Lifting Up And Dumbing Down Part 29

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 29

You continue to pump your weights, heedless of the movers as they tromped into your apartment hauling boxes and bits and pieces of furniture. A few of the laborers look almost familiar to you, somehow. Maybe ... you saw them at the gym? You ... can’t ... quite seem to ... focus on it.... Then your eyes fall on your hulking torso in the mirror and you let that thought drop. The hairs on your chest have spread out in a perfect triangle that’s just the right thickness to accentuate the muscle, without obscuring it. You grin at the sight of your broad shoulders and perfectly sculpted abdomen. The veins standing on your arms only serve to better accentuate the pistons you’ve worked so hard to build and maintain. The rhythmic pulse of screwdrivers deepens your trance as you sink into that familiar emptiness and smile. You’re not sure how long you’ve been pumping, when you feel a firm tap on your shoulder. You turn to look into the mover’s murky brown eyes. “Job’s finished,” he rumbled. “Good,” you grunt. You look around the room briefly, eyeing the new surround sound speakers, the motivational posters, the new bench press, the pull-up bar, the squat rack, and so many weights. One of the men is busy organizing your DVDs and Blu-rays on the shelf. The screen of your new massive television pulses a myriad of patterns and images. “Welcome to your new and improved home.” It was like something set a switch off in your brain. The response was automatic. “The gym is my home.” The man nodded. “That is right.” They each file past you, one at a time, laying a meaty hand over your shoulder as they make their way out. When the workers had gone, a single figure remained at the doorway. He’s short, kinda on the scrawny side. Could use a good bulking, you think absently as you look at him. He swayed briefly, then stepped inside, looking about in confusion. His hair was tied back in a long black ponytail and his sneakers scuffed against the floor as he shuffled in. One word clicks in your mind. Landlord. “Wh-what ... did you just do?” He blinked rapidly and shook his head, as if trying to shake off sleep. “These renovations. I ... I never gave--.” You tromp over to him with an easy gait and, pausing only to squat down and pick up a set of lighter dumbbells from your new coffee table on your way to the door, you finish your advance. You press them into the man’s chest and he grabs the handles out of reflex. He stares down at them, dumbfounded, as they drop to his sides. You shake your head in disgust. “What’re you standing there for? You gotta lift ‘em, like this, bro.” You clasp your meaty mitts around his pale skinny fingers and get behind him to manipulate his arms. You show him the form, just like Hank and Duff showed you. “Up and down. Up and down.” “This ... this isn’t--.” You shush him quickly. “Gotta focus to lift,” you say gruffly as you fold your arms and glower down at him. “Focus and listen.” “Wh--wha--?” You tromp over to the TV and access the first beginner workout DVD you see. Curiously enough, it’s the only one of its kind sitting at eye level. You let that pass, however. It’s not for you to think about. All you think about is growing your muscle. You pop the disc into the player and back up as your speakers blare into the room. “Now, let me show you how to lift....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 26

