Lifting Up And Dumbing Down Part 37

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.

Flynn Rides Again

This story was inspired by a piece of artwork I stumbled across on Furaffinity.net. It’s a tad too mature for my standards, since I’m not exactly a fan of hyper, but the main intent of the brief two-panel sequence inspired me to do this story. I hope you all enjoy.

Eugene looked suspiciously at the strange metal cylinder that had been shoved into his hand. One moment, he was looking at some old mirror in Corona’s castle, definitely not in a forbidden wing that he’d be in terrible trouble for stumbling into, if the guards caught him. Then he was here, in this place. He remembered the dark room and the dank smell of a forgotten dungeon well enough. It really was his own fault for being too proud to ask some proper directions, but him being a newly reformed thief and all, he wasn’t exactly willing to take any chances of certain … misunderstandings that could potentially end his life, before he had the chance to propose to Rapunzel. You only got so many passes for being the love interest of the princess, after all.

He furrowed his brow in concentration as he continued to think back on the events that had led him here. He’d dodged into the room to avoid being caught by a guard patrol. He remembered that much. Enough light shone through the bars of the from the torches in the hall to grant him at least a dim view of the room. When the guards passed by, he quickly darted behind the closest thing at hand, a broad wooden mannequin bedecked in the strangest armor the former thief had ever seen. A thick cap made of hard leather with two straps that dangled on either side of the ears sat snugly on the top; a spacious garment not unlike chainmail hung from the shoulders, though it appeared to have been made from cloth, rather than steel, and a strange set of worn characters faded by the ravages of time and the nibbling of certain other creatures had left the man wondering if the garb might not have been enchanted at one point. It certain would explain the sheer size of the thing. The garment could have fit Attilla or Vladimir no problem. It might have even been loose on them, and that was saying something. When the guards’ speech had faded enough, Eugene emerged from his hiding place to take a closer look at the alien garb.

“Just who did you used to belong to?” Eugene had muttered to himself. The tattered remains of what had once been a pair of pants hung from the waist portion of the carved wooden frame, and the strangest pair of boots he had ever laid eyes on sat on the broad wooden base. They looked almost like shoes, with no sign of the usual high walls associated with the article, but they had thick powerful soles attached to their bottoms with dark spikes that would be great for traction and cause no end of pain to an enemy, if kicked or stomped on. Next, he picked up a large metal tankard with a massive upside-down horseshoe etched into its surface. As he ran his fingers along the etching, he felt the contours of a large B, followed by a capital N and finally a capital A. A set of dusty wooden placards sat atop the shelf. Eugene removed each one in order, before returning it.

“LilBro, Fall, BigBro, Spring? What are these even supposed to mean?” As he replaced the last of the items, unfortunately, his unique brand of luck kicked in, and in true fashion, one of the supports of the shelf came undone, sending everything falling to the floor. Eugene did his best to catch what he could, but he couldn’t stop all of it. The clatter was defeaning. The shouts of the suddenly alert guards and the steady clomp of their booted feet left Eugene’s heart racing as he shook his head, muttering worriedly to himself, and slowly backed up. That was his second mistake. The old stand wobbled, then crashed to the floor thunderously as he bumped into it. Now Eugene knew he was rightfully done for.

“Oh, come on!” Eugene wailed. “Give a guy a break.” As a last resort, he rushed to the back of the room, where a great white sheet sat. He whipped it up, ducked under it, and prayed the guards wouldn’t think to look as he leaned back against a cool surface and promptly fell through.

The next thing he knew, he found himself here, in this … place. It was a disorienting trip, but rather alarmed screaming, laughter and a pleasure-filled shrieking had greeted him, instead. He stood in the middle of one of the strangest manors he had ever encountered, and in his career as a thief, he had seen his fair share. The furniture in this one was finely crafted, albeit well used. The carpet was firm, almost rigid under the supple soles of his worn leather boots, and young men and women rushed around in costumes, laughing and partying to loud music that emanated magically from tiny boxes, yet somehow filled the entire vaulted room with noise that blended with the general hubbub of the crowd. More than one of the men came up to him, after he’d gotten his bearings with the lowing compliment, “Sweet costume, bro.”

