Bodybuilder Transformation - Tumblr Posts

The Coach’s Big Break

A coach into a bodybuilder

Coach Brad was preparing for a away football game, recently he had realised he need to lose weight as he was the laughing stock of the high school coaches. Sam the science teacher had been working on a formula and needed a test subject. When Sam approached him, Brad thought he was crazy. But after some persuading, Brad decided to accept it. He had to take the serum plus while he was in his hotel room he had to record himself. Brad thought this was insane but if it could increase his testosterone and bring back his muscles. Brad had arrived at his hotel, He opened his suitcase and sitting in his waterbottle was the serum. Brad opened the bottle and downed it. Right away Brad felt it everything was getting hot. He quickly ran to set up the camera. He slowly walked back feeling his body. His pants were starting to get tight as his thighs started to swell. Brad started to slide his pants down as his legs grew to big for him. He looked down at his calves and thighs, which had become super muscular.

Brad was enjoying every moment now. He decided to embrace it has his jawline changed to a more sharp look and he grabbed his hat off and threw it across the room. Brad could feel his pecs growing bigger under his shirt, while his stomach grew flat and his body grew wider. All of his muscles grew huge. His biceps grew to the size of a small watermelon. His youth was coming back as pecs were now huge slabs of meat. Brad was in such a trance he needed to show off his guns. As he slowly took off his shirt, he had a desire no a primal desire to flex so he pulled one sleeve off his arm. Revealing his bodybuilder-esk arms. He flexed his bicep as it bounced along side his pec.

Brad was just left in his gym tank top and black boxers. He moaned as he grew again this time his size 12 shoes were strained as his feet expanded beyond belief. He took his tank top off as he was officially a body builder. 

But Brad needed to do two more things, as he turned to the camera and smiled as he started to give into one of his primal urges as he flexed and groaned giving the camera a show. The last thing he needed to do was to give one last performance.

He started to grab his crotch are as his dick started to grow in size and girth. His once 5 inch dick grew to 7 inches 9 inches a whole foot. It strained his athletic shorts as pre leaked out. He quickly took his shorts off, As he watched his dick strain his jockstrap. He watched it rip as his dick snapped it clean off. Which caused him to moan even louder, Brad started to pump his cock as he moaned louder and louder until he reached his climax and cummed all over the wall. Coating it as he walked over to the camera flexed and turned it off. 

That next monday Sam received a package after learning Brad quit. Inside was a tape and letter telling Sam it was a success. Sam went home locked his doors and watched the steamy video masturbating 3 times during the video. Sam knew he had to test it, as he knew just who Rob the English professor at the local college.

The bodybuilder in this video is Brad Hollibaugh. All respect to him. Sorry for the delay on stories I hope you enjoyed this one

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 19

“She took your recordings away? That’s harsh, man,” Duff said as the pair of you worked at the bench press. Hank was down with a nasty head cold, so he’d appointed his right hand man to take his place as you continue towards your goal of muscular perfection for the part. Since Duff still had class requirements, though, you’d agreed to shift your workout schedule closer to the evening for his sake. It actually made for a much more intimate setting. There were a lot fewer gym goers this close to closing time, so they had free rein over the gym. “Yeah, it sucks. I really liked where it was going. I mean, sure, I’m a bit more aggressive than I used to be, but the rest of my changes have all been positive so far. And it just feels so good, you know?” Duff chuckled. “Working out always does, after a while. Healthiest addiction you’ll ever have.” “I wouldn’t call it an addiction.” “Mmhmm. And just how much time do you dedicate each morning to exercises, before you start your day, despite having to come to the gym later?” You decide not to deign that question with a response, focusing on pushing past your previous limit, instead, to add a new set to your reps. “That’s what I thought, dumbass,” Duff joked playfully. “M’not a dumbass,” you grunt as you thrust through another particularly difficult press. Your arms are trembling and sweat is starting to bead your forehead. “Bro, everyone’s a dumbass, sometimes.” A hint of a smirk crosses your lips as you growl, struggling for every inch. “Guess it ... takes one ... to ... know one.” You roar triumphantly as you finally reach your peak and lock your arms in place. Your chest heaves and you feel the sweat that’s pooled along your back. Duff helps you to guide the bar back into place, then offers a hand to pull you up. “Well, yeah, of course it does. I’m smart around the gym and talking about muscles and stuff. That doesn’t mean I don’t have trouble with other stuff, sometimes.” He shrugged. “Happens when you’re hyper focused on one thing.” He chuckled. “To tell you the truth, it’s kind of funny, when it happens. I like to use it to troll people, sometimes, just to see the looks on their faces.” “Really?” Duff chuckles as he leads you towards the squat rack. “Oh, yeah. All the time. I like to fake zoning out at a store checkout or with some of my classmates, during a project. Two words. Fucking hilarious.” You wince. “Do you really have to curse?” “You did it.” “Yeah, the one time.” “And you’ll do it again, and again, and again,” Duff said matter-of-factly. “Sure, it’ll start off as an accident. A tiny slip here, a few sprinkled there. Maybe you’ll get jump-scared by someone. Or maybe some jackass is going to piss you off at just the right moment. But once you start using them, they have a way of sort of seeping into your brain. They burrow deeper and deeper, rewriting thoughts, crossing different paths in your synapses. And before you know it, you’re as hooked to them as you are to pumping iron. They just flow out of you, and they all feel totally natural.” He reached over to the weight storage rack and started mounting plates on the bar. “It doesn’t mean you’re going to be using them in every sentence, just that they’ll be there when it’s the right time. And then, before you know it, someone’s gonna call you out on it, and you’ll realize it. You’ll smack your forehead, and suddenly, either out loud or in your head, you’re going to say, ‘I am such a dumbass.’ And you’ll realize it’s okay to admit it.” Your head felt like it was spinning. The more Duff explained, the harder it was to concentrate. A strange sense of pleasure, almost eagerness, flooded through your body, and you felt that familiar tingle as the blood flowed down into your crotch. You feel something rising in your throat. You try to bite it back, but in your addled state, you can’t seem to fight it. “Fuck,” you hiss slowly, and your body is racked by another shudder. Duff smirked victoriously. “Told ya. Now get under that rack, dumbass. You’ve got squats to do.”

