doctors, EMTs, and yes, even police officers (One of my greatest family friends and examples for me growing up was a cop who served in the SVU, and he served with honor), but I will agree that it’s a clear statistical fact that many good black people are wrongfully profiled and targeted, and it’s time for some reform among those precincts that have such bad cops. I hope everyone stays safe, and I pray that change will come without people having to endure more abuse and violence.

All this looting, burning, and destruction of property is having a bad impact on people who are already struggling enough as it is. Stay safe, everyone. May our prayers and voices be heard and answered.

This image comes from @homme-parfait. Check out his gallery if you like these kinds of pictures. Second image was made using gimp, and credit goes to <a href='https://www.freepik.com/photos/abstract'>Abstract photo created by user14579558 - www.freepik.com</a> for the texture that I used for the effect.

If you enjoy this story, please consider supporting me on Patreon. For as little as $3 a month, you get access to unique muscle tf stories that nobody else sees. And higher tiers give you more rewards. Take a look, if you’re interested.

Rated mature and, for once, I’m going to choose NSFW as a tag to be on the safe side. I will not describe sex, but as part of this story, our protagonist will be shown his options, and so description will at least imply part of the bedroom and certain actions associated with that location. It’s Greek stuff. Of course it’s going to get on the riskier side. There is no graphic sexual content included in this piece, however. I refuse to go into that, as I’ve said before.

Author’s note: I’m mad as heck, because it’s not the same as my initial draft, but my laptop shut down on me without giving me a battery notification, so I lost a lot of what I wrote. I reconstituted it as best I could. It’s still satisfactory, but I’m mad all the same for not saving the draft more regularly. Lesson for the future, I guess. XD Anyway, enjoy. I assure you, it’s a very good read.

-----------------------------------------

A Heart of Stone

Peter Pearson always had a passion for the classics. The myths of his ancestral homeland, the great sculptures of legendary figures and unknown models alike. Goddesses and gods, men and women, children, heroes. He consumed them all from a young age. But nothing could compare to when he would stand in the museum halls and stare at the many statues and replicas from Greece and Rome. Truly, the Mediterranean had many secrets above and below the depths.

But in every instance above or below, there was always one constant, these gorgeous statues of stone and bronze and iron, of men and women fulfilling grand feats or suckling children. Olympian competitors blended seamlessly with anatomical studies. And all of them fueled and spurred the one desire he ever felt toward them.

He wanted to be just like them. Strong, like the mighty Heracles. Fit, like the ancient wrestlers of the Olympics. Hard, like the very rocks from which these statues had been chiseled with time, effort, and a steady hand.

And he had worked himself to the bone toward that end. He loved these statues. He loved their myths, their focus, their drive. They came from a simpler time, where magic still existed, where gods walked the earth, and men and women could live as they wished by the sweat of their brow.

Every week, he would visit the museum. He would sit for hours and ponder over their forms, their crevices. The smooth perfection of their sculpted bodies, ridged only where the master craftsman had gently probed with his tools to make it so. And every week, he would mimic the pose of those statues. He would smile and imagine for just a moment that he had joined them in that forgotten realm between the wakeful and the slumbering, where the old god Morpheus still crafted his dreams.

For years, he worked. For years, he struggled. For years, he invoked absolute discipline for the sole purpose of building his body into the perfect vessel to equal his heroes, his gods. And for all intents and purposes, that is, indeed, what they were. He worshiped them. He smiled each time he mimicked their posture. And though he didn’t have the same hair style or clothing (or lack thereof), he sought to mimic them in other respects.

Wrestling and weights came easily to him now. And there was a certain thrill to exercising that dominance, of gaining that satisfaction and reward of knowing that he had the strength to stand on his own and take what he wished. He still remembered when he took his trophy and raised it high for the statues to see, as if they were aware, as if they could somehow acknowledge his achievement.