After about the tenth compliment, Eugene rubbed the back of his head, his white shirt billowing slightly in the heated air. “Uh, thanks, … bro?”

The man with the devil horns just smirked as he walked past.

A thick arm suddenly wrapped itself around Eugene’s shoulders, and he looked up in utter shock at the massive minotaur that now held him bound. His eyes shrunk to pinpricks as his mouth dropped open, before the monster pulled its own head off to reveal a heavily muscled boy with golden hair cut into a tight buzz in a flat along the top of his head. His jaw was thick and square, and a carefully groomed layer of golden shadow rimmed his jaw like sand.

“You look lost, LilBro,” the big man chuckled. “First time at the frat?”

“Frat?” Eugene returned, completely confused.

“Omega Beta Nu Alpha. Biggest fraternity in the world.” He chuckled. “Only one with its own brewery, too,” he added with a wink. “You try our Alpha Brew yet?”

“Alpha … Brew?” Alpha Brew. Why did that sound so familiar?

“It’s good shit. Makes a real man of you in no time at all.” The hulk shoved a metal can into his hands. “Here. Have a cold one on me.” He grinned as he lumbered away. “And enjoy the party, bro! I’ll see you later!”

And so Eugene found himself back up to the present, examining the cylinder again. “Alpha Brew. Alpha Brew. Alpha Berew….” Eugene’s eyes widened. “Alpha Beru!” he snapped his free fingers. The place was supposed to be a myth, a land where just a short time in its borders would leave you a warrior among warriors. That explained why the armor on that mannequin had been so flimsy. A warrior must have come through from Alpha Beru at some point in the kingdom’s history. He wouldn’t have needed metal to stop an opponent. His strength would have been enough. Eugene tried to worm his way back towards the mirror again, but by this point, the room had been packed. There was hardly any space to maneuver, with all the thick muscled bodies surrounding him. And … actually, was it just him, or was he shrinking? Or … was it just everyone else was growing? More and more, he had to crane his neck to look up at a titan in a costume. The legends definitely seemed justified, but … why wasn’t he effected, then? Why was he still so small?

Suddenly, Eugene felt a thick set of knuckles bunched up around the collar of his shirt and he gulped as he was hoisted into the air.

“Hey, we’ve got a pansy here!” a deep voice bellowed over the crowd. Eugene’s eyes darted left and right. There was a veritable sea of testosterone turning as one to stare at him. “What should we do with him?”

The crowd roared. “Chugfest!”

Eugene gulped as the brute of a man hauled him over to a raised platform and plopped him down unceremoniously.

“You heard ‘em, pledge,” he sneered. “You ready to play?”

“I, uh … don’t know if that’s a good idea. You see, I’ve got this appointment with my girlfriend, and–.” The brute cracked his knuckles menacingly. “–Okay, I can play,” Eugene said quickly. Anything to avoid getting beaten up. “But, uh … what’s a pledge?”

The big man grinned predatorily. “You’ll see, LilBro.” He turned to the crowd and spread his vascular arms wide in the air. “Now let’s get this hazing started!” he bellowed. The crowd erupted into cheers.

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” they cried.

Eugene didn’t see any sign of the women from earlier, just a pack of burly men sloshing their cups and hooting for him to drink. He turned to look nervously at the man who had lifted him out of the crowd. His familiar black horns curled over his head as his significantly enhanced body tensed and flexed. He easily reached down, guiding Eugene’s hand to the tab resting atop the metal. “Like this. LilBro,” he said. The container fizzed and bubbled, after the tab popped the lid open.

The smell of fresh hops, honey, and a hint of fruit danced under Eugene’s nose. “This smells almost like mead,” he said, surprised.

“Take a sip,” the man urged. The crowd continued to chant, exerting their collective wills in that single repetitive word.

