A Well-tuned Machine

A Well-tuned Machine

“On your way to the gym?” The young man looked down at you as you approached and pushed the button to call the elevator. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty. “Nah,” he responded. I’ve been pushing sups for the last six hours in a cramped booth. It’s time to get back to my room and unwind with a little me time.” “You can have me time at the gym, too, though, can’t you?” “It’s not the same.” He shook his head. “Of course it is. I’ve seen you there loads of times!” “You must be mistaken.” “No, I’m quite positive. Sounds like somebody needs a tuneup.” The light faded from the man’s eyes as his shoulders slumped and he stared ahead. “Muscle Machine 624 awaiting orders,” he said in a dim monotone. “Initiate maintenance tuneup protocol.” The man raised an arm and replicated a mechanical whirr with his mouth as he flexed it, showing off the many veins that stood out over the taut and ballooning muscle. Soon the second rose to join its sibling and he posed rigidly in place. “624, you will go the gym today and you will enjoy it. The gym is relaxing and exciting and fun. You love the gym. You will never miss the chance to go to the gym and keep earning more gains. Because that is your purpose as a muscle machine.” “New programming acknowledged. 624 will execute command prompt.” He nodded slightly and the doors opened with their usual chimes. “Come along, 624. Time to go. I’ll load you with programming on the way to the gym.” “Yes. I am a muscle machine. I obey....”

Schools of Thought

“I don’t know, man. Things have just been feeling ... off lately, you know?” Dennis said as he leaned back on the comfy bed. His black briefs hugged perfectly to his frame, accentuating the well-toned muscle he had gained. “Off...?” Devon asked as he leaned against the door frame with his hands behind his back. His muscle was not so fully developed as his roommate, but he had definite tone. His neon orange briefs hugged tightly to his waist as he stared ahead. “Yeah. I mean, it’s cool and all getting this sweet deal for college, but ... don’t you find it strange how much things have changed?” “Not really.” Devon’s eyes took on a dreamy look as a hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “I like the new us.” “Don’t get me wrong. I like being stronger, too. I mean, this is the fittest I’ve been in like ... ever. It’s just ... Idunno. I never used to like being like this, you know?” “Like what?” “Half-naked. I mean, we’re lounging around in nothing but a skimpy pair of underwear for each of us. The old me would never have done that, but now it feels ... wrong, somehow, not to.” He reached down to brush his abdominals gently. “You know what I mean?” “Yes. I know exactly what you mean,” Devon replied in that same distant voice. “I spoke with Coach Sanders about it earlier today.” “Coach?” “Professor Sanders also runs an independent sports team. He prefers for those who work with him to call him coach. He has asked me to do the same.” He stared off into the distance again and silence filled the room. “So?” Dennis asked. “So ... what?” “What did he have to say? About your question.” “Hmm? Oh, oh, the question. Yeah....” He blinked slowly. “Coach said it’s ... sort of like going to school. A ... school of thought. And he said everyone’s got ‘em in their heads, sometimes multiples. Things we didn’t used to like or want suddenly become more desirable, while the old stuff just sort of falls away. It’s kinda like ... uh ...” He furrowed his brow a moment, then sighed and relaxed as the bulge in his underwear grew a little larger. “Like goin’ from primary to kindergarten, ya know? Stuff changes. You move up in grades. One minute, you’re readin’ books on physics and chemical engineering, the next you start doing a little research on the side about personal fitness. Then you start going to the gym, try new techniques, locate more lit, study it, apply it. “Soon you’re studyin’ more fitness than physics. The only compounds and reactions you’re thinking of are newton’s first law as you’re pumping those weights and formulae for supps and shakes. And ... the more you think about those things, the less likely you’re gonna go back to those other places, those other schools, ya know? And ... and you don’t want to.” A doltish grin spread over his face. “I don’t want to.” He chuckled and his voice cracked, then dropped. “I don’t wanna, bro.” “Devon? You okay, man?” Dennis asked. Devon let out a dull, dimwitted chuckle. “Yeah, bro. I’m fine. Just goin’ over today’s lesson.” “Today’s ... lesson?” “Yeah, bro. In my school. You know, the school of thought? You’re goin’ over yours, too. Can’t you tell?” Devon shuddered and finally ran a hand up and down his own abdominals. Then he paused, turned, and flexed a bicep in front of his roommate. “Yeah, Coach. I get it now... Gotta get swole ta pay the toll.” “Devon, what’re you...?” “Just listen, bro. Can’t you hear it?” “Hear what?” a low flush had begun to color Dennis’ cheeks as he felt a strange heftiness between his legs. “The bell, bro. Coach’s voice. He’s calling.” He grinned as he laid back against the wall again. “He said you were falling behind, bro.” “Devon, what are you talking about?” A strange sense of dizziness had begun to settle in Dennis’ head. “You’re not making any sense.” He shook his head to try to dispel the cobwebs, only for a sloshing sort of hiss to stream into his eardrums. He panted as he felt a warmth spreading in his chest and his pectorals began to bounce, first one, then the other in perfect time. He sat up straight and rested his forehead against his palm. “I ... I don’t ... what ... what’s going on?” Devon walked over to the desktop at the far wall of the room and accessed it. The camera flickered to life as the screen booted up. He typed into the system rapidly as the loud hissing became worse and worse. He strode back to his place and grinned at Dennis. “Just wait, bro. You’ll get it soon.” Dennis tried to rise, but stumbled almost immediately and landed back on the mattress again. He struggled to rise and just managed to prop himself up on his elbows when The screen began to flicker and a pulsing spiral materialized and started to spin. “Hello, boys. School is now in session. Time for role call.” Devon’s shoulders slumped against the door frame as he gaped at the screen with dull, unthinking eyes. “Devon Bryant, Jock Bro Number Six. Present and ready for instruction, Coach.” Dennis groaned, tensed, then ultiately slumped as his eyes locked on the screen. “Dennis Mallard, Exchange Student Number Seven. Present and ready for instruction, Coach.” “And are you ready to transfer permanently to my school yet?” “No, Sir, Coach.” “I see. Let’s see what we can do to fix that. I think we’ll start on your language next. After all, how you practice is how you play....”