The rhythmic clank of the weights on the barbell beats into your skull like the blow of a hammer on steel. The weights are the hammer. The bench, your anvil. And you, you’re the metal being forged, molded, remade into something powerful, useful, efficient. Combat ready. A smirk crosses your face. You’re not sure where that thought came from, but you like it. After all, what else are muscles for? They are to show that you are the best. The bigger you grow, the stronger you get. The stronger you get, the harder it is for opponents to defeat you. It’s only right. Soon you’ll be a match for Duff, and then he’d better watch out. A perfect match. “Yeah,” you rumble as you feel that burn you’ve become so addicted to rushing through your vascular arms. “You say something, bro?” Duff looks down at you with a knowing smirk. A set of earbuds trails down from his ears into his MP3 player as he spots you. “Just that I’m gonna whoop your sorry ass next time we wrestle,” you growl. Your voice has dropped a good half octave, and it feels so good every time you push into the deeper registers. It’s good to drop deeper. That dull numbing sensation returns in your head as Duff chuckles, and you would join him, if you could, but you have to keep your focus on your set. Uneven breathing wreaks havoc on your lift. And a muscle machine like you needs to lift. A new wave of pleasure washes out all thought as you open your mouth. “I lift things up and put them down.” Duff is grinning as he looks down at you. “Nah, bro. We lift things up and put them down.” He lets out a familiar husky chuckle as his gaze becomes unfocused. He pops a flex as you stare up at his broad torso. His pecs are bouncing one after the other in perfect time, and you can’t help but mimic his grin at the sight. You push quickly through the last of your set, then rack the weight and stand with him. The gym is empty once again. Too close to closing time for most customers to want to visit. And that’s good. It leaves the rest of the equipment open for the two of you. Besides, Hank doesn’t mind letting you two stay late. He trusts Duff. Certainly enough to make him a workout buddy, or a ‘big bro,’ as Duff jokingly said one time. You chuckle at the sight of his pecs jumping in perfect rigid tempo. “Huhuhuh....” “Look who’s talking,” Duff countered with a sneer. You look down and marvel at the sight of your own pecs dancing to the same beat as Duff’s. Back and forth. Back and forth. Up and down. Up and down. Up. ... Down. Everything seems to slow to a trickle as you stare, mesmerized by the motion. Your mouth hangs open in a confused sort of O as you breathe deeply. Deeper and deeper. Lower and lower. No need to think. Just ... be. “I lift things up and put them down.” You look up dazedly at Duff. He’s handing you a massive pair of dumbbells. You take them without thinking. The pumping continues. The rhythm pulses through your brain. “I lift things up and put them down,” you return in that same vapid tone. Soon you’re both standing shirtless in front of the floor-length mirror. Sweat glistens over your torsos as you continue to pump. Duff soon joins you with another pair of weights. “I lift things up and put them down,” he utters again. “I lift things up and put them down.” And so it continued late into the night. Two weapons being forged in the flames. Two machines executing their programming. And it was good.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 34

“Hey, kid. I’ve got another gig for you, if you’re interested,” Harry’s voice carried over your new bluetooth phone accessory into your ears. Hank suggested the twin earpieces the moment you talked about how Harry’s calls were messing up your workouts. The little devices were an absolute miracle. “It’s for a new brand of sports gear coming out,” Harry continued. “Jock straps, cleats, socks, shorts, uniforms, football, baseball, you name it.” You pump your dumbbells casually, admiring the healthy gold that’s replaced your once pale white skin as you mull the offer over. “How long?” you finally ask. “It’ll take about a week or two.” “Local?” “Out of state, but they’re willing to add housing expenses.” You mull that over again slowly as you continue to pump rhythmically. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Finally, you nod and speak. “I’ll need a gym. High quality, full spread, full access. It’s not home without a gym,” you say, “and I need to keep up my workout schedule.” “Of course. I already explained the details of your other contract to them. They agreed a muscleman like you is perfect for the job.” The world came to a halt as your weights dropped to the padded flooring. “A muscleman like me is perfect for the job,” you repeat in a dull monotone. “Because proud musclemen love to show off, and what is modeling, but a chance to show off those muscles?” “I am a proud muscleman. I love to show off.” “That’s right,” Harry said. “Show off for the cameras.” “I show off for the cameras.” “You will pose as you are ordered, during your photo sessions, because proud musclemen don’t think. You remember that, don’t you, muscleman? Musclemen don’t think.” “Our muscles think for us,” you return. “My muscle drives my body.” “Just a big, dumb muscleman growing bigger and dumber, bigger and dumber every time you lift things up and put them down.” “I lift things up and put them down,” you slur in a deep, bovid voice. “That’s right, Djur. Lifting and growing and dumbing, until there’s nothing but a bulky, brawny brute of a body builder. Because that is what you are becoming. That is where you want to be, isn’t it?” “Yes.” “Good muscleman. Now, when I say the word congratulations, you are going to wake back up out of this trance with no memory of this exchange. You will remember agreeing to the contract and feel enthusiastic about the modeling to come, because musclemen and sports gear go hand in hand. You know this from the compression gear you take with you to the gym every day.” “Yes,” you agree. “And you will wear whatever they ask you to without complaint, because...?” “Musclemen and sports gear go hand in hand.” “That’s right. You’re a good muscleman.” “I am a good muscleman.” “Now pick up your weights and resume your exercises.” You quickly move to do so, pumping mindlessly as you listen to the voice that has held your attention so raptly. Harry’s chuckle carried over into your ears. “Congratulations, kid. You’ve got the contract.” You blink blearily for a moment. “S-sorry, Harry,” you low slowly. “I ... didn’t get all that. I think you broke up a bit.” You shake your head to try to clear the fog. “I said you got the contract, kid. I’ll send the travel arrangements your way, once I’ve got them booked. A big grin spread over your face as your heart rate picked up. “Awesome! Thanks, Harry!” Harry chuckled. “No problem, kid. I’ll see you soon. Keep up the great work.” “I will,” you promise as you stare into your mirror and smile at the way your muscles ripple and shift under your skin as you work them. “I will,” you repeat in a dreamier tone as the buds pick up on your MP3 player and the familiar tracks filter through your ears.