Yes, in place of the Acropolis, this was his temple. And oh, how he longed to be a part of its clergy. Dead or alive, he didn’t care. He wanted to fit into this world, to leave distasteful modern society aside. If the gods formed man from clay and stone, then Peter wanted to return to it again. If they could bring metal and ivory and clay to life as flesh and blood, why not the other way around?

“You really do love this place, don’t you?”

Peter blinked in surprise at the attendant. She wore a shimmering white dress that frilled along the collar and hem. Her brown hair was rich and shone with a golden corona under the lights. Her golden tag glinted and flashed with every breath she took, leaving the letters indecipherable. Two dove hair clips helped to hold her hair back behind her ears while the remainder was bound in the jaws of a squeezing clip with a bronze rose motif.

It took nearly a full minute for Peter to regain his wits. “Excuse me?” he finally asked.

The attendant laughed. “This place. You love coming here. I’ve been watching you for the last six months.”

Peter blushed. “Well, yeah. It’s ... well, I don’t know what it is. I just ... I really like it here, you know? It feels like ... home, I guess.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his head awkwardly to ward off the embarrassment while his chest jutted forward in response.

She nodded. “I like the classics, too. Greece and Rome had such beautiful talent.” She smiled impishly as she looked to one of the nude statues. “And passionate men.”

Peter’s blush deepened. The usual technique wasn’t working. And worse yet, he could feel the familiar tingle of arousal stirring. He shifted his legs and tried to focus on the displays, instead. “Yeah, they inspired me to get into wrestling when I was a kid.”

“I wondered what sport you were involved with.” She laughed again as her hair swayed behind her, filling the air with the smell of the sea, the brine of olives, and the sweet honeyed scent of eucalyptus. “You really do love Greece, don’t you?”

Peter shrugged. “It’s my heritage. How could I not?”

The attendant frowned. “You’d be surprised how many people claim to love something, then forget about it the moment something more convenient comes along.” She sighed. “If you put it into a mythological perspective, that’s basically what happened to Pan. Man stopped caring about the wild. They beat it back, throttled it. What they couldn’t change, they destroyed. What they couldn’t control, they mitigated. Why care about the sanctity of a grove of trees when there are homes to build and mouths to feed?” She sighed. “It must have been a sad death, one spent alone while the wilds were steadily eaten away.”

Peter raised a brow at her. “That’s pretty dark.”

“This coming from the same pantheon that literally cracked a skull open to give birth to a goddess, literally consumed its children, and let's not forget how they chopped up the body parts of another elder deity to give birth to yet another goddess from the frothing sea foam, or throwing a baby off a mountain top because it was deformed.”

Peter winced. “Yeah, that ... was pretty messed up.”

“Greek history always was. Wars, conflicts, intrigue....” She sighed. “And then, in those few rich moments of peace, love. It put out the fires. It set them blazing again.” She brushed one of the statues’ legs. “They knew how to respect love, how to honor it when it spoke. Well, most of the time. Sometimes, love could be cruel. And the gods ... less than charitable.” She shook her head. “But what more can you expect from a legacy of abuse? It can’t have been easy being eaten by their father. Even those who weren’t stained by that act were haughty. And the other gods made sure they learned rather ... harsh lessons as a result.”

“I like to think more of the golden ages. Men earning their way, working for their bread, fighting for fame or honor or glory.” He chuckled. “I guess ... well, I guess I want to be like them.” He motioned to the statues. “Frozen in a time when that peace and love let men grow and shine.” He couldn’t help but smirk. “Imagine me wrestling with Heracles.”

She giggled as he struck a pose. “You wouldn’t last a minute.”

“It’d still be fun to try. To compete, like all these men did.”

“You really do like them, don’t you?”

“No.” He shook his head and flexed his arms all the harder as he turned his head in profile. “I love them.”

The attendant smiled. “Far be it from me to keep you from your lovers, Mister...?”

“Pearson. Peter Pearson.”

The attendant smiled and extended a hand. “Aphrodite.”

“Like the goddess?”

A rich chuckle rolled from her lips. “The very same. Would you say I live up to it?”

