Undo Sequel - Tumblr Posts

Undone

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Mature for language.

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I’m sharp. Folks used to say I was the nosiest boy they’d ever known. I’d ask so many questions I could probably annoy the devil himself into letting me into heaven, just to get me to shut up. I’d look at things, wonder how they work, break ‘em apart in my head, then put them back together again. You know, sort of like an overhaul or a restoration. Which is why I knew something was up with my BIG BRO when he started skipping classes.

Sometimes, ... well, it sounded almost like there were two people living in his room, if you get what I mean. Sometimes I’d be talking to the old Big Bro, and he’d be bright and cheery and talk all that psychology bullshit. Other times, he’d just eat and drone about how he needed to go to the gym.

Fuck, even mentioning it’s getting me all pumped.

Big Bro would be so proud.

Anyway, yeah, Big Bro started bulking up hella fast. Like, he threw everything into getting jacked. Bro got so swole, he got recruited personally by the school’s football team. It was just like those machines I used to mess with. He just ... changed, built his bod into a fucking machine, even got to change his voice. It’s a lot deeper now. He likes to go by Dick, says it makes him feel more like a man.

Gotta say, when I look at him now, Richard definitely doesn’t come to mind. Bro got hella huge hella quick. Now he’s just a big dumb Dick. Huhuh. 

Yeah, ....

Anyway, bro got into all this really loud music. Like, it kept blasting through our doors, and I guess it was okay after a while, cause he figured out how to keep it muffled n’stuff, but ... Idunno. Guess it’s sorta weird.

He stayed nice, though. Bro never insulted us or hurt us, well, except when we were messing around, talkin’ shit. And we’d just sort of throw back and forth like that. Nerd, jock, bro, geek, musclehead. It was sort of like a ritual. And we’d just smile and laugh about it, each calling the other the opposite of what we were.

And the music kept playing.

And I kept laughing.

I mean, our rooms are right across from each other, so yeah, it’s sort of natural that we hang out.

It’s natural to hang out.

Cause bros hang out....

One day, he caught me doing some of my home exercises. Family sent me a new challenge to help build core strength. It’s too easy to build up that freshman ten into a twenty and grow from there, if you know what I’m saying. This was something to help keep it in check while I worked on projects and homework.

Big Bro just smiled and was like, “Dude, just come to the gym with me. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Too much work man,” I replied. And I felt almost ... bad telling him that, but it was the truth.

Big Bro grinned. “This weekend, then. You, me, the gym. Trust me, you’re gonna love it.”

“You’re not gonna let me back out of this, are you?”

The grin widened. “Nope.”

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The rhythm at the gym is sort of addicting. Weights just clank and clank and clank, and the body drives, and you can just ... zonk out, clear your head, you know? And it’s so damn easy. First time we went, we spent an hour there. An hour, and it felt like thirty minutes.

Big bro chuckled. “Told you you were a musclehead.”

“Shut up, nerd,” I shot back. “Don’t expect this to become a habit.”

...

It became a habit.

It became more than a habit.

When I started growing, Big Bro took me into his room, showed me some of the stuff he likes to use to help him grow, build his strength. Promised it’d do the same for me if I just listened, bro. 

And I don’t know what it was, but ... I did listen. I listened to my Big Bro, and it was like ... Idunno, like someone turned the knobs in my brain, switched the radio frequency, you know?

I still remember the first time I dropped that shaker cup I’d been using in the kitchen. The word slipped out of my mouth before I could even think. I ... hadn’t been doing much thinking in the mornings, anyway, really.

“Fuck....”

The others gaped at me.

Big Bro just grinned.

Money changed hands in front of me, and all I could do was stare as I picked up my drink and guzzled it. I knew the money was about me, but for some reason, I didn’t--no, I couldn’t care. I had a schedule to keep. I shuffled, nah, more lumbered, I guess. I throw my weight around a lot now. Anyway, I grabbed my gym bag and raised the shoulder strap.

And that’s when it happened.

RRrrrrrrrrrip!

The shirt sleeve tore at the pit.

And like my reps at the gym, I couldn’t just stop at one. My brain acted on a signal, like someone clicked a remote or something to start me up.

Rip. Rip. Rip. Rip.

Rip. Rip. Rip. Rip.

Rip. Rip. Rip. Rip.