Harry panted to himself as he laid a hand against his chest to get his heart rate under control. An exultant surge pulsed through his brain as the flood of adrenaline merged with a hint of arousal. His cheeks flushed and his bald spot shone with sweat as he reached for a tissue and dabbed the droplets away. Once he’d regained enough control of himself, he pulled out his cell phone and clicked the redial button. A few rings later, and he heard the familiar voice of his client on the other end. “How did it go?” the deep voice asked. “Surprisingly well,” Harry said. “I ... I’ve never done something like that before.” The man on the other end chuckled. “You enjoyed it.” It wasn’t a question. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, Mister Harrison.” The flush in Harry’s cheeks deepened. “Please, call me Sir. I find that much more informal than ‘Mister Harrison.’” “I, uh ... don’t know if I feel all that comfortable calling you that, ... Sir.” Harrison chortled. “I’ve already sent the payment, along with a little ... let’s call it a bonus, a reward, if you will, for excellent service.” Harry’s mouth suddenly felt dry. “I ... I always aim to please, Sir.” “Of course you do. You have talent, Harry. You don’t mind, if I call you Harry, do you? After all, we’ve been working together for so long.” Harry gulped. “O-of course not, Sir.” “Good. Good. You see, Harry, when I find talent, real potential, I like to make use of it, polish it until it shines so perfectly, so emptily, that I can see my own reflection.” “Um ... is this going anywhere, Sir?” Harry’s voice cracked, and he swallowed to alleviate the dryness, then fumbled for his coffee mug and took a sip. His hand trembled as he returned the mug to its place on his desk. “To put it simply, Harry, I see that glimmer in you. I see the talent, the spark. You, sir, have the soul of a conditioner, a manager, if you will, not unlike Fängsla.” Harry chuckled nervously. “Um, thank ... you?” “Which is why I’m going to start polishing you now.” “Excuse m--?” “Report, candidate.” Harry shot bolt-upright in his chair. His eyes stared unseeingly at the door to his office. “Yes, Sir.” His chair scraped back against the hardwood floor as he reached over to grab his phone and keys, then made his way to the office door. He stopped only long enough to lock it behind him and tell the secretary to hold his calls and cancel his appointments, followed by the assurance he’d be in contact soon and handing her the key to the main office. “Lock up. Take care of the place. There’s a bonus in it for you, if you do well,” he promised. And then, just like that, he was out the door walking at a brisk pace to reach his car. He had to report.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 37

