Brad Sighed As He Drank From His Cup And Approached The Mirror In His Hotel Room. The Summer Fitness

Brad sighed as he drank from his cup and approached the mirror in his hotel room. The summer fitness program had promised results. And he’d definitely gotten his money’s worth. He hardly even recognized himself anymore. That green tea really did wonders. The pounds melted away, yielding solid, hard muscle that practically exploded under the carefully controlled diet and exercise regimen his coach had provided for himself and his fellow classmates. He could actually see his cheekbones. His traps formed small hills that rolled up off his shoulders and merged into his neck. A well-developed six pack had taken shape over his abdominals as his muscles grew to become chiseled and well-defined. The barest foundation for two more had begun to show just below his navel. His briefs clung in all the right places now, and he felt comfortable standing practically naked. “Lookin’ good, bro,” his reflection complimented as he took another sip of the drink. Brad smiled. The reflection smiled with him. “Thanks.” It had taken a while to get used to the idea of using hypnosis as part of his regimen, and even longer to get used to having regular conversations with himself afterwards. He couldn’t even remember going under the first time. It was weird talking with himself in the mirror next to everyone else. Just a bunch of one-sided conversations. One plus side, though: No need to worry about rude social circles trying to kick you out. Everyone just knew to sort of respect each other’s boundaries. If they wanted to share their talks, they would. Otherwise, it was just cool to relax and listen to the tips and compliments coach and the reflection provided. It was ... kinda nice, actually. Sure, the persona his reflection had taken didn’t exactly reflect its owner, no pun intended, but he wasn’t rude or anything. Honestly, the way things had progressed, Brad’s other self had become a valued companion. A lot of his classmates had gone sort of quiet. They’d exchange a few greetings, the basics social ethics required. The rest was mostly grunts and body language. They’d pose and flex in front of the mirrors after getting a good pump on and then chuckle, like they’d just heard some incredible joke. Sometimes they let him join them, but he didn’t really feel part of the group. The flexing was fun, but kind of boring in a sense. “Bro, not cool,” the reflection chided. That’s right, it knew what he was thinking. After all, it was a mental projection from his own head. He sighed. “Sorry. It’s not that I don’t like the new shape of my ... our body, I suppose. I just don’t feel so excited about flexing as everyone else does, you know? They all light up at the chance to show off. Me? I don’t feel like that.” “Do you want to?” Brad took another sip. A pleasurable warmth spread out through his chest and stomach as the brew passed through his system. “Honestly? I don’t know. That whole cocky alpha shit is part of the reason I joined this program in the first place. I was tired of dealing with people looking down on me. You know that.” The reflection nodded. “At the same time, I can understand a little about their thought processes now, why they execute some of their behaviors. I mean, look at us!” He raised his free arm and clenched his hand into a fist to rouse the sleeping bicep. “Every time I flex, I feel ... I don’t know, awed? Happy? I can’t really put it into words. It’s just ... different.” He shrugged his shoulders and watched his trapezius muscles roll. “And I can’t take my eyes off of me. At least, not without a little regret.” “You’re overthinking it, bro. You’re turning into a sexy masculine beast. Nothing wrong with a little self-indulgence.” He smirked. “Maybe....” “No maybes about it, bro. Remember how you feel when you’re pumping those weights at the gym?” Brad fought hard to suppress the reflexive shudder as a tingle of pleasure washed over him and goosebumps raised