Later that night, you swaggered home with that bow-legged gait you always seem to use after a good leg day. Without your tracks to listen to, the bus ride had been kind of a drag, but you managed to pass the time with an occasional well-timed stretch and flex. It almost turned into a sort of game. See how many times you could pull it off, without arousing suspicion from the other passengers. You scratch your crotch idly, without so much as a second thought. There weren’t any people on the street who’d notice, anyways. They were all inside by now, having dinner or watching a movie, or whatever crap it was they did to waste time. You pull up short for a moment, mid-scratch, then furrow your brow. Since when did you think of those activities as a waste of time? You shake your head and sputter briefly, then resume your tromping swagger. Come to think of it, it’s been a while since you were online. Maybe you should take the time to relax a little, veg out, while you drink your shake. You continue to mull this train of thought over as you resume your stride. The moment you’re home, you lumber over to the sink and open the dish washer, where a neat row of identical bullet mixing cups sit, awaiting your touch. You grunt to yourself, making a mental note to clear out the washer later. For now, you needed your shake. A white paper sign sits on the wall behind the blender, reading: GAINZ. You chuckle and roll your eyes as you lift up your arm for another flex. The pump from your workout hasn’t died out entirely, and you watch as the flat surface rises into a hill. You rub it absently, heedless to the stifling noise of the blender. “Gonna make you a peak,” you grunt to it. Gotta make those GAINZ. You continue to rub the muscle in a sort of half daze. You’re not sure exactly how long you’ve been at it, but by the time you manage to break yourself away from the motion, you notice the shake has finished blending and your shirt is crumpled on the floor. You don’t pay it any mind as you you kick it out of the way, walk over, detach the cup, and twist off the blender attachment to run under the water as you have every day, twice a day, for the last month and a half. Your eyes flicker over the series of posters and slogans you’ve accumulated. Brutish men in singlets and loose workout gear pose for the camera or are caught mid-set. All of them seem so focused, oblivious to the rest of the world. You look down pitifully at your own diminished form and feel the familiar bile stirring within. You hate being so tiny. You thought you were happy before, but now ... now that you’ve seen the possibilities with your own eyes, experienced the growth.... “It’s not enough,” you whisper to yourself, then take a swig of your shake. Motivational phrases plaster the walls along the hall leading to your room. EDUCATION IS IMPORTANT BUT BIG BICEPS ARE IMPORTANTER. No Pain, No Gain. You pause in front of that familiar post you found online. A thick, muscled model is leaning back on some kind of cushion. His eyes are obscured, because his head is tilted back and blurred, but his torso is completely bare. In a manner almost like a prayer, you reach out with your free hand to touch the caption next to the head, then bring your hand back to touch your own head. EMPTY THIS. You’re not sure whether you thought it or said it, but it doesn’t really matter. You perform the the same motions as before, this time with the second caption, and rub over your abs, before thumping against your pec. GROW THIS. You grunt as that pleasurable fog starts to descend again. MINDLESS MEATHEAD The picture showed a heavily muscled builder staring blankly ahead in little more than a pair of short shorts and a switchback cap. A punching bag hung in the background behind him. “Huhuhuh....” You’re not sure if that was you or your imagination, but for some reason, it doesn’t really matter. You find it sort of funny how quickly these meatheads have filled your home. At the same time, though, you can’t picture having those walls without them now. They ... belong here. Muscle belongs here. Another sip, and suddenly you’re sitting in front of your computer. You’re ... not sure how you got there. You look absently toward the corner of your bedroom, where an exercise ball and a weighted jump rope have joined your dumbbells. After all.... Gotta get your morning workout in. You nod your head absently. You know it to be true. Hank told you. Bodybuilders work day and night. You click your monitor out of sleep mode and look over your history. Health sites, diet tips, supplements. You feel two pills on your tongue. You lift your cup. You swallow. You put it down. “I lift things up and put them down....” A dull chuckle forces its way out from your chest, aided by the weight of your muscles. It’s natural to laugh this way now. “Huhuhuh.” And it feels so right. You search the net for a time, reviewing some of the previous favorites and posts that you’d found most prominent in your web history. Finally, your shake is empty. Your head is in the clouds, and you grin dopily as you rise from your computer, not even bothering to close out of the browser. You drift over to your bathroom mirror, where you do as you have done every morning and night, like clockwork. You flex. And, once again, it feels so right. Unbidden, a primal growl rises in your throat, followed by a guttural, “Fuck, yeah.” You don’t even care how your throat itches after. It was worth it. You tromp over to the shower, and your pleasure-addled brain pops up one of those friendly tips Duff is so fond of giving. It’s better to take a cold shower, after the workout. Makes your muscles recover even faster. Faster recovery. Faster growth. You couldn’t get there fast enough. For the first time, you experience the icy surge. And suddenly, the buzz is gone. You yelp in shock as your whole body cringes. Your chest heaves against your will, taking sharp gulping breaths. You can’t get out of that stream fast enough. “Okay, note to self, ease into the cold.” Your teeth chatter as you adjust the knob to turn up the temperature. Then you sigh in relief as the warmth washes away the shock. It takes a while, but you eventually find a balance for the level of cold your body is willing to take, and go with that first. You furrow your brow as you think back to your actions tonight. That ... wasn’t usually like you. The actions felt almost like a dream. The way you flexed, passed through the halls, cast off laundry like it was nothing. For the first time since this venture began, you don’t flex, after you leave the shower. You comb your hair in a handsome part and make your way through your apartment. Each new discovery opens your eyes wider and wider. A thick layer of dust has covered practically everything. The television hasn’t been used, and the remotes are laid neatly by the console. The air smells musty, and the floor is littered with old shirts you haven’t bothered to pick up, after your workouts. Old dishes are piled high in the sink from the many times you promised you were going to clear the dishwasher, but never did. You spent the next two hours clearing, dusting, and cleaning up. You sigh in relief when you reach your room. At least it was somewhat cleaner than the rest of the apartment had been. Your laundry hampers were overflowing, and the majority of hangar space had been occupied by underarmor shirts, track suits, singlets, and other workout gear. Designer shoes had been replaced with Nike, cleats, New Balance, Adidas, Asics. Boxes had been neatly stacked and packed on the sides, out of the main view of the closet entrance. You cut one open, and there are your old shoes and belts. Formal loafers, smart wingbacks, Ferragomos, Hermes, Gucci! “What have I been doing?” you murmur. You rise disbelievingly to your feet and shake your head. Even your bed is an absolute mess. The covers are crumpled in a lump on the far corner of the mattress. Your bed clothes haven’t fared much better, laying haphazardly over a half-exposed mattress pad. A full length mirror you don’t remember buying has been bolted to the wall next to your little workout setup. Then you realize, to your horror, that you’ve been walking around practically naked in your apartment for the last two or so hours. Your race for your drawers, only to find them bereft of the most basic garment you seek. All that remains to choose from are the infamous jock strap and its cousin, the posing trunks. You bite back the urge to curse with a supreme force of will and snarl as you snatch the strap. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire as you slide the bands in place, feeling the air flowing over your bare skin. You do notice with some surprise, however, how well the pouch supports your privates, and you can’t help but catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The bulge is definitely more attractive than those boxers you used to wear. And it does feel comfortable. So very ... comfortable. The beginnings of a smile pulls at your lips as your arm begins to rise automatically to assume that favorite position. Then you gasp, slamming your hand over your bicep with a heavy smack and pulling your arm back down again. You shake your head, dusting out the cobwebs, and quickly unpack some of your more formal dress. A casual set of slacks and a long sleeved button shirt would do nicely. At least ... they would have, were it not for the fact that none of them would fit you anymore. You glare at the clothes swinging mockingly on their hangers. “I hate you all,” you growl. It may have been petty, but considering you’d nearly lost practically everything you used to be in the persona you’d developed, it seemed justified. You resolutely refused to indulge in the pleasurable tingling that spread as you donned a pair of tight compression pants and a thick hoodie, forcing yourself to walk to the laundry closet, despite the nervous energy you feel rushing through your muscles. You sorted the laundry into piles with a deliberate slowness, being careful to ensure nothing was mixed accidentally. It was difficult to maintain focus on the task, but you weren’t about to let laziness cause your clothes to degrade faster. ... Even if you did get new clothes with every modeling gig. You sighed in relief as you lifted the last garments from your first load into the drum, added the detergent, and began the long wash. You smiled in contentment, proud of your accomplishment. However, boredom soon asserted itself again, and you sighed as you looked over the remaining loads. At this rate, you wouldn’t be in bed till after midnight. You sigh again as you look over to the dumbbells and jump rope. You feel a familiar lurching in your chest, almost like an ache as your fingers twitch. “Maybe,” you lick your suddenly dry lips, “maybe just a little cardio. To pass the time.” Soon the rhythmic cycle of whoosh and snap is echoing in your ears as you jump up and down, up and down in perfect time to the washer’s sloshy spinning. ... You don’t even hear the buzzer.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 26