You smile as you arrive at the gym. The sun is setting, painting the stone along the building’s outside a fiery orange, and that only makes you feel more fired up for the reunion and workout to come. You open the glass door, gym bag in hand, heedless of the fact the sign has been flicked to closed and the illuminated one turned off. It’s not your first time arriving close to closing. You smile as the familiar clank of the weight machines in full swing rings through your ears. Hank must’ve decided to get in a little pump of his own, after shutting things up for the night. After all, people knew better than to try to break into a gym frequented by bodybuilders and run by one of the greatest personal trainers the circuit has ever seen. You make your way easily to your usual locker and quickly pull out your combination lock. After you grab what you need from the bag, you stow it in the locker and click the lock shut. You drape your hand towel over your shoulder and start to guzzle your protein shake you prepped before coming down. You already feel the familiar tension in your muscles as the surge of your heartbeat rages in your ears. That same dimwitted smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you passed through the locker room door and back into the entry point. You flip the cap shut on your mixing cup and strike into that double bicep pose you’ve been practicing as you let that smile pull into a confident grin and step onto the main floor. “Yo, Hank, I’m--.” Hank wasn’t on the floor, but the gym was packed with some of the most chiseled and buff men you’ve ever laid eyes on. Barbells bent with the sheer weight some of these men were repping with as rippling muscles strained against their singlets. “--back,” you finished lamely. Nobody responded. Nobody stopped. You strode into the fray, watching as the builders and lifters pushed in eerie silence. No cursing, no growling, no roars of rage or triumph. You felt almost like a ghost as you passed through their ranks. Those who weren’t at the machines stood in a perfect line in front of the floor-length mirrors. Their bronze skins shone slickly under the lights, whether from sweat or those oils you’d heard Duff gushing about, you weren’t sure, but the sheer synchronization of their movements was incredible. They switched as one man, fluidly, from pose to pose. It was almost like a dance, pure poetry in motion. You couldn’t help but give a sympathetic flex of your own at the sight. This. This was the ideal. This was what you were training to become. Perfect strength. Perfect symmetry. Poetry in motion. Over at the drink bar, a familiar flash of red drew your attention. Stocky builders would walk to the counter and grab the cups lying in wait along the counter’s surface. You approached and smiled at the familiar face of your lifting buddy. “Yo, Duff. What’s up?” Duff continued about his business as if he hadn’t heard you. He mixed the powders with the proper fluids, then closed the lids and started the blenders, before turning back to you again. When he noticed you hadn’t moved, he strode over, picked up a cup, and shoved it at your chest. “Please drink and return to your workout,” he said in a peremptory tone, not unlike those robo recordings you used to have to deal with when you had to call about your banking and stuff. Man, were you glad you didn’t have to worry so much about those things anymore. “Duff? Big bro? Anybody home?” you asked as you waved a hand in front of his face. He didn’t have the chance to respond as a group of the hulking giants came over and shoved you aside to drink lustily from the cups. Once again, Duff sounded the refrain. “Please drink and return to your workout.” When the drinks were finished, they slammed the cups down on the countertop and rose from their chairs. “We have finished our drinks,” their voices echoed in unison. “We are returning to our workouts.” And that was it. Duff took the dirty cups to the wash station and cleaned them up, without saying a word, while the men returned to the main floor. Then he dried and refilled the cups to place on the counter top again. “Uh ... okay, then. Guess I’ll catch you later,” you say lamely as you lumber away from the bar. This wasn’t exactly the welcome back you were expecting. Practically all the weights and equipment are being hogged by the titans, and there’s still no sign of Hank in sight, so there’s nothing you can do about it. You sigh and decide to poke around a bit. Maybe some of the equipment will get freed up in the meanwhile. It was worth a shot. You’d hate to waste the trip, especially after that letdown with Duff. You wander over to the door marked STAFF ONLY. Maybe Hank is back there. You test the door and find it unlocked, so you pass through into a long, broad hallway. A series of doors stand on either side, just waiting to be explored. A smile pulls at your lips. Maybe this wouldn’t be a wasted trip to the gym, after all. And if you did get into trouble, well, you were just looking for Hank, after all. Surely, he could forgive you for that. You pick a door at random and test the knob. Much to your pleasant surprise, it’s unlocked. The room inside is dark, so you flick a switch to get a better idea of what’s inside. A series of speakers have been mounted on all sides of the space, while a single large monitor sits atop a desk. A mounted camera in the corner stares sightlessly at the opposite side, clearly inactive. You shrug and withdraw, making your way to the next door. You continued your search, finding more of the same. After the tenth one of its kind, you were getting exceptionally bored. You decide to try one last door, before you turn back. The handle shifted as easily as the others had, but when you cracked the door, this time, you saw something different. The light was dim as you stepped through, save for the glow on the monitor highlighting the familiar face of your landlord. A sandy shirt clung tightly to his frame, highlighting the beginnings of a perk in his pectorals that you knew only too well from when you first started your journey of growth. His eyes were completely locked on the screen, his pupils wide as the light flickered over his face. A thick set of headphones had been mounted over his ears and as you drew nearer, you could just make out the familiar camouflage pattern of military style fatigues and the heavy duty boots that lay beneath them.  “Collin?” you ask. He doesn’t answer. You walk around behind him to see the rapidly flashing images of tanks, missiles, heavy duty weapons, marching soldiers, men saluting, ancient soldiers fighting in their armor, battle scenes, all superimposed over a flickering spiral and words that flit in and out along the screen at random points. Finally, he lets out a sigh, followed by a, “Sir, yes, Sir.” Since when had he gotten all gung-ho about the military? You get closer and pull one of the earphones off slightly, leaning in close to pick up on whatever is playing. “That is good. You’ve identified your commanding officer. And you will listen to your commanding officer at all times, won’t you, soldier?” “Sir, yes, Sir,” Collin said dully. You reel back from the headphone as it plops back into place. That voice. That was Harry’s voice. “What the hell...?” That was when the door came open and a heavily breathing Hank stared at you. “Hank, what’s going--?” “Sleep, muscleman,” he ordered. And suddenly, everything went dark.