Eugene gulped, then, seeing no other way out of his situation, took the plunge. The taste as he tipped the strange container up to dump the brew into his mouth was surprisingly mellow. The earthiness from the hops mixed with the sweetness from the honey to mellow the bitter flavor and leave just a hint of a pleasant aftertaste that clung to the palette. A dull tingle spread through his system as a slight flush rose in his cheeks. “You know what? This stuff isn’t half bad.”

“That’s right. Now drink up, pledge. Take a nice long pull.” The behemoth of a man yanked Eugene’s head back, then upended the can, with Eugene’s hand still wrapped around it. Eugene sputtered and gasped as the liquid flowed down his gullet. He had no choice but to swallow or choke, so he did the one that would keep him alive and well. The tingling increased as his heart rate picked up and his shirt and vest began to feel taut. He gasped for air as the hulking muscle man finally let him go to breathe. “So, what’s your name, Pledge? We haven’t had someone come from Corona in decades.”

“You … know where I’m from?” Eugene asked. His head was starting to feel a little fuzzy and a strange sort of euphoria began to well up in his chest and stomach. He barely managed to keep the muscles in check as a twitch pulled incessantly at the corners of his lips.

The … frat(?) boy sneered down at him. “Yeah. Coach Henderson’s an old resident, one of the last to pass through, before people stopped coming. We still keep an eye for new pledges to pass through, just in case. Now come on. Tell us your name. Everyone’s dying to know.”

“It’s … Eugene,” the reformed thief said. “Eugene Fitzherbert.”

“Lame,” the man jeered as the rest of the crowd joined in. “Come on, man. Give us something to work with here.”

That stung his pride a bit. It was the old village all over again. “I … I used to go by Flynn,” he mumbled.

“What was that, pledge?”

Eugene took a deep breath, then set his shoulders. The heat was somewhat stifling, so he took another swig of the brew. The shimmering gold substance trickled down the side of his chin and the edge of the can from the last forced “pull,” as the behemoth had called it. “I said you could call me Flynn. Flynn Rider.”

“Now that’s a name!” The muscle man grinned as he smacked Eugene heavily on the back. A popping sound echoed in Eugene’s ears as he watched a series of familiar dark buttons go flying off his torso piece by piece.

“What the…?” He looked down at himself and gasped at the sight of two thick round globes straining against the confines of his vest and shirt. His grip tightened on the can, causing the metal to crinkle somewhat as his bicep tensed and began to tear ever so slowly through the material around it. Eugene’s blush deepened at the sight.

“There it is,” the frat boy said with a grin. “All right, Flynn, it’s time to chug.” He reached over to the edge of the stage, where a thick metal keg was easily passed into his hands and he dropped it onto the platform, like it were little more than a pebble. He handed a thick hose to Eugene, shoving it in the man’s chest, and causing a shudder of pleasure to pass through the former thief as he grabbed the extension out of reflex and stumbled back a step or two.

“But I … I just want to–.”

“Chug,” came the first call from somewhere on the floor in front. A thick meaty fist stood out in the air as the costume goer, a kid in a greaser outfit with a hat textured to blend into his hair at the back, began the chant.

“No, no, seriously. This has been fun and all. And … I do admit I like the muscles,” Flynn said as he raised his hands placatingly and absently flexed one of his arms. “It, uh … it really feels nice and all, really. I just–.”

“Chug,” came the call as the voices doubled, then redoubled, slowly spreading back as more of these frat boys picked up the call.

“No, guys. Really. I just need to–.”

Half the room was roaring at him now, and the rest would soon follow. “Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!”

Eugene breathed heavily as a faint dusting of hairs began to grow along the backs of his hands and his pupils began to fluctuate. The call banged like a hammer on an anvil as he struggled to keep his thoughts in focus. All the while, the titans continued to crow in bovid ecstasy as their eyes began to glow.

“I … I need to–.”

“CHUG!”

Eugene shook his head. “Have to–.”

“CHUG!”

“I … I….”

“CHUG!”