Dennis groaned as he rose from his bed. The room was warm and inviting, and he reveled in that dull, mindless state that follows all after a long sleep. That is, until the sudden throbbing in his skull struck. “Fuck,” he grated as he rubbed at his temples, and then his eyes. “The hell happened last night?” He felt a brief stirring in his loins and patted the bulge pressing against the crotch of his briefs familiarly. “Sleep well, princess?” Devon taunted from his place in the door frame. Dennis glared at his roommate. “Fuck you.” Devon just grinned. “Come on, bro. S’time to get ready to work out. Dennis rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” “Oh, and Coach wants to talk to you later. Something about catching you up after that stomach bug you had.” He smirked and flexed. “You wouldn’t get sick if you worked out more, like me.” “Yeah, yeah.” Dennis waved off the criticism. “Just tell me when the hell he wants me there already.” He drank the substance Devon shoved in his face and shuddered as he felt the familiar surge of energy. Next thing he knew, he was on the floor and Devon was counting down. 10. 9. 8. Deeper. 7. 6. 5. 4. Can’t stop. 3. In the rhythm. 2. Following the beat. 1. ... “Time to be a bro, little bro.”

The Word

Amazing, isn’t it, the power that a jumble of letters can carry? It is said that the pen is mightier than the sword. But it is what the pen creates that is so compelling. Words have held power and sway over the minds of men and women from the very beginning. If scripture is to believed, before there was anything else, there was The Word. In short, words have existed from before this world ever was. Words give voice to thoughts, shape to ideas and emotions. In short, words, much like an artist, have the power to create, to destroy, to mold, all at their creator’s whim. In politics the use of The Word is called propaganda. In journalism, it is called truth, though whose truth is a matter of intense debate. As for me, well, I’ve discovered my own manipulation of The Word. No, I am no novelist or journalist, no politician, though as you can see, I am a wordsmith of a sort. No, in this case, I have learned how to tap into the primal essence of The Word. In short, I am what you might call a wizard, a witch, a magician, a sorcerer. There are many names that seem to apply to what I am, though I don’t know how accurate they all are. It’s proven a most useful gift for me. I can do almost anything, provided I can put it to words. I could fly, breathe underwater, travel through time. Oh, the possibilities are far too vast for me to explain in one sitting, but I believe you get what I’m trying to say. As such, I’ve dedicated much of my life to the understanding of names and words. There’s a reason why they say power over the name is power over the thing itself. Take my neighbor over there. He asked if he could borrow some of my power tools for a big project of his. Naturally, I agreed, but doubtless, you can see how ... unfit he is for the task. Forgive the pun. Obviously, being that pale and overweight would make this endeavor exceptionally difficult for him. As such, being the kindly neighbor that I am, I decided it would be best to give him a little hand.  