Heifer Haven

It was such a funny little name. You really didn’t understand it, considering the fact the place seemed like a dairy. You’d done your research. You knew a cow couldn’t produce milk, unless stimulated through hormones or delivered of a calf. The former was little more than an artificial means of messing with the creature’s biological clock. The latter would render the farm’s name null and void, since a heifer is a virgin cow. Was it just an affectation or did the owner of this place really mean for the farm to only be for heifers? Of course, you didn’t know, and it wasn’t really for you to wonder about in the first place. All you knew was that you were here to test the quality of the product and write about the farm’s practices on your blog.

The farm’s owner was a kind and straightforward woman with broad shoulders and long flowing black hair. She started you off in the field, touring along the border of the property and pointing out all the cows grazing in the distance. Next came the milk room, where she showed you how the pump machines she utilized worked and the best way to milk the cows’ teats without causing undue irritation or pain. Then she showed you the barn and pens, where the cows would sleep during inclement weather and the winter months. You were happy to see she’d laid them with straw and other forms of bedding that would prove harmless and comforting to the herd. As a whole it was definitely one of the best dairies you’d seen. There were absolutely no signs of any form of abuse. The woman seemed to care very deeply for her herd.

Lastly, she led you to a small wooden stand, where a series of empty glasses sat waiting on the side.

“Now for the best part,” the owner said with a playful smile, “the sampling.”

“Sampling?” you return.

“You’ve never had a glass of real milk before, have you?”

“Um….”

“I mean before it’s pasteurized,” she clarified. “If you think you know milk, you’ll change your mind, after you’ve tried some of this.” She made her way behind the stand and crouched down to pull up a plastic tube that she placed inside one of the glasses. Then she twisted something from behind the wood and you watched as the frothy white substance poured out into the cup. When it had filled, she cut off the flow, then offered you the cup. “I guarantee it’ll change your life.”

You looked dubiously at the drink.

“Oh, would you relax? I’ve drank unpasteurized for years. It won’t kill you to try a single glass.”

“I have always wondered what it’s like,” you admit as you come closer and take the cup from the lady. You sniffed the glass carefully. It didn’t smell any different than your usual cup of milk in the morning. Then you took a sip, just a tiny one. The milk was thick and rich with a sweet creamy texture, nothing like what you’d bought in stores before. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head as you fought and ultimately failed to suppress the moan of pleasure that built in your chest and burst out your mouth.

The farmer beamed at you. “Told you it was better.”

You went after the milk with far more gusto this time, letting the froth coat your lip in a moustache as you did your best to swallow every last drop. Each gulp was a symphony of flavor on your taste buds. You moan again as you pull the glass back regretfully from your lips and lower it to the stand. Your nostrils flare as you snuffle, fighting to take in as much of that heady aroma as possible along your lips. With every breath, you enjoy more of the smell and a goofy smile crosses your face as you grin dopily at the farm’s owner.

You feel a peculiar warmth in your nether regions as you lick your lip with your broad tongue, brushing against your nose and moistening it as well. “Moooore?” you ask, heedless of how your voice has deepened. You sway briefly on your feet, feeling suddenly unsteady. You crouch to try to lower you center of gravity, but that doesn’t do you much good, and only seems to make your pants feel all the tighter as you lean heavily onto the wooden stand for support.

The woman is only too happy to provide. She holds a glass up to you and your nostrils flare again as you shove your face into it, licking and swallowing as much as you can. Any that spills, you just bow your neck down to lick up with your broadening tongue. Off in the distance, you can just make out the sound of the herd lowing to one another. Your ears flicker in annoyance as your fingers fumble weakly on the hard wood, scrabbling across its surface as they grow thicker and darker. A slight tickling sensation draws your attention down to your arms, where you notice a rigid dusting of hair. A strange sense of familiarity overtakes you as you look down at your hands. You think you’re supposed to see these strange pink things, but … all you see is a black mass. But … that’s what you’re supposed to see, … isn’t it? You work your jaw and smack your thick rubbery pink lips together as you struggle to gather your thoughts. A curious euphoric fog is clouding your mind as you feel thick calloused hands run over your head, rubbing at an upper corner. You groan in pleasure, and it comes out as a gentle low.