on his skin. “See? There’s your problem. You’re not willing to let go. You don’t want to let yourself enjoy this. All the others, they are. So what’s going on? What are you so ashamed of? It’s just us, bro. Just the two of us. Tell me.” “... You already know.” “No shit, Sherlock. But I want you to say it. Gotta confront the problem, if you wanna beat it. S’what you did when you came here, wasn’t it? You put in the work, followed the program, and look at you! Now you’re stuck on a plateau. Only way you’re gonna break through it is if you pull a Nike and just do it. Now tell me.” Brad sighed. “I don’t want to lose who I am,” he finally admitted. “Things have been ... changing for me. It’s been subtle, but I’ve noticed. I think more about diets and exercise plans than I do about the news. I flip on the TV before bed and instead of Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune, I want to check out ESPN or Ninja Warrior.” This time, he didn’t suppress the shudder. “I close my eyes and I keep seeing you--me--us flexing. I hear the others, and listening to them talk, their grunts, their growls, I want to sound like that. I want to pitch my voice deeper. I want my voice to be husky and bovid. I want to laugh at how much I’ve accomplished until I don’t even have to think about it. It just ... comes in that stupid guffaw.” He glanced over to the desk, where a heavy duty laptop and noise-cancelling headphones sat next to a pair of wireless earbuds and a digital i-watch knockoff. “And the computer, Coach’s files, the screensaver.” His hand gave an involuntary twitch as he half-reached for them. His body swayed, but then he pulled himself away and stared back at the reflection. “I ... I could spend hours on those things,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I ... I like not having to think, just ... just being there in the moment, listening, following through....” “Following Coach’s play,” the reflection said. “Just doing.” Brad looked helplessly at his reflection. “Can’t I just be both?” “You and I both know the answer to that one.” “... Yeah.” “So, you gonna say it?” Brad sighed in defeat. “All right, all right.” He took another deep breath, then let out a low, “Nah, bro.” He shuddered again. “See? It wasn’t that bad.” Brad shook his head. “I don’t want to be an asshole.” “It’s part of the package, bro. But you control when you are. Don’t gotta be one all the time, after all. Just save it for when you’re shittin’ around with your bros. You know what we call that?” Brad nodded. “Being a dumbass,” both intoned together. “That’s the price you pay for all that testosterone swelling you up, bro.” “I am getting kinda hung, aren’t I?” He chuckled and his cheeks flushed. “You know what you wanna say,” his reflection chided playfully. “Just ... just give me a minute, okay?” He downed the rest of his mug in one go to brace himself. “Okay.” He sighed, then put on a smirk. “Damn, bro. I look fucking hot.” A surge of pleasure shot through him. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck yeah, bro,” his reflection said approvingly. “Fuck yeah....” “Feelin’ better now, bro?” Brad let out a low moan. His eyes glazed over as he looked into his reflection. “Y-yeah. “Think you’re ready to lift with your bros?” “Uh, ... yeah.” He flexed a bicep and grinned. “Yeah, I think so.” “Good. Now I’ve got one more suggestion for you before you go.” “Lay it on me, bro.” “Lose the glasses.” Brad blinked in surprise and stared for a good minute or so in befuddled silence. “The fuck’m I wearing those for?” He grunted as he pulled them off his face and looked back at his reflection again. Everything in the room was crisp and clear. “Much better,” they intoned together. “You look like a real musclehead now.” “Huhuhuh. Shut up. M’not a musclehead yet.” He turned from the mirror to the dresser, where his new gym uniform sat waiting to be worn. Somewhere behind the raucus guffaw that was his other self’s response, a tiny voice whispered, “But you will be....”