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

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 27

“Repeat after me. You’re a big, dumb muscle brute.” You grunt as you lift your weights. The dumbbells you got from Duff weren’t enough anymore, but one call to Harry was all it took to get what you needed. Your sponsor was only too happy to provide you with the weights, after hearing a sample of your voice acting. You were only too happy to oblige. It was so easy to just listen and do it. “I’m a big, dumb muscle brute,” you rumble obediently. “You love to lift.” “I love to lift.” “To lift things up and put them down.” “I lift things up and put them down.” A shudder passed through you as you curled yet another hefty weight and watched the pump building in your swollen bicep. “It is what you do.” Pump. “It’s what I do.” “All you do.” Repeat. “All I do.” “All you think about.” “All I think about.” “Weights and muscle.” “Weights and muscle.” Heavier weights. Bigger muscles. Get swole. So big. “You are obsessed with weights and muscle.” “I am obsessed with weights and muscle.” Hell yeah, you are. A predatory growl escapes your lips as your heartbeat surges through your eardrums. “The more you lift, the harder it is to think about anything else, to talk about anything else, to be anything else.” A convulsive shudder passes through your frame. “Lift. Grow. Don’t think.” Gotta keep it short for the next-- PUMP Your mouth is gaping open. The rush is filling you with a surging need to lift faster, harder, stronger. You don’t hear the words anymore. All that matters is the burn. All that matters. ... All that matters. ... All ... That ... Matters.........

“Um, are you sure you want to leave this much tip?” “Huh?” You turn to look up at the waitress in confusion. “You gave me a hundred, Sir.” “Did I?” Your brow furrows as your face crunches in concentration. “Is that over much?” “Sir, the meal only cost you thirty dollars for three teriyaki chicken rice bowls.” “Oh, yeah.” You chuckle. “I’m on my bulk cycle. Thought I ordered more than that.” You rub the back of your head, even as the waitress looked pointedly down at your table. You follow her gaze to see the three empty bowls staring vacantly up at you, their contents devoured. Your blush increases. “Sorry, Jackie. I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve been acting like such a dumbass lately.” A dull surge of pleasure rushes through you and you smile, despite your embarrassment. You stare off into space, just letting that tingle linger as your mind empties and you hear that distant clanking of metal plates calling you again. “Sir?” You surface out of your reverie, drawn by two snapping fingers in your face. “Oh, uh, sorry. How much do I owe you again?” The waitress rolled her eyes. “Thirty dollars,” she repeated. You reach back into your wallet and pull out two twenties and a ten. “Here,” you say as you thrust them at her. She exchanges the hundred in turn. “Sir, you realize that’s fifty dollars you’ve just given me now, right?” “Think of it as payment for inconvenience. Like I said, I’ve been a dumbass. It’s only right I pay for that, too.” You chuckle again and smile at her, then pick up your gym bag and drape it lazily behind your shoulders. “Maybe next time, we can make it a meal for two. My treat,” you offer. A blush rises in the waitress’ cheeks as her eyes run over your rippling physique. Your smile widens. “No need to answer now. I’m usually here for lunch. Keep an eye out for me, and answer me then, okay?” And then you walk calmly past, leaving her to stare after you, along with half the other women in the restaurant. Damn, was it good to be buff. “Buff, like Duff,” your murmur under your breath as you exit the building and start to walk toward the gym. The bus was boring, and you needed more time to settle your stomach, anyways, so a walk was just what the doctor ordered. You pulled your earbuds back where they belonged and pressed play on the player resting in the custom arm band wrapped around your bicep. You could already hear the weights calling for you again, even as the familiar clanking rang through your eardrums alongside a slow, smooth, deep voice. “Time for another session, muscleman....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 28

“Damn, boy, you’re plowing through those weights like they’re nothing,” Hank commented as he watched you work the butterfly press. The pump from your constant lifting has inflated your shelf-like pecs into two muscular globes that strain against the straps on your tank top. “Just figured I’d put more effort into lifting, less into complaining,” you grunt back. “Better breaking my limits.” “Spoken like a true body builder.” “That’s what I’m supposed to be, isn’t it?” you ask as you flash a cheeky smile his way. Hank let out a rumbling chuckle. “I suppose it is, at that.” Then he eyed you more clinically. “You might want to consider upping a size on those clothes of yours, though. They look about fit to burst.” “That’s the idea.” “You actually want to get a public indecency citation?” You roll your eyes as you pull the arms of the machine together again. “I want to be so big that I can break out of my clothes, just by flexing. Doesn’t mean I’m actually going to try something like that in public.” “Then up your size, when you come here, kid. Those straps don’t look like they’re gonna last much longer,” he said, pointing to the thin shoulder straps that now cling to your skin, thanks to all the sweat you’ve been generating. “Gotta change the gear, when it wears out.” Change the gear. ... Like a machine. ... A muscle machine. “Yes, Sir,” you say dazedly. “I understand.” “Good. Now give me another couple of reps.” You stare off into the distance as you let your body follow its programming. The sight of your face in the mirror, so blank, so focused, fills you with a certain amount of pride. Have to execute. “Then, after this, I might just let you get back to those dumbbells of yours.” You didn’t need any more prompting. You plowed through those reps, like they were nothing. All the while, Hank watched, nodding approvingly as he smirked, just out of the corner of your eye.