Again, the tightness swelled in his crotch. His shirt felt taut. “Defi--” He cleared his throat, then tried again. “Definitely. This time, he sounded a little deeper.”

“And if I asked you to, Peter Pearson, would you be willing to sacrifice that dream, that love, for me?”

Peter’s breath hitched as she ran delicate fingers down his chest. Her eyes swirled like whirlpools, drawing him in. Her face. “I....” Her perfume. “I....” The toss of her head as she pulled the rose clip free. “I....” He groaned as his pants began to creak and those lips drew ever so close.

“Yes or no, Peter Pearson.” Her breath flowed into his dry mouth. Moist. Inviting. “Choose.”

The zipper broke open to reveal the bulge and two lumps that became more and more prominent until the button burst off the waistband of his pants due to his broadening pelvis. His head was awash with lust. He could hardly think. “Uhhhhhhh....”

He fell into those eyes as the world blurred. Strong hard hands seized a proper vantage on padded silken sheets. Lips brushed cheeks as that perfume consumed awareness in favor of passionate union. Grunting and moans on both sides rang in his ears as blood surged with unbridled pleasure. That is, until the higher voice began to deepen. Soft delicate skin swelled into firm unyielding mounds as two sides grappled for dominance. Sweat dripped down both frames as soft sheets and mattress transitioned to a wrestling mat, then to hard-packed earth as dust kicked up between them.

Two voices rang in equal measure, the female and the male, the masculine and the effeminate, the bedroom and the arena. “Choose, Peter Pearson.”

Two visions danced before his eyes. The mindless bliss of pleasure, a veritable ocean that yawned and called playfully as it crashed against the surf. A promise to be adored, to be worshiped, to take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, from whoever he wanted. Women would flock to him. Men would go weak at the knees at the very sight of him, the sensation of his passing as his shadow fell over them. A body so virile, so perfect, that they would pay for his time. Modeling clothes, crushing at the gym. And reveling as he scrambled the others’ concentration in favor of his irresistible charisma, then watching them drain into that familiar want of lust in a vain attempt to satisfy his own appetite.

He would be a walking god, a conqueror, a vessel to strike the mortal heart with desire. A plow to till, an arrow to pierce, drawn and fired to strike whatever target he wanted. A veritable Eros among men spending his days in heady bliss as he spread his blessing throughout the realm.

Another groan. Another spurt of growth below. The better to please and be pleased. The better to obey. The better to sink and slip into the sea of mind-numbing pleasure as he dominated again and again and again.

But ... is it really domination if the one in the bed doesn’t fight back? Would it really be satisfying to simply take from someone who isn’t willing to grapple? Would he even care about himself and his passions anymore, or would this sea of pleasures cast him against the rocks with pounding waves until he was no more, just a slack-jawed beast looking to satisfy his baser urges?

Why choose a neverending hunger when satisfaction can be so much more rewarding? The thrill of conquest. The crowds roaring, cheering at the entertainment that he would provide. Men and women each competing in their own classes, battling, surging, pushing, pinning. And when the fight is over and the victor proclaimed, all are rewarded, all join in that satisfaction of honorable combat, of a battle well-fought. And the victory to be celebrated after with men or women as they saw fit. Bonds forged between competitors deeper than a one-night stand, strong as iron, hard as stone. Glory, and an intimate connection that he would never be able to fathom, should he choose the other path.

The surge, the cliffs, and the seabed awaited below to his left, with the sirens that called for him to join them. The roar of the arena surged on his right, with the great tunnel arching overhead and a light that shone on the other side. His childhood dream made real.

The caress of fingers over Peter’s biceps triggered a muscle spasm that forced them to flex, to rise into titanic mounds that strained against the sleeves of his shirt. His shoes burst open with twin detonations, followed by shredding socks as he gazed sightlessly ahead. He couldn’t see Aphrodite, nor could he feel the strain of his muscle growing with his frame. All he knew were his warring desires seeking to entice him.