Nerd turned Jock

Update and WARNING!

So, I conferred with a professional friend of mine, and he confirmed that YES, it was TREY who tried to put me under, assuming I’d been hypnotized before and could easily be triggered again. Obviously, he did not succeed. But be warned, guys. That’s a new name he tried making now. The tumblr account was deactivated, but it’s clear he’s still up to his old tricks. I repeat. Beware of Trey. BEWARE Alphapuphypnous or whatever other pseudonyms he’s taken on. He is a manipulator, an opportunist, and a selfish minor with no morals. Or it’s possible he may now be legally an adult. Either way, BEWARE OF HIM! DO NOT LET HIM HYPNOTIZE YOU. If someone sends you a hypno gif immediately in a message, don’t let it get to you. Type as fast as you can and get it out of your message box feed so you’re not staring at it. Then call him or whatever other person may be on the other end out. Be hypnotized on your own terms, not someone else’s. And don’t let a hypnotist change you any farther than you yourself wanted to be changed in the first place. Hypnosis is a great tool, but it can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Trance responsibly.

Ringing Out the old Ringing in the New

Augh. Where am I? “Jim, allow me to introduce Christopher Williams, one of our most successful beta testers to the program, by far. Christopher, why don’t you say hello?” “’Sup, bro?” Wait, did I just say that? “James, are you insane? This man is clearly engaged! We told you, no outside attachments!” “And there are none, if you would just let me explain. The ring is a symbol of being bound to one’s love, essentially making the connection to a particular entity more permanent, yes?” “Obviously.” “Good. Now watch. Christopher, could you tell me who your first love is?” “Uh, the gym? Is this like a trick question or something, Prof.?” The hell...? What am I doing here? Why am I sitting in front of these men? And ... why are my clothes feeling so tight? “And why are you wearing that ring?” “Guys and girls keep askin’ me out. It’s kinda annoying.” “And why is it annoying?” “’Cause I love the gym. Pumping reps, breaking goals, making gains. It feels so fuckin’ good.” Am I ...? Oh no. Please don’t ask me to stand up. Actually, please just pinch me or something. Wake me up! “Thank you, Christopher.” “Uh, Prof., can we just drop it to Chris?” Excuse me? “If that’s what you want.” “I do. Can I go back to the gym now? I was in the middle of a set, when you called me here.” Gym? What’s he ... I ... talking about? I only just started the program. “Not yet, Chris. Jim needs a demonstration of your progress.” Why am I smiling? “Wadaya need?” “Could you perhaps give us a bit of a show?” “Huhuhuh... Brought me to show off, huh? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” What’s happening? Am I...? HOLY CRAP! Is that me? What the hell? Well, I guess that explains the clamminess in my armpits, but ... whoa. I look like a freaking bodybuilder! I ... I can see my fucking pectorals! ... wait. Fucking? “Fuck, that feels good.” “As you can see, the subject takes immense pleasure in the current state of his body. Put him in front of a mirror and his sense of vanity will reinforce the positive effects of his changes.” “How do you like this, Prof.?” Holy--! My arms look like a soccer ball and a softball had babies! I’m-- “I’m ripped.” “Yes, Chris, you are.” Ohhhhh ... fuck, why does it feel so good to flex? “You’ve been ripping for a while now, haven’t you?” “Uhuh....” “Getting shredded.” “Yuh....” “Shredding and repairing, tearing and rearranging.” “Fuckin’ ace. Huhuhuh....” What’s huhuhappening? “What are you, Chris?” “A gym-obsessed musclehead, sir.” I’m a what now? “And what do you do?” “I flex and I grow. It feels so fuckin’ good to work out. I wanna be bigger.” “And nothing else?” “Uh ... what else is there?” Try reading a ... Um ... Okay, how about ...? Will you just--?! O-oh.... ohhhhh... do that again.... “Then you’ll keep going to the gym, even after this trial is complete?” “Uh, ... yeah. Why shouldn’t I?” Fitness is good, but ... Mmm ... what was I ...? I was saying ... Fitness is good. Yeah. And then ... uh ... uh ... Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......... “Fitness is good.” “That’s right, Chris. Fitness is good.” “The subject appears to have difficulty holding sophisticated discussion, James.” “Better that than dealing with being obese.” Fitness is good. Flexing is good. Muscle is good. So ... so fuckin’ good... Good to... I need to... Can’t... Must--! “Uh ... can I go back to the gym now? I need to work out.” “The drain in IQ is a bit much, isn’t it?” “I think he’ll do fine.” “Is there any way we can lessen it?” “Not at this time. That being said, he’s been the most diligent of all our subjects. Perhaps we simply need to reduce exposure.” Flex. Grow. Muscle. Flex. Pump. Flex. Lift. Lift. LIFT! “Chris, what are you doing?” “Gotta lift, Prof. Huhuh. And you make a perfect dumbbell. Huhuhuhuhuhuh...” Huhuhuhuhuhuh.... “... Perhaps I gave him a little too much love of the gym.” “No, you think?”

Desserts

Hey, guys. This here is a quick story I came up with on the fly for a story exchange between a user named Casualpatrolperfection and myself. I refined the content a little from the initial draft that I wrote in our chat room and am now ready to transfer it on to here for others to read. I hope you all enjoy it!

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. One minute, you were cringing back from some douchebag bullies. The next, Devon Capernick, Cap for short, was sitting next to you at the principal's office, while the bullies were being treated at the nurse's office. The Senior towered over you as he smiled reassuringly. The chair creaked under his weight, and you could practically hear the thick wooden arms splintering against his broad frame. 

"It's all good," he assured you. "Everything'll be fine." His face darkened. "And if they come after you again...." You could practically hear the splinters crying in pain as he clenched the edges. "I hate bullies."

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. You're sitting at the jocks' table, surrounded by behemoths of muscle chowing and joking with each other, even wrestling from time to time. Nothing serious enough to get in trouble with the aides, but enough for them to get their messages across. You note how they all keep smirking or grinning, despite the pain or humiliation that might be involved.