So good. So nice. Nice to just … relax and … and ….

A loud detonation sounds as the zipper on your pants breaks apart. A warm, sloshing mass is swelling, pressing tighter and tighter against your expanding girth. You don’t mind, though. It’s too good just enjoying the woman’s ministrations. She smells so wonderful. It makes you feel warm and safe as you nuzzle her gently.

“That’s right,” she coos into your ears. “Good girl.”

You hardly even register her words, too lost in the euphoria of her touch and the swelling fog that derails your train of thought. You shudder as she nurses and pulls ever so gently at the horn that’s starting to emerge from your skull. Another few breaths and the constriction on your chest is suddenly relieved as the sound of shredding fabric tears through the air. The woman reaches down and pulls off scraps of white cloth, the shredded remains of your shirt, but all you can think of is the loving caress and the question of why such a thing would be on you in the first place. It doesn’t even smell like you.

The woman stops to peer into your eyes and smiles. “You’re coming along very nicely.”

You don’t understand the words, but you don’t mind. You nudge at her with your long, thick neck and toss your expanding head as your ears flick again. She soon gets the message, and you feel that wonderful touch on the other side of your head. A second horn bud soon emerges to join the first. You shudder in pleasure as the warmth becomes more pressing against your belly. You’re dimly aware of a faint sloshing and a distinct sort of pressure starting to build down there. You’re loath to ask, but the question needs to be answered. It’s starting to get a little uncomfortable, after all.

You kick back with one of your legs and low softly as your ears drop behind your head. She seems to understand, nodding her head and passing behind you. You crane your neck, which feels surprisingly flexible, and watch as she lifts your rear hooves and pulls off the offending pieces of cloth that have been keeping you from feeling the familiar pressure of the turf. A loud popping sounds as more cloth breaks free and falls. She reaches up to reclaim it, brushing your wide, bony hips, which leads to more tingling as a long ropey tail launches out from your rear. It flicks casually left and right, leaving you with a sense of repetition that eases that twinge of fear floundering in the back of your head.

You lick your broad velvety nose as the lady cuts away at the band that’s been biting into your waist. It finally breaks free with a satisfying snap, allowing that uncomfortable warmth to slosh down low to the ground. The pressure has built so heavily that you can’t think about anything else. The tall grass tickles against the protrusion and you low with need. The woman smiles and walks back to the wooden stand, while you drop onto all fours, looking patiently and trustingly at the lady that has been so very kind to you. She withdraws a stool and a large bucket. She places the bucket beneath you, then lowers the stool onto the ground by your withers. She pats you once on the side, then begins to pull at the sensitive sack that had been so tightly pressed against your body before. You hear the distinct sound of high pressure liquid striking metal as she pulls. Relief floods you as the pressure begins to ease. Her hands aren’t even cold.

“Good cow,” she utters. “Good cow.”

Over and over again, she repeats. It’s almost entrancing as you stand there, leaving your tail to flick in the wind. You low gratefully to her as the pressure continues to ease and your eyes widen Your pupils expand into broad ovular pieces that flick left and right as your nostrils flare. You smell your milk. You smell the sweet scent of fresh grass, and your stomach rumbles at that smell. Actually … you’re pretty sure you feel … four rumbles?

“Good cow.”

Euphoria rushes over you again and the confusion is gone. You chew the grass with thick, flat teeth, grinding it to paste and swallowing happily as the green leeches out of your eyes to be suffused with a rich dark brown. A light tingling near your rump is the only source of discomfort as the image of the farm’s brand engraves itself harmlessly on your flesh. You low gently, and the herd responds to your call. It is questioning, suspicious. They don’t know you yet. But that is right. You must earn your place with them.

Suddenly, the woman is standing in front of you, pail in hand as she smiles at you. “Go on, then. They’re waiting.”

You blink a few times as you look at the kind smile with innocent, unthinking eyes. You approach her, nuzzle her hand briefly, then turn and lumber your way across the field.