Duff let out a deep chuckle as he opened his apartment door for you. “Damn, bro, you weren’t kidding about those gains you were making. Come on in! Let me show you around the place.” He wrapped a vascular arm around your shoulders and pulled you inside. A coffee table sat in front of a single long couch. Its top was made of glass, but the frame was solid metal, and shelf after shelf of dumbbells laid waiting for anyone to use beneath that innocent glass pane. The top were the lightest, the bottom heaviest. The walls had been painted a dull silver that hardly shone through the posters of body builders, slogans, and weight sets. Speakers sat in every corner of the space, doubtless connected to the TV and sound system spreading wide against the wall. The screen was positively monstrous, taking up nearly the whole side of the apartment, with the exception of the small entertainment cabinet on its left that held various DVDs, Blu-Rays, and players, including a port for i-phones or MP3 players. A heavy duty weight rack stood near the entrance to the kitchen, next to a large metal bench press with an adjustable back. The kitchen was orderly, with a veritable regiment of protein shake cups laying in wait on the drying rack for later use. The refrigerator was incredibly high-tech, with a stainless steel exterior and a freezer in a sliding drawer below. Duff grinned as he pulled open the doors to reveal stacks upon stacks of Tupperware, each filled with equal portions of lean protein, healthy grains, and nutritious greens, all labeled with specific dates and times to eat. “Only the best fuel for these pistons,” he guffawed, popping a flex and smacking his palm over the dense muscular mound his bicep had become. A brief bout of lightheadedness strikes you at the words, and you sway briefly on your feet. “Best ... fuel?” Suddenly you feel two thick hands grasping your shoulders. “Easy, bro.” They guide you to the weight bench, where they force you to sit. In your addled state, you don’t feel the need to put up much resistance. Then you taste that familiar shot of vanilla in your mouth, and you swallow. A smile pulls at your lips. “Better?” Duff asks as he crouches to stare at you. “Yeah....” you mutter dreamily. A funny little question burbles its way to the surface as you take in the spartan appearance of the room again. “Say, Duff, why’s your living room look more like a gym than a, well, you know, a living room?” You know it’s a silly question, even a stupid one, but sometimes you can’t help but ask. You’re such a dumbass. Duff let out a husky laugh. “’Cause the gym is my home, bro.” He ratcheted the back of the press up, allowing you to lean back against it as you splayed your legs wide, giving you a perfect view of the entertainment console on the other end of the room. “The gym is ... your home,” you repeat slowly. “Yeah, bro!” Duff grinned excitedly at you. “Let me show you.” He jogged over to the entertainment center, sending tremors through the room with his weight. Then he fished through his collection of DVDs, till he found the right one. In a matter of seconds, the familiar sound of clacking weights and guttural grunts tore through the air, and you started to feel lightheaded again. You look up at Duff, who’s grinning down at you like an absolute idiot. “Welcome to the home gym course for Muscle men!” a chipper voice greeted as the camera zoomed in on a strangely familiar man. He was shorter, trimmer, and his face was far softer, but ... it looked almost like.... “Hank?” you ask. Duff’s grin widened. “Yeah, bro. He used to make these custom DVDs years ago, sold ‘em to special clients.” The screen flickered briefly. “By the time this video is finished, I’ll have shown you the secret to making you feel right at home in the gym.” The screen flickered again and you blinked slowly in response. “Yeah, he said this copy was kinda damaged, but once you get used to it, the video’s fucking ace,” Duff said. “All you have to do is follow my instructions exactly. The rest will take care of itself. Are you ready? Let’s begin.” The video ran through a series of basic exercises you blew past a long time ago. The lights would flicker in the gym, and the sound would degrade sometimes as you watched, but Duff’s grin just kept getting wider the more he stared. You almost got up to turn it off, but every time you were ready to, Hank’s voice would cut in. “Now don’t you touch that button. Remember, a key part to making the gym your home is endurance.” The screen flickered again. “So, remember, keep watching.” By this point, Duff had already crouched down to retrieve a set of dumbbells, and he was pumping along. A few flickers later, and you could feel your own arms pumping in time. “And with every pump, think to yourself, the gym is my home. That’s right. Now say it.” “The gym is my home,” Duff lowed with a confident grin. “Again.” “The gym is my home.” “Again.” “The gym is my home.” Your head was awhirl as the flickers danced in your eyes. You hardly even noticed how dilated your pupils had become, how dim the lights had grown around you. All that mattered was the video. All that mattered was the gym and the pleasure the gym brought, because Hank said it did. And you couldn’t argue with him. He was right. You loved the gym. You loved the pump. Why shouldn’t you call the gym your home? “Again.” This time, instead of a murmur, you boomed in perfect time with Duff. “THE GYM IS MY HOME!” Your grin became just as wide as your friend’s as the light reflected off his luminous bristled red hair. “Good. Now that you’re home, it’s time to work out, muscleman.” The phrase crashed over you like a tsunami of bliss, and you let it pull you into that favorite empty place. Musclemen didn’t think. Musclemen listened to instruction. Musclemen worked out.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 29

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

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 30

You strode confidently through the doors to the warehouse with Harry by your side. The man was positively beaming. Must’ve been having a good week. You grunt and shrug. It’s not your concern, anyways. Your concern lay ahead, past the sea of flashing strobing cameras to the waiting Fängsla. His broad shoulders and wide grin were the same as ever, and you can’t help but grin yourself as you feel your muscles tense and flex in anticipation. Soon you would be able to pose for the camera. And it always felt so good posing for Fängsla. “You are back!” Fängsla greeted cheerfully. He eyed you up and down. “And you have grown.” “It’s what they hired me for,” you return as you clasp the man’s hand with your own and feel the forces of his grip grapple with your own. Something about the contest filled you with an inexplicable thrill. You held that grip for a time as Fängsla peered deeply into your eyes. Then he nodded and he released his grip. “You are comfortable now, yes?” You grin as you pop a flex. “Perfectly.” “That is good. Go get changed. I will finish last calibrations.” You nod and make your way to the table. As had been before, the underwear sat waiting in a variety of sizes. Your eyes wandered over each of them, until they fell on a unique posing strap with bold capital letters on its waistband. DJUR You don’t even hesitate. You seize the strap and make your way to the changing room, your head awhirl with the giddiness of that familiar emptiness you’ve come to enjoy so much as you listened to your recordings and grew. You grunt again as you toss your clothes aside in a crumpled heap and step out, wearing the new garment. Harry whistled in surprise as you tromped over to the blank white background screen and stood at attention, waiting for Fängsla’s guiding touch. “Excellent!” Fängsla praised. “You have grown so much in all the right places. You are ... what is the word? Fantastic!” The cameras began to flash, and you smiled that dimwitted grin you’ve been practicing so much with your selfies. “Good. Good! Now show me dum. Show me korkad. Remember, you are djur.” Flash. “A djur does not think.” Flash. “Muscle thinks for him.” Strobe. “Muscle thinks for you.” You grin vapidly as you enter pose after pose, completely shameless over your body. After all, you worked hard to earn this muscle. It deserves to be shown. It wants to be shown. Muscle thinks for you. You turn to your side and pose, heedless of the swelling fog and tightening pouch. Muscle wants to show off, so you want to show off. Flash. Show off. Strobe. Listen to muscle. Flash. Obey your muscles. Strobe. Because that is what djurs do. Flash. “Djurs like you,” Fängsla’s voice echoed faintly through the fog. You look eagerly into the camera lens as the next flash blazes into your retina. Your pupils can hardly keep up. Shrinking and growing, pulsing in time to the constant input. The lights and the breaks blur together in an endless cycle of pleasure as you flex and pose on command, running that program, executing the orders, both from input and from your own muscle memory. “Because that is what you are becoming.” Flash. Becoming. Strobe. “More and more.” Flash. “Every day.” Strobe. “Each time I see you.” Flash. Your head is reeling. You let out a husky chuckle. “Huhuhuhuhuh....” “More muscle, less mind.” Strobe. “Because djurs only care about their muscles. Brutes must grow.” Flash. “You must grow.” “Grow....” Strobe. “Because you are djurisk, brutish. But you are not true djur yet.” You frown at that. “Wadaya mean?” you slur. Flash. “Simply I do not believe you are djur.” Fängsla shrugged his shoulders. “You think too much. Djurs let muscles do the thinking, bodies do the talking, yes? You do not do this. It is shame, really.” A low growl rumbles out your throat as you glower at the camera. Flash. “Good! Good! Show me anger. Show me fire! That is muscle talking. Much better!” Fängsla praised. Strobe. “Muscle must control brain. Muscle must fill head. That is how you become djur.” Flash. “Muscle....” Strobe. “Proud muscleman does not think. He acts!” Flash. Doesn’t ... think.... “Show me muscleman. Show me djur. Be the muscleman. Be the djur!” Strobe. Doesn’t ... think.... Flash. Listen........ Strobe. Be the djur. Flash. “Yes, Sir.....”