 Devon is smiling down at you as he watches his friends and cheers them on. He takes the time to introduce you to everyone on the team, tells them you'll be hanging with them for lunch from now on. You half expected them to want to pummel you. Instead, they grin and welcome you with hearty smacks to the back that almost burst your chest.

 You want to object to the treatment, say you're not worth it. Devon won't hear of it. He won't even let you address him formally.

 "It's Cap, bro." He huffed a deep guffaw of a chuckle. "Just think like you're calling me your captain, all right?"

 It wasn't like you could argue with him, so you did.

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. Your gym teacher stared across at you from his desk. Cap is grinning as he lays a heavy hand on your shoulder from his place next to you.

 "You're sure about this, Devon?"

 "You bet, Coach. Lil'bro's got spark, and he's super smart."

 "I'll have to set it up with the rest of the school, but I don't see why he can't tutor you boys, if you need it." He smiled. "And maybe you can teach him a thing or two, while you're at it."

 "That's the plan." He laughed again.

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. Hard music thumped over the speakers of the weight room. While the rest of the football team worked on their exercises, you worked with each of them on the bits of homework they didn't understand on shifts.

 Breakthroughs were heralded with, "Oh, now I get it," or, "Dude, that's so fuckin' simple. Why didn't I see that?"

 Their enthusiastic thanks and effusive praises left you feeling warm and happy. Sure, they had a few problems with school work, but they weren't the jerks the stereotype made them out to be. They were almost like a family. It was ... nice, to be able to see that, and experience maybe just a little part of it.

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. Sweat beaded your brow, and your lungs felt like they were ready to explode. Everything felt so heavy and swollen. Your arms trembled as you struggled to hold them in place. Cap beamed encouragingly at you from above.

 "C'mon, lil'bro. You can do it." His strong hands grasped the bar that hovered dangerously over your chest. Together, you lifted it. He didn't make it easy, but he made it bearable. Cap, ... really was a great guy.

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. Practice was over, like usual. Since the team had to perform outdoor exercises, you cycled through teammates as they finished a certain number of practice runs. On scrimmages, you watched them scramble and play against each other, hard walls of muscle colliding like savage beasts.

 Now you found yourself surrounded by your friends as Cap wrapped a sweaty arm around your shoulders. You enter the locker room and pass the lockers in favor of the door marked STRATEGY.

 The chairs are soft and form-fitting. You try to decline, but Cap pushes you down into the chair.

 "You helped us with school, so I figure you can help us here, too."

 You couldn't resist his grin, even if you could break out of his grip. Still, the room struck you as oddly equipped for a strategy debriefing. Why make it so comfortable? Why the soundproofing boards? Why stack the chairs with adjustable controls to ensure everyone could see the front?

 Coach gave his usual spiel of the need to pay attention and focus on the video. Then he stepped aside and a familiar whirring sounded. Someone must have been adjusting their chair.

 Images flashed over the screen. The whirring became more pronounced. You felt a little dizzy, sort of like the room was moving. But ... no, not the room. You were. Up and down and side to side and spinning and SIDESTEP! DASH! CATCH! RECEIVE! RUN! TOUCHDOWN!

 "Fuck yeah!" the room screams. You're panting in the rollercoaster, the heady excitement of it all. What … what just...?

 And then you feel a familiar hand squeezing your arm reassuringly. "Just watch, lil'bro." He grins. That same grin. And then that chuckle. The whole room is filled with it.

 And suddenly, you're laughing, too. And it feels ... good. Words like BIG, BUFF, MUSCLE, SWOLE, and GROW, echo over the whirling sea. The churning increases, and you find it harder to focus.

 "Just a BIG, DUMB FOOTBALL JOCK. Want to be a BIG, DUMB FOOTBALL JOCK for coach. Gonna be a BIG, DUMB FOOTBALL JOCK for coach."

 The words are like a mantra. You hear the familiar husky chuckle, and something inside just ... sort of snaps. Your mouth widens into a grin. Your teeth are bared. You laugh as everything fades into the darkness, and Cap is laughing right beside you. And it's RIGHT.

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. The crowd roared around you as you hunched down and called out the secret code every quarterback seemed to know for their teammates to notify the play and run down the clock at the same time. Besides, sometimes, the lugs had to be reminded.

 You take the snap. You spot the opening. The receiver is open! You crank your arm back and throw for all it's worth. The ball hurls like a bullet. You know immediately that he's caught it. He's running. Nobody can touch him. Dodge. Sidestep. Lunge. Dash. TOUCHDOWN!