He raised a foot. It trembled in the air as the two lives raged in their own manner, calling, crying, demanding. Until he planted his foot firmly and turned.

The dark shadow of the tunnel consumed him, sending a chill over his body as he strode over tightly packed dirt and stone. The surge of the crowd grew louder. And at the end of the passage, a shadowy figure awaited with arms raised in a proud salute. Though he could not see the man’s face, Peter knew to return the gesture, even as the roar of his heartbeat blended with the surge of the arena’s audience. His pant legs grew tighter and tighter, until their seams finally burst open under the force of titanic thighs and swollen calves. His chest heaved larger, heavier, with every breath while his shirt began to draw up his torso and strain against his traps.

“I ... choose....” He blinked slowly as the portal drew closer. His voice sounded different, deeper, grainy, almost clattering, like the tumbling of a rock slide down a gorge.

The brush of lips over his brought him back briefly to stare at Aphrodite. “I know, little lover. I know.” Her smile was sad, but proud as she ran her fingers down his throat and over his torso to trip along every defined abdominal muscle there.

The grating came slowly, as if his vocal cords were having trouble functioning, even as his Adam's apple became more prominent. “What’s ... happening to me?”

“Your wish, little lover.” She smiled. “You came to this gallery every week. And every week, you would pour your hopes, your dreams, your desires, into these sculptures. You brought no burnt offerings or incense, but you carried your devotion, your wishes, your prayers. You returned. You reported. And you offered thanks for your progress with every victory you achieved. If that is not worship, then I don’t know what is. If that is not love, then I would not be here now. This is your temple, and your desires have not gone unheard, nor your offerings unheeded.” She smiled as he dropped his arms and the mounds of his biceps thrust against the expanded lats in his back to prevent from resting properly at his sides. They had not relaxed once, and one could almost hear a faint grinding as they sought that perfect place to rest. “You loved your ancestral homeland. You honored your history, your culture, your people. You longed to join them. And now you will. This, I promise you.”

Another shudder. Another eye-roll of pleasure as the air permeated with her scent. Delicate fingers traced over his shoulders and traps along his neck as the world fell away to return him to the passage as heavier arms and legs were left to lumber forward in his daze, casting up puffs of dirt into the air.

At last, the figure came into view as he neared the end of the tunnel. The curly hair and headband were unmistakable. His toned body was fit and bared for all to see. A smile pulled at his features as he gazed on Peter and welcomed him into the light.

“Welcome, brother,” he greeted.

The arena erupted into uproarious cheers as Peter strode into the sun. Togas, laurels, pins, loin cloths, and other ancient garb as far as the eye could see. A thrill of pleasure erupted from within as his chest thrust forward in pride. His back straightened, and a smile of his own began to creep steadily over his lips. “Brother. I like that....”

“We knew you would.” A hand clapped heavily on Peter’s broad back. There was no pain. He hardly felt a thing. “We’ve been waiting a long time for you to join us in the ring.”

Peter’s smile widened as he looked down on this competitor. He stood at least a head taller than the man. “You mean it?”

“Of course.” His smile broadened into a cocky grin. “Shall we salute for the crowd?”

Peter required no further prompting. His arms jerked and snapped as they hardened into a mighty flex. His chest thrust forward to show off his defined torso. Excitement throbbed as he took in the erupting cheers of the crowd.

“Why don’t you show off properly?” the ghost of Aphrodite’s voice caused him to snap his neck to the right. Another tingle. Another crack, followed by a reverberating snap as the waistband of his underwear finally gave up the ghost with the remnants of his pants. Just like his brother, Peter’s manhood was on full display for the crowd, as was right in their profession, as was proper for the games.

“You look magnificent, brother.”

“I feel magnificent,” came the reply. “I feel like ... I feel like....”

“Like you belong here?”

Peter nodded as they approached the center of the arena. “Exactly. This is just ... it’s perfect, it’s right, it’s....”