Eugene looked up almost pleadingly at the leader of the mob. The devil simply grinned as his own eyes began to glow. “Chug, Flynn. You know you want to.” Then he sneered as he cupped one massive hand around Eugene’s two and raised the hose to the man’s lips. “Let me help you get started.” He towered over Eugene’s back as he leaned over the man and brought the hose to the man’s lips. “Now listen to the crowd, Flynn. Listen, and start chugging.”

It all came in a whirl. One moment, nothing. Then he tasted the flow of the brew as his cheeks sucked in. He swallowed once, and then he was like a machine, sucking as fast as his body would let him, accompanied by the supportive cheers of the fraternity. His cheeks flushed even more as his body began to pack on the pounds and his irises began to change from a rich brown to a golden amber. The buckles along his vest burst apart, while the sleeves and remaining material continued to shred under his rapidly swelling muscles. His eyes rolled in the back of his head as the memories of Rapunzel’s flaxen golden hair shifted to cascades of the rich golden lager flowing down his gullet. Thoughts of old heists were replaced with memories of manning the pullies. Instead of getting thrown out of pubs, he was the one doing the tossing.

Soon the tube wasn’t enough. He needed that lager pouring down his throat. No pauses in between to pull more. He wanted to shower with it. He lumbered past the devilish frat boy, hardly even noticing how he didn’t have to look up so much anymore to match his gaze. He didn’t care when he heard the seams shredding apart on his pants or felt the breeze along his bare chest and back. All he saw, all he knew, all he needed was right there in front of him, sitting, waiting, and he had to have it. “Ch–chuuuuuug,” he said slowly as his voice warbled unsteadily.

“What was that, Flynn?” the muscle man asked with a knowing sneer.

“Chug,” Eugene said again, and his feet burst out of his boots.

“That’s right, Flynn. Chug.”

Eugene clenched his hands a few times and watched as they cracked and swelled into powerful mitts that easily tore the hose out of the opening to the keg. “Chug,” he repeated a second time, this time with more enthusiasm. His voice cracked, then dropped as what little remained of his pants strained to contain the bulge swelling at his crotch.

“Chug, Flynn. Chug,” the devil whispered as the crowd of spectators hooted, hollered, and whistled, still sounding their cry.

The former thief couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but listen to that constant march of orders. A dopey grin rose on his face as he hefted the massive can and then opened his mouth wide. “CHUG!” he said more assertively as his deep voice rolled over the spectators, causing them to roar in excitement. He upended the keg, surprised at how light it was, but happy with the heavy slosh he could hear inside of it. He squeezed, and the metal began to give way, sending a high-pressure jet of the rich, mind-numbing substance into his mouth and down his throat. His body swelled to titanic proportions as he nursed the last drop, hardly even noticing the new thick red cap that had been plopped onto his head, then twisted backwards. Two massive wrist bands had been snapped into place on either wrist, and there was the devil, grinning wickedly as he raised the drunken man’s arm triumphantly.

“Congratulations to Flynn Rider, the newest member of Omega Beta Nu Alpha!”

Flynn grinned, then let out the loudest belch he’d ever done in his life, before grinning dopily, letting out a low dimwitted chuckle, and finally saying, “Let’s party, Bros!”

The devil sneered as he watched a tattoo with the frat’s symbols engrave itself along Flynn’s massive neck. “Score another one for us,” he muttered, then chuckled.

Flynn grunted as he heaved the last of the massive kegs into place on the delivery truck. He wiped away at the sweat that had formed along his brow, even as he flashed a cocky smirk at the women he knew were watching from across the street. They wanted him, he knew, but he wasn’t that easy to bed. He still couldn’t remember how he got to OBNA, but he was glad he had. Things were simple here. All he had to do was work his muscles, drink his lager, help with the beer shipments, and play the occasional football game. His powerful body strained against the tight compression shorts and sleeveless muscle tee that made his fraternity work uniform. It clung in all the right places, leaving nothing to the imagination as he followed his fellow newly inducted laborers in the shipping department to a long countertop filled with beer taps. He couldn’t help but smile as he styled his perfectly coiffed pair of bangs sprawling flawlessly out the gap in the back of his twisted cap. “Man, if only I could bring Rapunzel here,” he said. Then he frowned and furrowed his brow in confusion. “Who’s … Rapunzel?” A brief flash of flaxen gold passed though his mind, followed by a … castle? What the…?