Your head felt sorta funny as you left the changing room later that night. You could hardly believe that you’d taken the whole day to pose for this session. Fängsla grinned at you as you emerged in your Underarmor shirt and compression gear. “You are very close,” he praised. “I am sure bosses will want you to shoot commercial soon.” You sway briefly and broaden your stance to steady yourself as you massage your temples with your mitt of a hand. “Shoot the wh--? Oh, right. Yeah. The commercial.” You look back at your now much shorter agent. When did he get so tiny? ... Does it really matter? “Harry, how’re we doing on that, uh ... that ... you know.” Man, is it hard to think. “The timeline?” “Yeah, that,” you utter in a low, husky voice. You want to smile as it vibrates your vocal cords, but you’re just too tired to. Maybe that’s why you’re not thinking straight. ... Yeah, that’s gotta be it. “Smooth as a whistle. Don’t worry about it, kid. I’ve been keeping tabs on things. All you gotta do is keep doing what you’re doing and pick up when I call you. You can leave the rest to me,” he promised. You sigh in relief. That was a major weight off your shoulders. Though, speaking of weights.... “Thanks, Harry. Think you can drop me off at the gym? I need to lift things up and put them down.” You didn’t mean to say it, but a wave of euphoria sweeps over you, the moment the phrase is out of your mouth. You’re so caught up in it that you don’t even notice the broadening grins on both the men beside you. “I look forward to next visit.” Fängsla smiled as he clasped your hand once more. “By the way, I like new haircut. Is very Maskulin, very ... butch is the word, yes?” A dull tingle of pleasure prickles through you, emanating in waves from your chest and crotch. This time, you do smile. “Thanks.” “It is my pleasure. The look is good on you. Good luck. Next time we meet will likely be last, but it is always pleasure having you as subject, yes?” You chuckle at the broken English. “The pleasure is all mine, Fängsla.” “Come on, kid. Let’s get you to that gym,” Harry said. You turn respectfully, albeit a tad eagerly to avoid being noticed as your pecs begin to bounce in anticipation. “Yeah. Let’s go.” Time to go home.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 32

The days have all become a round of mindless repetition now. You eat you portioned meals, drink your protein shake, lift, drink your protein shake, return to the apartment, eat your portioned meals, lift your weights to the pulsing screen and throbbing beat of your speakers massaging your brain, drink your protein shake, train with Duff, sleep, repeat. One or two times, you questioned yourself, your progress, what you were becoming, but a few pumps of your dumbbells, a few words of encouragement from Duff, a few seconds of your recordings, and those doubts were swept away like so much sweat off your brow. You linger in front of every reflective surface you see now, and you flex out of impulse. With the arrival of late spring, you’re able to go out in public with your shorts and tight muscle tee. After all, Sun’s out, guns out. The bar bends under the hefty plates you’ve laid on both sides. You work more in grunts and growls now, hardly speaking, but that’s because you have to focus on your body. Put everything into your body. You smile proudly at your gains, at the power you now exert every time you press against that bar, pushing higher, harder. Up and down. Up and down. Then the pullups. Up and down. Up and down. Squats. Up and down. Up and down. Situps. Up and down. Up and down. You grin as you execute your purpose. “I lift things up and put them down,” you say to yourself. A brute like you doesn’t want to do anything else. And then your bliss is interrupted by the ringing bells from your cell phone. You stare at it for a time, considering just letting it go. But ... you promised to pick up, if it’s Harry. You groan in frustration as you break your daily routine for the first time in you don’t know how long and check the ID. As you suspected, it was Harry. “What is it, Harry?” you growl as you answer the call. “You’re interrupting my workout.” “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back it up, muscleman. Don’t go killing the messenger.” Your head reels a moment and you stumble briefly, then grunt as you shake your head to clear it. “Why would I want to kill you?” There was a period of dead silence on the other end. “Harry?” “It ... was a figure of speech,” Harry finally responded. “Oh.” You flex your pecs impatiently. Your body still wants to move. “So, what’d you call me for?” “The client loved your photos from the last session. What they don’t love is how pale your skin is.” “And your point is...?” “I booked you an appointment at a tanning salon. I’ll be picking you up tomorrow at twelve thirty. Make sure you’re ready to go, muscleman.” Once again, the world spun around you. “I ... understand. I’ll ... I’ll, uh, ... be ready. Yeah....” You liked your skin, but, uh ... whatever the client wants. Yeah. You’re bound by contract, after all. So, what the client wants, you want. ... Yeah. ... Have to follow instructions. “Good. I’ll see you soon. Keep up the great work, kid.” “Will do,” you low absently. The weights are already calling you back. You don’t even bother to end the call as you return to your exercise. Can’t allow yourself to lose the pump, after all. Real Musclemen love the pump.

“And I’m a real muscleman now,” you mutter to yourself as that pleasant haze returns again. “I lift things up and put them down....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 34

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

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

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 35

You’re a linebacker, tensing down at the starting line, just waiting for the call to crash into your enemies. Your jockstrap and cup hold your manhood securely as you feel the tight hug of the lycra in your pants and the weight of your shoulder pads clinging to your bulky frame. You’re a brick wall, and you’re not about to let anyone past you as you enter a three-point stance staring through the bars along your helmet’s guard. A few flashes later, and suddenly you’re a grinning, happy-go-lucky beach bum in a speedo. You feel the volleyball resting casually between your vascular arm and your hip as you stare into that beautiful lens and chuckle emptily at the sensation of sand between your toes. Sun’s out, guns out. It’s good to show off. Next thing you know, you’re up at bat, ready to slam into that ball as it comes flying over the plate. Your hands clench tightly to the wooden bat as your gloves creak from the pressure of rubbing against the varnished wood. A thick baseball helmet adorns your crown, with an extension of the ear to protect against any blows to that area. You can almost hear someone whispering, “Pose for the cameras....” So, that’s what you do. Because that’s what good musclemen do. And you’re a good muscleman, just doing as you’re told as the flash empties your mind more and more, making it that much easier to just ... do. One more flash, and you’re a goalie who’s just made a saving catch. The ball is hoisted over your head as you prepare to throw it back into the field. The next moment, you’re posing victoriously over the ball, with your heavy cleats resting atop the blended cover of polyester and cotton that forms the outer layer of the soccer ball. Your jersey clings to all the right places as you grin for your fans. Then you’re suddenly feeling heavier as you hunch your shoulders and clutch the rugby ball close. Your compression shorts cling to your legs and your dark jersey shines with every shutter from the camera. The game must be won, the ball passed on to another teammate. Another flash, and suddenly you’re shaking hands with a member of the opposite team. You feel the surge of anger at this, but the voice whispers again. “Sport requires fairness. You must show respect.” Must show respect. You release your crushing grip and look at him with a placid expression, neither friendly nor hostile. After all, you’re both just competitors. Then, suddenly, you’re standing holding a long metal pole with a woven net at its top. A casual glance reveals a heavy white ball that holds the container down. Your pectorals jut out against the material of your jersey as you stare with just a hint of a smile and smoldering eyes. The voice whispers praise, and you grin as your body trembles with pleasure. Suddenly, you’re back at the gym, pumping a massive pair of dumbbells and loving every second of it. Your posing strap holds comfortably to you as you shift and pose in front of the mirror, never once stopping your reps as you maintain your form. It’s so good to just lift and pump, lift and pump. Flash. Lift the weights up. Strobe. Lowering down. Flash. Up. Strobe. Down. “Huhuhuh,” you chuckle to yourself as you retreat to that place deep in your mind and let your muscles squeeze the thought right out of you. ‘I’m a good muscleman,’ you think as the reps continue. ‘I lift things up and put them down.’ You come to in the gym at your living quarters, still lifting, still staring. Your protein shake is on a cup holder off to the side, waiting for you to take another chug. You chuckle again as you notice the bulge pressing against your posing strap. “Big meat,” you low to yourself, then return to your vapid gaping at the mirror. “That’s right, muscleman, because musclemen are meatheads.” “I am a muscleman. Musclemen are meatheads. I am a meathead.” “Good muscleman. Good meathead. Now get back to work.” You happily obey.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 36