 You roar with your fellow teammates, and rush up to join your bros at the end zone. You all just scored the game-winning touchdown. Chestbumps, shoulder smacks, dances, everything breaks out in the pandemonium that follows. You turn and see Cap's familiar grin through the face guard of your helmet. He's standing on the sidelines next to coach, cheering you on. Sucked you couldn't play with him in his last season, but at least he came to cheer his lil'bro on. That's what mattered.

 Yeah....

 And you were a good lil'bro.

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. Your thick muscular frame towers as you pose in front of the mirror. Your slab-like pecs glisten with the sweat from your hard-earned victory. You gape at it, almost in awe, but ... that's not quite the right word.

 ...

 Whatever. S'not important. Your compression pants hug tightly to the thick pistons that your legs have become through had work and intense sessions with your teammates. Big bro helped a lot with that. Then your eyes rest on the bulge at your crotch, and your gaping turns to a cocky sneer. Big bro had nothin' to do with that, though.

 You turn to the side and flex one of your pythons. You watch the bicep swell into a thick, powerful globe of solid muscle. You whisper a dull, "Fuck, yeah," at the rush of endorphins and adrenaline from the victory. A low echo reverberates through the locker room as your teammates follow the ritual in front of their own mirrors. Doesn't matter if it's creepy. You're a team. Teammates act as one unit. 'Course you're gonna do the same stuff. Your bleached hair shines in the dim lights. Your new short style helps to accent the edges of your masculine square jaw as glassy eyes stare dully back at you.

They are empty, unthinking. Just as they should be.

 “Just a big, dumb meathead,” you mutter to yourself. You chuckle and flex again. “And proud of it.”

 You grin and turn to the scrawny form of the new freshman water boy. You wrap your arm around him the same way your big bro did for you. "C'mon, lil'bro. Time to listen to Coach." The numbness in your head increases as the room starts to spin and you swagger along to compensate, like a good DUMB JOCK. Because that is what you are now. You weren't sure what you did to deserve this, but as you settle into Cap’s old chair and the STRATEGY room starts to dim, a last thought plays over your head. You’re a BIG DUMB JOCK BRO now. And even if you could, you wouldn't change a thing.

Losing Self

Look at the watch, the watch that is ticking, ticking down, down into the ages, down the corridors of time. Down. Down. Counting down.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The voice plays over the speakers as I lay on my bed, staring up at the massive mirror mounted to the ceiling overhead. It is a familiar voice, albeit a little higher range than I remember.

Deeper and deeper.

I’m clutching my shirt, keeping my watch in plain sight. My pupils are shrinking. I can see them as I watch the watch. That means it won’t be long now. Maybe a few seconds, maybe a few minutes. They’ll expand soon enough.

Tick ... Tock ....

The subtle click of my own watch’s hands seem magnified as I listen. Of course, it’s just the recording, but my unconscious mind doesn’t know that. I even went so far as to magnify the sound of the watch hand to ensure it was exactly the same.

Counting down the seconds. Counting down the moments. Counting down to that deep, deep sleep.

Tick ... Tock ... Tick ... Tock....

Whoa. That was a rush. Forgot how good this felt. I can see my lips twitching into a hint of a smile.

The sleep that lets you change. The sleep that lets you listen to my voice, listen as it whispers and fixes and repairs. You remember, don’t you? You remember what we talked about last time.

Oh, yes....

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. That little click sounds so much like a hammer, doesn’t it? The hammer of my voice, striking the chisel, the chisel that chips the stone, the stone that gives way so effortlessly under the hands of a master crafter....

Master ... crafter....

You are that stone.

I am the stone.

I am the master crafter.

Yes....

Time to sculpt, my little blockhead.

I am ready to be sculpted, Master Crafter....

Last time, we agreed you would look better with some stubble, and would maybe grow a proper beard to complement your features. Have you done this?

Yes, Master Crafter....

Good. That is good. You have modified your diet. You have changed the clothing you wear. Now is the time to focus, to focus on my voice, to focus on the instructions I am to give you next.

Focus....

It is time to move on to the next phase. Remember, you asked for this. You wished me to change you, to mold you, to remake you. That is my purpose as the master crafter. It is your purpose to accept my changes.

Yes, Master Crafter....