The woman smiles as you walk off and she whistles pleasantly to herself as she pulls out a fresh insulated container from behind the stand to dump your milk into it. “Score another for the herd.” She smiled then as she flipped her phone open and hit the speed dial. “Yeah, Jack? Tour went off without a hitch. This one’s a real producer. You still looking to add some studs to your herd?” She nodded at the response. “Yeah, I’ve got plenty of wet cows for the season. I’ll see about having your breeders ready, after the next tour.”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 41

You beam openly as you step off the stage and out of the hot lights. Your posing strap holds perfectly to your wide hips as they sway back and forth in that familiar swagger that’s become your natural mode of locomotion. A massive cardboard check is clutched in your right hand as you grin almost childishly at your trainer. “I can’t believe I just won!” you gush. “And at my first competition.” “I told you I’d make a proper bodybuilder of you, didn’t I?” Hank asked, smiling enthusiastically as he bore his teeth in a grin to offset the thick dark stubble that had grown in around his face. “Yes, sir, but I mean, wow. Just wow! This, this makes it official. I really am an actual bodybuilder now.” “And how do you feel?” “Fucking fantastic!” You’re still grinning, heedless to the many knowing smiles and angry glares directed your way. “I’m so full of energy. I feel like I could run a thousand miles.” “Then we should see about working some of that off, shouldn’t we?” Hank chuckled. “Yes, Sir!” Hank chuckled again. “You’re a regular gym addict, aren’t you, kid?” “Musclemen are big and strong. The gym is where we all belong,” you say in the tone like a child reciting a line of overpracticed prose. “The gym and the stage,” Hank agreed as he wrapped a burly arm around your shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

The familiar sounds of fife and drum thrum in time from the crack beneath as you knock on Collin’s door. Of course, a knock for you is more like an aggressive pounding, but musclemen should always show off their strength, and it wasn’t like you were about to bust it off its hinges or anything. It took a few moments, but the music finally paused and the door opened to reveal Collin’s sweat-streaked face. His gaze was somewhat distant and his pupils seemed to be having difficulty adjusting to the light, as if they were resisting shrinking. As usual, he wore his fatigues, a pair of heavy duty boots, and a shirt with earthy tones that currently clung to his toned frame in wet patches. “Hey, Lil’bro,” you low gently as you smile down at him. A big grin spreads across Collin’s face. “Welcome back!” He laughs as he lunges forward to embrace you. “Harry called me with the news.” He smacks you manfully on the back, then steps off. “So, how does it feel to win, Mister Bodybuilder?” You smirk. “Fucking amazing.” “Hell yeah, it does,” Collin said. “Come on in. I was just in the middle of my workout.” The broad suite was more like a house than it was an apartment. The floor had a massive open concept with a great kitchen filled with sleek modern appliances and an almost spartan level of cleanliness as the marble counter tops shone in the overhead lights. Your eyes wander over to a gun rack, where you note a series of shot guns, rifles, and pistols waiting to be used. “Found some more for your collection, huh?” you note idly as you lean in to peer at the registrations that are mounted behind each of the weapons against the backdrop of a flowing American flag. “Gotta keep up the practice,” he shrugged. “You talk to that recruiter yet?” Collin shook his head. “Not yet. I wanted to, but....” His brow furrowed in confusion. “I ... don’t exactly remember why I didn’t, actually. Something about ... not ... quite ... ready.” “You have to be in tip top shape.” “I ... have to be in tip top shape,” Collin parroted. “Ready to follow orders.” “Yeah....” “Ready to obey.” Collin nodded dreamily. “Sir, yes, Sir.” You chuckle. “Nah, man.  I’m just your bro. Your big bro, but still your bro.” You smile knowingly at the familiar twitching you see in his hands and pectorals. “I think I’ll leave you to your workout, man. We’ll talk later, okay?” “Yeah, ... later,” he said as he reached for a remote. “Gotta get fit.” “Fit for service,” you prod gently. You remember how much he loves talking about stuff like that. “I will be a good soldier. A good soldier serves his country. A good soldier obeys.” “That’s right, Lil’bro.” You smile as the fife and drums renew their rigid cadence and you take your leave. That smile soon grows into a predatory sneer. Seeing his growing muscles has left you with a pump of your own, and your body practically vibrates with the need to exert itself. You couldn’t get to your apartment fast enough.