You lumber through your apartment door with a dopey grin on your face. It feels so good to be back. The two weeks were such a blur, but it was a happy blur. And if you were happy, then there was no need to question it. Leave the money and stuff to Harry to manage. You drop your suitcases easily by the door and stomp your way to the kitchen for your protein shake and a healthy meal. You crash down into the reinforced steel chair by your new dining table and start forking your typical lunch of brown rice and chicken, while the siren call of the blender roars through your ears. Musclemen drink their shakes, and yours would be ready soon. It didn’t take long to finish. You rise about halfway through your meal, when the motor finally dies. You don’t even wait to start chugging the drink, and make your way to your chair to resume your meal. After all, muscle machines need fuel to run, to produce more muscle. You pull out your phone and check for messages, noticing some new voicemails. You stick it on speaker and continue to eat as you cue up the first. “Hey, lil’bro. Duff here. Just wanted to be the first one to welcome ya back. Been pumping at the gym a lot, since you left. The guys all miss you. Been wondering where you’ve been at. Think I had to remind a few of them a good three or four times, before they finally got it.” Duff’s dimwitted chuckle reverberated through your ears, and you couldn’t help but join in. What a bunch of dumbasses. “I’ve been making some gains of my own, since you left. Hank’s been helpin’ me out again, pumping my brain with anatomy as much as he does with lead, so I can pass my classes. Let’s hook up again at the gym for old times’ sake. Then we can hit up that restaurant for some teriyaki. My treat. Anyways, gotta go, bro. Those weights are calling my name.” He laughed a deep, husky bark of a laugh, then spoke again. “See you soon, lil’bro.” A big grin crosses your face as you think back to all those late night gym sessions with your best bro. Duff really was a great training partner. The guy would go pretty far, once he got his training certification and graduated. Then he could help build other muscle machines. You casually shovel another bite of your meal and chew as you access the second voicemail. “Kid, it’s Hank. You’d better not have slacked off during those two weeks. I’ll whoop your ass, if you did,” he growled. You couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Good old Hank, always looking out for you. “No, Sir,” you mutter absently, after swallowing your food. “Anyway, the gym’s waiting for you. So am I. Don’t flake out on me. You know what’ll happen, if you do.”  Like you’d ever do that to him. You can’t help but smile at the concern you know is hidden under that gruff bravado. The man was harsh, but after all that time under his tutelage, you’d come to understand that elusive language all musclemen seem to share on a subtler level. Every word, every action held a hidden meaning. With those few short sentences, the man had communicated an ocean of questions and concerns ranging from diet to health and dedication to maintaining ties. “I missed you, too, Hank,” you say as you smile at your phone. Of course, neither of you would say that to your faces. Musclemen don’t do mushy. They banter. They bluster. Their muscles do the talking and the thinking. Every word said and not said is registered and interpreted in that secret language that’s becoming more and more natural to you with each passing day. You pop a double bicep pose and flex, grinning in that way that says, ‘I am healthy. I am happy. I am ready to return to work.’ “I want you here bright and early tomorrow morning. No excuses, understand?” You chuckle to yourself. Why put off for tomorrow the workout that can be done today? Besides, you’d like to see that stony face surprised for once, and what better way than to come unexpected? “I’ll see you then. Don’t be late.” The message clicked shut and your smile widened. You can’t wait to throw him off his game, just once. The third message had Harry’s familiar voice blaring out the speakers. “Kid, that last shoot was incredible! The camera loves you, and so did the photographers. They said you were one of their best models, bar none! I’ve got some paperwork I’ll need you to sign a little later for some last transactions and a few formalities involving finances. I’ll drop by the gym, and we can take care of it during your rest period. I’m telling you, big things are coming, kid. BIG!” You chuckle as you lift up your bicep and flex one more time, watching the muscle strain and pop against your skin. “Yes, they are, Harry,” you agree. “Yes, they are....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 39

You never thought wearing your jock strap could ever feel so good, but after spending a good couple of days in the hospital in little more than a gown, it felt so right being reunited with one of your favorite undergarments. You pat the pouch fondly as you look down at how full it is. It actually feels almost snug now as it cradles your privates. The rest of your clothes were a little tricky with the bandaging and dizzy spells, but you managed, with a little help from a couple of nurses. Duff grinned at you from the receptionist’s desk. “Hey, lil’bro. What’s up?” You chuckle. “Oh, you know, the usual.” “Now, remember to keep resting for at least another week,” the receptionist said. “The doctor left those instructions specifically for you. Give that bruising enough time to heal, before you even think  about using those weights again.” “That’s gonna be a little hard,” Duff snarked. You couldn’t help but chuckle yourself. “Lifting’s about all we ever really think about.” You both grin at her cheekily. “We lift things up and put them down,” you recite together in perfect unison, then laugh again. The receptionist rolled her eyes, but held her tongue and proffered a clipboard your way. “Sign on the line below, and we’ll release you to your friend’s care.” You quickly sign, then you’re home free, walking to a large charcoal-gray van and the familiar towering shape of Hank. He smacks you on the back and smiles. “Welcome back, muscleman.” “Good to be back, Sir,” you say with a mock salute. “Smartass,” Hank said gruffly, even as he smirked. “No, Sir. I’m a total dumbass. Ask anybody in town,” you say with a smile. “Huhuhuh,” you chuckle. “All right, dumbass, let’s get you home, then.” You smile. “Sounds good.” “You and I are going to have to have a long talk, later,” Hank said as he pulled open the sliding door effortlessly. “There are some things I need to iron out with you.” “I thought iron was for lifting.” Hank stared silently at you for a few moments. “Was that a joke?” he finally asked. “No, Sir. It’s healthy for a muscleman like me to pump iron. I love to lift things up and put them down. It’s right for me to lift things up and put them down. I need to lift things up and put them down.” You know you’re repeating yourself, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It all feels so good to say. It takes a few moments, before you realize your arms are tensing as your pectorals pop back and forth. “Recovery first,” Hank insisted. “Then we’ll see about the lifting.” “But--.” “No buts,” Hank growled. “That’s an order.” You sigh dejectedly. “Yes, Sir.” “Now let’s get you settled in.” A few moments later, you’re sitting in the middle of the bench seat behind the driver and passenger’s chairs. Hank smiles into the rear view mirror as Duff slides into the front and clicks his seat belt home. “I’ve got a little treat for you, though, since you can’t lift right now. Call it a consolation prize,” Hank said. He pressed a few buttons and suddenly the vehicle reverberates with a familiar whirring as the speakers kick in. Your mind immediately slows as a big grin plasters itself all over your face. Then the screens mounted on the backs of the driver and front passenger seat both flicker on, revealing a pair of spirals and images flickering faster than your severely retarded thinking process can track. “Now just listen to the recording and watch the movie, muscleman. I made them especially for you.” “Yes, ... Sir....” you drone as you fade off into the nothingness again and revel in it. You grin, unable to help yourself as you murmur, “It’s good to obey.”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 40