“Next!” the barman cried, snapping Flynn out of his thoughts as he approached the tap. A frosty glass soon sat in front of him, filled to the brim with his favorite drink. He guzzled the Alpha Brew and waited as that familiar tingle immersed him and washed away his worries. His eyes glowed gold as a dopey grin crossed over his face. “Fuck yeah,” he groaned in pleasure as he flashed his free hand up with his middle and ring fingers bent over against his palm. “OBNA for life, Bro.”

A burly arm rested across Flynn’s broad shoulders and he grinned wider at the sight of the frat’s president, the man who had inducted him just a little over a week ago. His short cropped red hair shone like red gold in the afternoon sun and his eyes glowed that same fiery gold as he peered intently into Flynn’s eyes. Flynn’s irises glowed brighter as his pupils dilated, and the president sneered triumphantly as he watched that little spark of intelligence and memory get smothered. The ones who were in love were always the hardest to keep, but it seemed this love was still relatively new. A couple more weeks, and Flynn wouldn’t think of Corona ever again, and Alpha Beru would have a new permanent resident.

“That’s right, Flynn,” the president said. “OBNA for life.”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 31

You grunt heavily as you plant yourself down on the reinforced metal stool. The cool granite counter top soothes the burning in your forearms as you slot in next to two more of the gym’s regulars. The music throbs in your ear canals through your earbuds with that dull droning in the background. The barman approaches and grunts as he runs a drying cloth over a massive cup. “What’ll it be?” “Post workout,” you return. “Biggest size you’ve got.” The man nodded. “One muscleman special coming up.” You shudder and grunt as he turns to the blender, enjoying the high that surges through your system. Looking to either side of you, you notice the whole bar is full of regulars. Each of them sits mulling over a massive container of protein shake. Earbuds snake down their ears as they sip and stare intermittently. The loud whirr of the blender makes it impossible to talk, but for some reason, you know that even if they could, they probably wouldn’t want to. These guys were hard core body builders, after all. You were just a prissy model who came in for a gig. You casually tense your bicep as you watch it inflate. “Not so prissy now,” you mutter. The mug smacks down in front of you, and you look up in some surprise. Had the time passed that quickly? “Good hustle on the floor today,” the barkeep complimented. “You deserve this.” “Thanks,” you say. The keep shrugged. “Just tellin’ the truth.” You furrow your brow in confusion. “Do I ... know you from somewhere?” “I’m here every day, dumbass,” he deadpanned. You chuckled as that pleasurable fog rolled in. Dumbass. So funny. “Huhuhuh ... yeah. Sorry, man.” Then you frown again. “But seriously, haven’t I seen you ... you know, somewhere else?” He turned quickly away from you as he worked a cap off one of the many jars of powders the bar provided for its unique blends. You watched his shoulders tense and relase as he hunched forward, then returned to his full height, and suddenly it clicked. “Yeah ... weren’t you on the team that helped remodel my--?” “You really should be drinking your protein shake, muscleman.” And suddenly your body went rigid. Your eyes fell on the shake. Your mouth watered. “I ... I should....” “Drink your protein shake, muscleman.” Your hand trembles as you reach for the tall container. “You are what you eat. Drink the muscleman, become the muscleman, muscleman. You should drink the shake.” You blink your eyes slowly. Your head feels full of cotton. “Drink ... the shake?” You feel the cold from the cup seeping into your hand as the droplets tingle on your skin. It’s sweating, just like you’re sweating. And for some reason, that makes you smile. It’s good to sweat, after all. “Don’t think, muscleman. Just drink. That is what you are here for. You should drink your shake.” “It’s good to drink,” a gruff voice sounds to your right. “I drink the muscleman to be a muscleman,” the hulk on your left says. “Musclemen drink their shakes,” the counter says in unison. You smell the sweet scent as the cold beverage hovers under your nose. Your hot breath fogs the plastic on the cup. As one body, the men hold their cups to their lips as their eyes rest on you. “They’re waiting, muscleman. Drink,” the barkeep says. “I should drink my shake....” The words are out of your mouth before your addled head can even wonder. And then you feel that familiar, exultant sensation of thick, cold liquid flowing over your tongue, consuming your taste buds, flooding the roof of your mouth. And you feel your neck throbbing, bobbing, with every swallow. Up and down. Up and down. Your eyes look to either side. Thick legs are spread at a perfect symmetrical angle. Backs are straight. And Adam’s apples are bouncing with every loud gulp. Up and down. Up and down. Musclemen drink their shakes. Up and down. Up and down. Together..... Your crotch tightens with each gulp and you sigh, then belch in perfect time with the others as you all lower your cups to the counter top. Everything feels so ... muted, calm, empty. A massive hand claps you on the back. “Welcome to the club, muscleman.” Your response is immediate. “I am a muscleman. I grow my muscles.” The man looks at you calmly. “We lift things up and put them down.” You shudder in pleasure at the phrase as the pair of you clasp hands and he nods approvingly. “I look forward to seeing you on the circuit.” “When I am ready,” you respond. “Until then, muscleman.” He nods to you, and you nod dazedly in return as a smile crosses your face. “Until then,” you say. Then you turn back to the barkeep, who’s busy clearing away the empty cups. “So, what was it you wanted to ask me again?” he said. “Huh?” “That question. You wanted to ask me something.” It takes a moment for you to process that. “Did I?” The barkeep rolled his eyes, but smiled, despite himself. “Nevermind, dumbass.” You chuckle and pop a double bicep flex. “What can I say? I put it all in here.” “You’re a real meathead, aren’t you?” You take a few minutes this time as you tap your chin, flex a few muscles, bounce your pecs shamelessly against your tight tank top. “Yeah, ... I suppose I am.” You grin. “Just a big, dumbass meathead.” And every part of you sang at the phrase.