I remember my chest shaking, sort of heaving at the sight. I was crying for some reason, but I didn’t get it. My chest stuttered and shook. My room was a mess from all the sleeves I’d shredded.

“Huhuhuhuh.”

A heavy hand clapped my shoulder. “That’s it, little bro. Let it out, meathead.”

I didn’t understand what he meant then, but the exchange was so common, so deeply ingrained by this point, that I responded without even thinking. “Turd.” It was the first time I’d used that insult. I don’t know whether I even meant it. I usually called him a nerd. Big Bro calls it a ... slip of some kind, some fancy German name or whatever.

Instead of getting mad, he ... sneered. “Shithead.”

And I went. Names I’d heard in the locker room when we changed. Pieces from videos he’d shown me with his teammates messing around. All those deep voices stabbed into my brain like a bullet in a gun barrel.

And I fired as soon as I was loaded, all cylinders. “Fuck face.”

“Dumbbell.”

“Numbnuts.”

“Dumbass.”

“Dickwadd.”

“Nimrod.”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

“Bro!”

I don’t know how long we kept shouting that word. I just ... couldn’t say anything else. Couldn’t think anything else.

Before I knew it, we were wrestling on the floor, crashing into my bed, the desk, the wall. My chest heaved when he finally pinned me. My shirt was in tatters.

“Little bro?” Big Bro’s voice was husky as he breathed in my ear.

“Yeah?” I huffed in turn.

“I win.”

“Yeah, bro.” I breathed hard against the carpet. My chest pushed me off the floor, despite the pressure Big Bro placed on me. “You win.”

“Good meathead.”

I was too tired to care. “Whatever, bro.”

“That’s right. Whatever I say.”

-------------------------------------------

Big Bro said a lot. Not in words, but in actions. And me? I followed. We spend a lot of time in his room now. I like the music now. Big Bro gave me a copy to blast in my room. It annoys the hell out of the other apartments, but we keep it in the hours, so they can’t do shit to us. Been seeing a few more of them at the gym lately.

I shaved my head down to stubble. Just feels better that way. I wear mostly tanks now. And pants, well ... pants’re interesting. Let’s just say Big Bro’s not the only big dick around the apartment anymore. Got me some ink on the shoulder. Makes me look more badass.

I step out of my room after another runthrough of the track. My head’s nice and fuzzy, and I’m buzzed, like when I hang out with Big Bro and the team at the bar. I’m still not as big as he is, but I’m stacked, and I’m still growing.

Bro says I should try out for the football team. I don’t really know. I mean, football is...

Football is....

Football is an awesome sport for a meathead jock to play. Meatheads should love football. Meatheads should play football. Meatheads should--

“Bro, you okay?”

I blink. My hands are clasped over my belt buckle. I feel the pressure of my bulge against the crotch of my pants. Bro offered me a jockstrap to hold things in place. Promised me it’d feel better than boxers or briefs.

...

Might have to take him up on that offer.

Big bro’s tank strains against his pecs and traps. His scalp is shaved, like mine. His skin is smooth, like mine. His arms are like pythons, and I find myself wanting that the longer I stare at them. I want those veins. I want those muscles. I want that strength. I want. I want--!

“Fuck, bro. I wanna go to the gym.”

Big Bro chuckles. “What about your meeting with the school councilor?”

“Fuck that shit, bro. I need to work out!”

Big Bro grins at me and fishes a jock strap out from his pocket. The plastic wrap is still on it. I reach for the material, but he pulls it away.

“Ah-ah,” he teases. “First, what are you?”

The buzz is still heavy. The need is still there. And I know what he wants me to say.

What I need to say.

What I should always say.

My eyes are hooded as I respond in a low, dull voice. “A big dumb jock bro. A big dumb jock bro needs a big dumb jock to hold his meat.”

Big Bro grins. “That’s right. Good little bro.” He hands me the jockstrap. “Jock like you shouldn’t be in engineering....”

“I belong in the gym and on the field with my bros.”

Big Bro sneers. “Good little jock bro.”

I nod. The tears stopped a long time ago. A dazed smile pulls at my lips. “Besides, being a jock is fuckin’ cool.”

“Fuck yeah, it is, little bro.”

I nod again, like a beefy bobblehead. “Fuck, yeah....”