You chuckle as you stare into the mirror and flex, posing with your muscles. Words like musclehead, dumber, lift, don’t think, obey,” lick so gently through your earbuds as you grin blankly at your reflection and it looks back. “So, what do you think, Lil’bro?” Duff asked with an equally vapid grin as he posed next to you. “I don’t think. I flex,” you repeat automatically, instantly, like the muscle machine you are. “Needs more pop in the pectorals. Show them the pump, but don’t make it look like you’re trying. It needs to be natural,” Hank instructed. You immediately breathe deeply, thrusting the upper portion of your chest forward, even as you keep your smile plastered. A thrill of pleasure rushes through you as you feel the familiar tightening in your crotch. “I am a natural meathead bodybuilder,” you say, even as the recording continues to whisper its affirmations of agreement into your ears, stimulating that now familiar numbness in your head that settled in so easily, after the accident. It was like that blow to the head just ... made everything so much clearer, so much easier to just focus and let go. Your eyes drifted briefly over to the corner of the mirror, where a hint of movement pulled your gaze. Harry stood in front of a man in military fatigues and a sweaty olive-green shirt that clung to his frame as he mounted the bar and slowly sat up. A set of earbuds sprang from his own ears as he stared ahead and rose swiftly to his feet, clicking his heels together as he offered a sudden salute. His face was clean-shaven and his dark hair had been reduced to mere stubble as he promptly dropped to the ground and began methodically performing a series of core exercises to the agent’s barked commands. You notice a slightly baggier waistband and pant leg as Harry shifts his stance and folds his arms, revealing the hints of mounds that are starting to press against the fabric in the sleeves. Then your eyes are back on the military man and his head. The words induction cut flash through your brain, followed by a dim memory of a dark ponytail and a sweaty puffing face as you worked out in front of your television screen at home. You stop as realization suddenly strikes and you point at the man in the mirror, before lowing, “Lil’bro.” “Not yet,” Hank said gruffly. “Commercial first, muscleman.” “Yes, Sir,” you repeat as the strange urge leaves you and you resume your posing, completely oblivious to the once interesting cadet.

You shudder in pleasure at the sound of the heavy metal doors shutting firmly behind you. The bells went off as the take finished and you turned back to see the grinning man in the yellow shirt holding the door open for you. “That was brilliant!” he praised you. You shrug, letting the plaid button-up shirt you’re wearing ride up against your thick pecs, while the tight shorts cling in just the right places to leave you comfortable as you show off the powerful muscles and well-developed tan that you’ve gained. “Not a big deal. I got a lot of training,” you say as you lapse back into your normal deep tone from the heavy Austrian accent you’d been pressing before. “Besides, I really have just been lifting up and putting down for the last few months. I was just saying it like it is for me.” The two of you step back onto the set and you smile at the sight of a smirking Hank next to a sleeker man with well-toned muscle. “You killed it, kid. Great job,” he praised. You beam at the compliment and look questioningly at the man staring woodenly ahead beside your coach. “This is Brutus,” Hank said. “He’s the owner of this new gym chain and my future partner. When people are ready to take the next step in building, he’ll refer them to my gym and we’ll be able to transfer membership seamlessly.” He clapped Brutus on the back. “Isn’t that right, Brutus?” “Yes. We’ll introduce them to a world of fitness, until they are comfortable and confident with their bodies,” Brutus said with a smile. “Then, when the time is right, we’ll take the big fish and put them into a bigger pond, so the smaller ones don’t feel threatened or intimidated. Jeff here has been waiting for a chance to get big for a while. He’s one of the main reasons we came up with this scheme in the first place,” he said, pointing to the man in the yellow shirt. Jeff blushed. “It’s kinda flattering to think of it that way. You’ve both been so kind to me.” “Just wait till we put you through your paces with your trainer. Then we’ll see how kind you think we are,” Hank said with a hearty laugh. “He’s received training in all the most recent and efficient techniques, including some of Hank’s own unique program. You’ll be in good hands,” Brutus assured Jeff. “Who?” you ask. “Who else?” Hank asked with a smirk. “Duff, of course.” “Duff? But I thought--.” “He’s accelerated, and he already earned his certification. Based on my recommendation, Brutus is confident he’ll do a fine job.” “Yes, I’m confident he’ll do a fine job,” Brutus parroted in a strangely chipper sort of voice. “So, uh,” you say somewhat sheepishly, “can I use the equipment now?” Brutus shrugged. “Why not? It’s just models here today, anyways, and we have plenty of footage to edit for the commercial.” You grin as your pecs begin to bounce in excitement. “Awesome. Let me show you the basics, Jeff....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 41

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

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

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 43

“So, you see, kids, bodybuilding isn’t just a game. Just like any other job, it takes hard work, dedication, discipline, and endurance. It’s helped my career as a professional model immensely, but it’s not always the easiest job to manage. If you have the will and the networking, you can and will go far in the industry. Otherwise, well, there are always other options available. In fact, my good friend Duff is about to explain one of those alternate paths now. Let’s give him a big round of applause, shall we?” You smile as you watch Duff walk out onto the stage. You were quite pleased with yourself over that little speech, and you hadn’t even cursed once. Hank would be so proud. You give your friend a clap on the shoulder and whisper a quick, “go get ‘em,” before leaving the stage. You smile as you eye the toned, muscular shape of your lil’bro, Charlie. He stood rigidly at perfect attention in his military fatigues and sandy shirt. A pair of specially crafted tactical glasses obscured what you were certain would be absolutely unseeing eyes. You chuckle to yourself. “Come on, soldier. Let’s get you something to drink.” Charlie followed without question as you strode over to the drinks table and pulled out two bottles of Gatorade. You had one of the bottles to him. “Bottoms up.” “Sir, yes, Sir,” Charlie mumbled as he snapped the cap open and gulped the contents of the bottle in one go. You soon follow suit. “That ROTC program’s done you good,” you comment. “I will start instructing at the start of next year. It is good to instruct others, good to train the next generation of soldiers,” Charlie replied. “It is what my commanding officer commanded me.” “What about the recruiting office?” “I will train for another year first, as instructed. I must be prepared. I must become a perfect soldier.” You smile broadly. One more year helping your little bro get big. That had to be one of the best presents you could ask for. “And we’ll help you reach that goal,” you say. “With you all the way, lil’bro.” “Thank you, Sir,” he says. You sigh and roll your eyes in resignation. He never could tell the difference in trance. You were the same way, sometimes with Harry. Some days, it was almost like you could see a piece of Hank in him. And that piece just ... demanded your attention, made you want to flex and grow and flex and lift and flex and ... and.... You blink blearily at the strange tapping on your shoulder. Slowly, Duff’s grin came into view and you scowled. “I went into trance again, didn’t I?” “Yup,” Duff smirked. “You’re doing that a lot, lately.” “I can’t help it,” you protest weakly, even as you raise an arm and flex your rippling bicep. “It feels so good.” “How’s Charlie coming along?” “Lil’bro’s doing okay. He says he’s still got a year, before he tries joining, so we’ve got time to bulk him up right.” Duff grinned. “Good.” “How’re things at the new gym?” “Busy. Business is booming. Seeing all those men pumping up like that, it is good to build their muscles.” “They will Lift things up and put them down,” you low. Both of your watches beep and your cellphones go off simultaneously. At that moment, the both of you stand rigidly, as if you were struck by twin bolts of lightning. “Time to report to coach,” you drone. “Time to lift,” Duff continues. “Time to train,” you both low together as you swagger side by side in that perfectly synchronized pace, almost like a march. “Time to obey.”

From Textbooks To...

This story is a birthday gift I wrote for my writer friend @mrcavanaughtf. After letting him have it as an exclusive present for a few days and getting permission, I’m sharing it to the blog as well. This story was written with two separate paths of transformation and I have included both given my indecisiveness.

On the eve of his 27th birthday, Henry Cavanaugh was quite excited for the festivities that were planned. No, he wasn’t planning on having a lavish party with all of his friends and family. Given the threat of the pandemic and his busy job as a teacher, he was just extremely eager to have a day all for himself. The concept of just relaxing all day, playing video games, and not marking papers was just way too appealing for the transformation enthusiast to pass up. 