This needs to be re-blogged as much as possible.

Don’t just accept the new Terms of Service

Tumblr’s at it again, thanks to the new European Privacy Laws. There’s probably nobody who will read this, but it pissed me off so much that I decided to make a post about it. (Ignore the weird language mish-mash, depending on your country the language might differ.)

OK, so many of us get this screen when we try to access our dash:

Realise how the ‘OK’ button is a nice, attention-grabbing blue? If you’re like me, you’re not exactly into reading a 100 pages document and tend to just click it.

My tip? DONT. Instead click on ‘Manage Options’ right next to it:

Now you’ll see this page:

Still pretty harmless, right? That ‘Accept’ button is looking really attractive right now. Instead, click on Verwalten (Probably something like ‘Manage Options’ or something in english) and you’ll get to this page:

Now that’s not too bad, right? I just switched all the buttons to ‘off’, because I’m jealously guarding my personal information and don’t want Tumblr to go off and do who knows what with it. Looks like we’re done! But wait: There’s a SHOW option.

When we click on that one, what we will get is this:

A HUGE list with OVER 300 ENTRIES of companies that can use your data by default if you’d just clicked ‘OK’ on that very first page. Coincidence that this list is hidden that much? Me thinks not. They’re all switched on by default, but I am still a petty bitch that doesn’t want to give out her data, so I switched them all off. All 300+ of them. There is no option to switch them all off at once, and even if you disable all the options above, the companies are still switched on.

(If you wonder how i got that number, I copied the list into excel and looked at the cell number. No way am I actually counting all those entries)

Well, as a suggestion, and to add some more inanimate TFs, a buff featureless mannequin TF? The details could be anything. Someone wish to get buff only to have the wish twisted around. Modeling for a friend who draws him then redraws the image to look better, changing him to look buff, before erasing the extra features that would take away from looking at his now perfect body. A mind controlled drone related TF. A fashion store in need of a new mannequin. A weird yet well paying job. Etc.

I’ll consider it. Though, I still need to focus on the work I’m doing with my current series, before I pop into that one.

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.