He trailed off at the sight of their opponents. Two more combatants strode with broad grins onto the dirt field. Their faces were unfamiliar, but Peter would never forget the sight of those torsos he had studied for so many years. They embraced as men and competitors both as one of them spoke the words that would forever change the man’s life.

“Welcome home, Petra.”

Petra. The root word of his name. His true name. His true nature. Rock hard, a stone that would never break, never yield. Immortal and immovable. The word flooded his being, washing away the thoughts of the city, of the responsibilities and fears of the modern world. A stone cared not for such things. A stone was simple, with simple needs and desires. And now, in this place, and this time, Peter was long gone and forgotten. Petra had only one focus now, one goal; to grapple his competitor into submission. A smile curved his lips as the dust blew into his hair to lighten it from black to a reddish-brown.

“It’s good to be home,” he replied. The two smirked at one another. And then, as the contest began and their frames met to grapple one with another, the faintest brush tingled and faded from his lips. Petra grinned as he began to fight in earnest. He was living his dream. He had found his home. And he couldn’t be happier.

Back in the museum, Aphrodite smiled as the last color drained from Peter’s lips and eyes to merge into the spreading marble. His last breath had sealed his fate, but it was a fate that he chose, and a curious reversal of the gift she had offered Pygmalion so very long ago. The tattered remains of Peter’s pants and undergarments littered the floor. His arms and face were frozen in a pose of joyful masculinity that would endure for ages to come.

“I promise you,” she whispered. “You will never be separated from your brothers.”

As if he had taken some comfort in this assurance, the last ripples and stains of the new marble statue blossomed into existence, a perfect burnished match colored by the age of time as much as the minerals from which his body was now composed.

A mover in a white jumpsuit strode in and shook his head as he wrapped a tag around the new statue’s wrist to dangle on the edge of its vision. EROS had been sewn into the uniform over the man’s left pectoral, and three arrows jutted through the name to flourish at three angles. He sighed as he pulled back from the statue.

“Such a pity. He’d have made a fine arrow.”

Aphrodite shook her head and smiled as her features continued to shift, even as Eros’ did the same to match that perfect ideal for their kinds unique aspects of love. “It was his choice, my son. And you have many more already flying around the world.”

Eros chuckled. “I suppose that’s true. It took them long enough to acknowledge me again.”

Aphrodite cupped his chin and cheek lovingly. “My darling Eros, love always endures, both yours and mine.”

Eros sighed and his stance loosened under that gentle caress.

“Is everything ready?”

He nodded. “Hermes has already taken care of it. The papers are filed and the system hacked and updated.” He chuckled. “These mortals really did blunder when they called their invention the information superhighway. I don’t think he’s had this much fun in over a millennium.”

Aphrodite chuckled. “He certainly has enough charges to look after now. And the curator?”

“I’ve given him a nudge and the proper alert. He’ll be on his way soon.”

“Excellent.” She smiled as she flexed her fingers and looked back on the statue. “I wonder if I should get back into sculpting,” she thought idly. “I haven’t felt that relaxed in centuries.”

Eros laughed as he extended an arm in invitation. “Then we’ll have to find more mortals seeking a boon, won’t we? You won’t believe the number that actually want to be turned to statues.”

“Is that so?” Aphrodite’s eyes flickered with just a hint of appetite as she seized his arm in hers and they strode toward the wall. “Tell me more.”

“Gladly,” Eros said as they faded through the structure of the building and disappeared.

A few moments later, the clack of leather shoes on the marble floor echoed through the space, until the curator arrived to gape at the newest acquisition. His face shifted from white to splotchy pink to a mottled red and finally to cherry tomato. “Security!” he bellowed into his radio transceiver. “Get me the footage for the last hour in the museum. Some prankster thought it would be funny to deface our latest acquisition. I want to find out who, how, and when, or heads are going to roll!”

The faintest ghost of laughter reverberated through the museum halls as a flicker passed on the edge of the curator’s vision, then was gone. Hermes continued to laugh as he sped on his way to guide the next soul to the afterlife. “Ah, Aphrodite, I do so love how you push those mortals’ buttons.”