However, upon a knock on his door, he had no idea that a fellow transformation writer had very different plans for him. As he greeted the delivery man and signed for the package, he grew incredibly confused as to what was held within the bulky box. With the jet black box and gold ribbon not providing any details as to who sent it, Henry curiously opened the box to discover the contents. While peering into the box, he was greeted to the sight of a weathered 50-lbs dumbbell and a used football. He couldn’t understand why someone would waste such lovely packaging on such ratty materials, so he curiously rummaged through the wrapping paper in search for some sort of note. 

At last, his fingers finally scraped against the edge of an envelope that he then quickly pulled out of the box. The note itself was fairly ornate with gorgeous typography and a gold-lined envelope, impressing the man, yet leaving him more confused by the condition of the items sent. Eager to uncover the source of the gift, he pulled the note out of the envelope and tossed it aside before opening it up and reading it.

Dear Mr. Cavanaugh,

I heard it was your birthday and I was eager to share this gift with you. I have gone through great lengths to acquire these items for you, so I hope you enjoy this. With these two items, they offer you a brand new life to experience for yourself for the next year. 

I’m well aware of your interest in both football and working out, so I have prepared two lives that would each appeal to one of these facets of your personality. I’m a big fan of free will, so I’ll leave the decision in your hands. Once you have decided, please rip the card in half and grab the item of your choice. Upon this sequence of events, you will find yourself transported into your new life for the next year. I am quite excited to see what you choose for yourself. I’m absolutely sure that you’ll enjoy either choice you made.

Here’s to a transformative 27th year!

Sincerely,

Soul-Controller

Now understanding what was going on, Henry grew excited about the possibilities. As he looked at the dumbbells and the football, he grew a bit anxious about trying to decide. He had a soft spot for all of the football jocks that he had often spent so much time writing his stories about. But on the flipside, he couldn’t resist the potential of becoming a completely buff gym-goer too.

Upon a few more minutes of contemplation, he made his mind up. Following the instructions, he ripped up the note, took a deep breath, and grasped onto the...

Dumbbells

As his hands grasped onto the weathered dumbbell, Henry grew more and more excited as he felt a burst of wind slowly surround his body. It was incredible and awe-inducing, but before he could react further, his body grew incredibly light-headed. Within seconds, Henry fell unconscious as his soul was pulled from his body and sent to his new one.

Despite what felt like seconds, Henry gasped for air as he forcefully returned to a conscious state. Worn out and gasping for breath, he couldn’t help but compare the experience to what he assumed being defibrillated would feel like. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he looked around the room he now found himself in. While he was previously in his living room, Henry was absolutely positive that he now found himself in some sort of home gym. Upon looking at the sea of expensive gym equipment, he knew that he wasn’t some beginner bodybuilder. No, this was the home gym of someone who made a career in a gym. Henry walked around the room, chuckling to himself as he stared at the dumbbell collection and took note of the missing 50-lbs dumbbell that was now seemingly laying on the floor of his living room. As he looked up from the equipment, he looked in shock as he found himself in a large mirrored wall that informed him of his new identity. 

By the sight he saw in the mirror, Henry knew that his friend actually did provide him a life that he had always longed for. Staring back at Henry was the striking visage of bodybuilder and model Ryan Terry. For years, Henry had thirsted over the British jock and now he found himself in the body of his long-time crush! While looking his body up and down, his new face had a look of awe as he stared at the intense musculature he now possessed.

Henry couldn’t help but chuckle in his deeper voice as he realized that he now got the chance to live as Ryan for the next year. In his excitement, the new equipment he possessed from within his sweatpants quickly began to harden. This problem was not at all remedied when Henry began to throw up various poses that showed off Ryan’s rippling muscles. Now incredibly curious, he quickly began to throw himself into a workout to test out his new body. With his original body, Henry was still quite muscular, but as Ryan, Henry’s strength was at a whole other level. It was shocking just how much more weight Henry had to add to the barbell before he even broke a sweat. 

After racking his weights and heading into the living room, he heard the sound of Ryan’s wife cooking up some food in the kitchen. With his pants still tented from just how hot he found his new body, he figured that he might be able to get some relief with his new wife. Henry was sure that she wouldn’t mind having a bit of fun upstairs and admiring his sweaty and jacked body…

As they headed upstairs, Henry couldn’t help but have a wide grin spread on his face. He knew that he’d enjoy being Ryan, but he wasn’t too sure that he would be willing to leave such a hunky body. Once the year is almost over, Henry might just have to ask his friend to see if he could get an extension in this body...

Footballs

As his hands grasped onto the used football, Henry grew more and more excited as he felt a burst of wind slowly surround his body. It was truly magical and exciting for the man, but before he could react further, his body grew incredibly light-headed. Within seconds, Henry fell unconscious as his soul was pulled from his body and sent to his new one.

Despite what felt like only seconds, Henry gasped for air as he forcefully returned to a conscious state. While he was gasping for breath, Henry couldn’t help but compare the experience to what he assumed being defibrillated would feel like. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he looked around the room he now found himself in. While he was previously in his living room, Henry was absolutely positive that he now found himself in someone else’s house. Upon inspecting the room, he found himself surrounded by countless football memorabilia. Interestingly enough, one of the glass cases that was supposed to house a used game football was now completely empty. At this point, Henry grew concerned about whether he was now just some football fan in their man cave or a player with an intense respect for the game. Eager to figure out, Henry searched in the pockets of his shorts and pulled out a cell phone. Quickly opening the phone with face ID, Henry opened up the camera app and learned just who he had become for the next year...

Reflected back to Henry was the adorable face of former Bears quarterback Mitch Trubisky. As a smile spread across his face, Henry couldn’t help but blush as he realized that he was now in the body of a man that he had quickly gained a crush for. While looking into the camera and making a series of facial expressions, it was clear why Henry had taken so kindly to the football star. With his hunky appearance and approachable personality, he was quite the man to be jealous of. Despite his admiration for the player, Henry soon remembered that Mitch’s former team didn’t have the same feelings for him. He suddenly recalled an article he read a few weeks ago stating that Trubisky had left the team and signed with the Buffalo Bills. 

Upon remembering this tidbit, Henry grew excited about the possibilities. Given that he was now on a new team, there was no real pressure about keeping up appearances. Henry could just be himself and make friends on the team naturally, rather than having to try to fit in with his teammates if he was still signed with the Bears.

As Trubisky, Henry was sure that he could make waves in the young jock. He definitely had the potential of becoming a major star in the sport, so it was quite unfortunate that he could never break through. With his mind beginning to run more and more rampant, Henry started to ponder if this is just what Trubisky needed to have his big break. Given Henry’s incredible interest in the sport despite living in another country, Henry was incredibly motivated to make an impact during his year-long excursion as Mitch. It also didn’t help that the thought of Henry leading the team to victory and possibly even a Super Bowl left him incredibly turned on. 

Although he knew that Mitch had a girlfriend, Henry couldn’t help but begin to think about the possibilities of growing closer to another Bills player, Josh Allen. Henry also had a slight attraction to that quarterback as well, so his daydream fantasies grew more sexual. As he laid back in the chair, Henry’s hand moved underneath his pants as he began to fantasize more about trying to get intimate with the other hunky QB after a grueling practice. Surely, there might be some tension on Josh’s part as Mitch arrives as a new QB option, but if Henry could help alleviate that via some physical intimacy, he wouldn’t be opposed if it helped the team morale. 

As Henry began to stroke his new equipment and fall deeper into his lust, he couldn’t have been happier with the new body he had been given. Based on just his daydreams alone, Henry knew that there are tons of possibilities while being in Mitch’s body. With each passing stroke, Henry grew determined to not let a single opportunity go to waste for the next year!

Like what you read? Please consider signing up for my Patreon to read more stories and support my work.