You’ll note that I only use some of the best products. I particularly enjoy this brand of jackhammer for its choice of wording. Now, watch. You see how difficult it is for him to wield at first. His whole body is shaking from the effort. Now keep watching. Note how his shirt is starting to droop. His biceps and pectorals are inflating. Surprised? I thought you might be. He’s becoming quite ... jacked, wouldn’t you say? Forgive the pun. It seemed appropriate at the time. You’ll note how his complexion is changing. His skin is gaining more color Dirt and dust are flying all over his shoes and pants. Ah, and there it is. See how the material shifts. No more sneakers for this worker. Thick, sturdy construction boots are the way to go. Steel toes glinting dully under the coat of dust. Ah, and there go the features. His jaw really is shaping up now, wouldn’t you say? So ... rugged. Ah, forgive me. It seems I may have crossed wires. Ah well. It plays into the role he’s taking, anyways, so it’s no true loss. Yes, that’s at least a month’s worth of beard growing in at once. What more did you expect? Ah, and there goes the shirt now. Note how it’s paling more and more, getting so tight against his skin. Ah, but it’s such a hot day, isn’t it? Why would a hard laborer burden himself with such long sleeves, especially when they’re so constricting on his arms? And there we go. The shirt is gone now, and much the better for it. I see you gaping now. Or is that perhaps a bit of drool? I’ll hail him, if you like. Just wait till you see how he reacts. Hey, Brute! Ah, and there it is, my favorite part. Look at that smile. See that bicep tense and swell as he flexes for us. He knows what he is now, and he revels in it. A worn snapback, some protective goggles, a pair of earmuffs to dampen the noise, and he’s finished. Tell me, do you like what you see? Do you enjoy his burly frame? Did you enjoy watching him change? I thought you might have. *Chuckle* Just wait until he starts it up again....

Here's an idea for an inanimate TF story. A guy being 'recruited' by a bucket of green army men, slowly turning into plastic, shrinking, and become another indistinguishable soldier in the platoon, a loyal toy soldier in the end.

It certainly has possibilities. I’ll put that under my stockpile of maybes. I have a lot of other things that I’m writing/working on at the moment, so it’ll take time before I can work on this idea. I do have a potential inanimate transformation in mind for the future, though.

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.

Well That Just Happened

Someone named Alphapuphypnous sent me a message just a short while ago with a hypno gif as the main attachment. I worried he may have been trying to hypnotize me or that it was a spam bot, so I rapidly typed a response to get the gif out of view on the message box as I typed. I basically warned the guy I don’t take kindly to people trying to hypnotize me without permission and then warned him or her I’d report them to tumblr if such a thing repeated itself. I explained it was out of courtesy and not hostility that I mentioned this, since I figured they may have just been overly exuberant in wanting to talk with me. The user responded rapidly with apologies and saying they were meaning to type to someone else. The curious thing is that shortly after the person wrote this apology, the account was deactivated. That seems highly suspicious to me, especially given the nature of the blog itself, when I checked it out to see what it was about. In case you were wondering, it was all about hypnotizing to enslave those who follow the hypnosis prompts. I checked my follower list and this person had also just begun following me. I’m not sure if the infamous Trey was trying to get me or if it was a sincere mistake, but as I’ve said before, be careful guys. You never know who you’re dealing with or what they may try to do to you. Given the closeness of the name to a previous account identified as him, I’m inclined to believe it may have been Trey thinking I might be an easy mark for him to put under. Please be careful, guys.