Now that you are trim, it is time to get fit. You will go the gym and work out three days a week to start. You will seek assistance from a trainer if the need arises. You will push to grow stronger, grow bigger, grow buffer.

Yes.

And the more progress you make, the more you will become entranced by the gym. You will want to spend more time there. You will want to continue to make progress, continue to grow. And the more you grow, the more time you spend there, the slower your thinking will become. Slower and slower, dimmer and dimmer, dumber and dumber....

Dumber....

The only exceptions to this part of your change will apply to the gym, fitness, anatomy, and other masculine things of the musclehead stereotype, including exercises, diet, plans, sports, weights, manual labor, and other affiliated items.

Yes, Master Crafter....

Your body will react positively. Your muscles will expand quickly with mass and strength. Your manhood will increase in size with the rest of you. Your voice will continue to deepen, because of the growth you will experience. And it will all feel so very good, so good to let these things happen, to make them happen, because you are being molded, sculpted by my voice, by my hammer, by me, your master crafter.

Yes.

Sculpted into a true meathead in every sense of the word.

Yes!

Good blockhead. You will not remember our conversation, only that we had success in this session. You will follow the instructions I have given you, despite not remembering them. And as always, you will have found great pleasure in our sessions. You will become a musclehead. You will become a meathead. You will become.

I will become....

Good boy. Now, it’s time to wake up. Remember, blockhead. The clock is ticking. Time to get to work.

...

...

...

Wake up, blockhead.

...

Whoa. That was ... wow. I ... I really outdid myself, didn’t I? I really don’t remember it. Haha!

Yes!

 Complete success! Can’t wait to upload this one online! ... Hmm. And maybe start searching for a gym, while I’m at it....

VIP Treatment

Michael had purchased the highest membership possible. This

Meathead Oasis

had the most consistent customer satisfaction reviews. It was ... surprising, given the shoddy appearance outside the building. Still, he supposed it was due to the nature of the trainers. Most people said it didn’t matter about the facilities, more about the person and the trainers.

The shirt they’d handed him draped like a nightgown, but they’d insisted he try it on for size, to “picture his goal.” He sighed and went along with it. They strode past all the roid bros and meatheads to a single door that led into a simple room with dark cushioned tiles and a radiator on the side to offer extra heat and induce sweating.

His trainer guided him to a large floor-length mirror.

“Now, then. I want you to imagine what you want to look like. Close your eyes. Visualize. Picture the form you want to take. Imagine your growth. Imagine how much your muscles are going to inflate as you pump those big, heavy weights. Imagine how sharp your focus becomes on those simple, repetitive exercises.”

Michael could practically hear the weights clanking as the plates knocked against one another. His muscles tensed. His breathing became sharper.

“Feel the heat, the burning heat causing you to sweat, burning outside, burning inside as your muscles continue to swell and expand. Expand as you repeat. Repeat those simple exercises, focus on simple exercises. Because weight lifting doesn’t need thinking. Weight lifting needs doing. Do me a favor and repeat that for me, won’t you?”

“Weight lifting doesn’t need thinking. Weight lifting needs doing.” Michael shuddered. It hadn’t sounded very convincing, but if this mental stuff was to help prime him for his first session, he might as well go along with it.

“Doing lifts, doing curls, doing squats, doing weights. Doing lifts, doing curls, doing squats, doing weights. It’s an endless cycle, an endless spiral, and endless climb of repetition. Over and over. Just like when you flex. Because lifting is flexing and flexing is lifting. Both strain your muscles. Both push them to pump, to swell, to grow....”

Michael let out a raspy breath as his muscles tensed. It felt ... so hot.

“Flexing and growing, growing bigger, growing hotter.”

Michael’s cheeks flushed. He’d wanted to keep that aspect out of the discussion.

“So very hot. So hot, burning away all those other thoughts you don’t need in the gym as you focus on that simple repetition. Because weight lifting doesn’t need thinking. Weight lifting needs doing.”

Michael felt dizzy. “Wh-wha--?”

“You’re not done with this exercise yet, Michael. Repeat,” the voice ordered.

The harshness startled him. “W-weight lifting doesn’t need thinking. Weight lifting needs doing,” he stumbled.

“Eyes closed,” the voice snapped again. “They open when I say for them to open. We start after this simple exercise is complete, and not until.”

Michael winced as he felt to massive hands engulf his shoulders and quickly closed slammed his eyes shut. Wrinkles of stress showed on either side as his muscles tensed with the force he used to close his lids.

“Good.” The hands came off. A single pat tapped gently on Michael’s shoulder. “Now back to the exercise. It’s designed to help you relax and accept the boredom that comes from lifting. Most of our regular customers either take to it or get disgusted by the need to endure. Since you’re our VIP, we’re here to make sure you’re able to do the former, not fail in the latter.”

“But how is talking supposed to--”

“Talking alone won’t. It requires more. In fact, most serious lifters hardly talk at all during their sessions. It’s listening that matters. Listening to the clack of the weights, the rhythm of your heartbeat, the ebb and flow of strain as your muscles push and pull and swell in time. Because lifting doesn’t need thinking. Lifting needs doing.”

“Why do you keep--?”

“Because it’s true. And the more you lift, the truer it gets. Truer as your muscles get heavier, heavier because you’re lifting more weights. Lifting more weights, because your muscles are stronger. Stronger, because you repeat your exercises. Repeat your exercises, because they are simple. Simple, because lifting doesn’t need thinking. Lifting needs doing.”

“I ... I don’t feel so--.”

“Doing more, thinking less. Less as you repeat your exercises. Less as you repeat your mantra. Repeat your mantra and flex.”

Michael groaned. So hot, so dizzy, so ... spinny as the voice swirled in his head, swirled and repeated, repeated like a spiral.

“Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights. Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....” the trainer repeated in his deep, smooth voice.

Repeating.

Repeated.

Repeat....

“Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....”

“Now flex, and repeat.”

Michael huffed as he felt his arms raise, his biceps tense, the fabric brush against his skin as it rode up. “Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....” Spiraling, repeating. Over and over. He ... couldn’t stop. Did he ... even want to?

“So simple to repeat. So simple to follow your exercises, follow my voice. So simple, so calm, so empty, because lifting....”

“Lifting doesn’t need thinking. Lifting needs doing.” Lifting needs doing. Doing over. Over again. Repeat. Don’t think. Repeat. “Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....”

“No thinking now....”

“Lifting doesn’t need thinking. Lifting needs doing....” His voice had pitched so much lower, so relaxed, so repetitive, so ... simple. It felt ... good. Good to relax. Good to listen. Listen to his body. Listen to the pleasure. Pleasure in simple. Simple in repetition. Repetition in exercises. Exercises doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....

“Growing as you repeat. Growing bigger. Growing stronger. Growing simple. Growing dumber. Dumb is simple. Simple is good. Good is growing. Growing through repetition. Voice growing deeper. Muscle growing larger. Thoughts growing simpler. Simple, like your exercises. Simple, like your muscle. Just like your muscle. Because muscle is meat. Simple, like meat. Meat in your head, growing with every repetition.”

Simple. Repeat. Simple. Repeat. Simple. Repeat....

“Flex.”

Mike pulled his arms together. He felt his biceps brush against his sides, felt the fabric of his shirt rubbing against his pecs, felt the bristles of a rugged beard brushing against his neck.

“You can open your eyes now, Mikey.”

He didn’t even bother to object to the name. It was simpler. Simple was good. He opened and stared at his form with glassy eyes. Veins snaked up his arms. Swollen muscle curved and sloped in clearly defined spheres and mounds. The straps of his black tank top curved over his traps and strained against his pectorals. His hands obscured the Pass part of his shirt, leaving the VIP wide open to be read. His brow had become more prominent, his jaw thicker. His hair was a bleached blond. “You are a meathead, Mikey.” Mikey stared as he processed the information slowly, letting it fall into that spiral of repetition. “You are a paragon of meatheads, the perfect, greatest, best ideal.” Mikey continued to stare. “And that’s why you’re our VIP, our Vascular Immutable Paragon of meatheads. No one can break your course. No one can take you off your spiral. No one can prevent you from being the stubborn meathead that you are.” A smile pulled at Mikey’s face, and he let out a low deep chuckle that rumbled out of his newly expanded chest. His neck thickened, and his voice deepened even more. A bulge began to swell against the crotch of his gym shorts.“Can I work out now?” he asked in that same vapid tone. The trainer chuckled. “Yes, Mikey. Get to your exercises.” Mikey grinned. “Lifts and squats and curls and weights....” he muttered as he approached the racks.

The trainer grinned in turn. “Another satisfied customer.”