Credit To @willpeter For This Image.

Credit to @willpeter for this image.

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Cracks

You know how deserts get all dry and craggy, sometimes? Like, you know, an old riverbed that dries up, and then the clay gets baked under the sun. It’s hard, bro. Super packed. Dense. But when all that sun hits it, all that heat, the moisture just ... disappears. And because of that, the ground literally breaks apart.

It’s a cool effect and all. I just ... didn’t expect it to happen to me.

Nah, bro. I’m cool. I’m not dehydrated or anything like that. I mean ... well, let me start from the beginning. While I can still think straight.

See, I didn’t used to be this muscle man you see now. I used to be smarter, maybe a little pudgy even. I’d play videogames, watch anime, read books, do stuff that ... I guess used to matter’s the best way I can put it. They still do to other people, but to me, they just ... don’t anymore.

I found this old shirt in a bargain bin when I was looking for some new bed clothes. I knew I could never rock it outside, but in my house....

Well, what bro doesn’t fantasize about being a muscular beast, bro?

And it draped the way I always liked with night shirts.

So, here’s what happens, bro. I take this big thing home and I sleep with it, right? And the first night I’m wearing it, I have this dream, like ... totally awesome. I’m in a huge jungle with thick trees that shoot for miles and miles into the sky. Lots of leaves branch out in the canopy, and it’s green as far as the eye can see. I’m standing next to this giant lake, and I smile and dive in. It feels so good with all that heat and humidity to have something wet on my skin. And I walk out in the end, and I’m smiling.

I laugh. It feels nice. And then, I wake up. My arms feel sore, but I blame that on the carrying I had to do the day before. Don’t know why I did it, but bro, when I went to my bathroom mirror, I flexed there. Just stood and looked at myself and flexed. I guess I liked to imagine what I’d look like with all that muscle, bro. You know what I mean? Like, what it’d be like to actually be a real Mister America.

I posed until I felt dizzy. Finally, I got into the shower and got ready for the day.

But bro, Idunno, something about this shirt is just ... addicting. I had to wear it, bro. Like, as soon as I got home, I was itching to put it on again, to imagine it draping over my pecs, my stomach, brushing my back as I move with broad muscular legs that let the world know I was a heavy muscle bro.

The dreams kept coming, and I kept flexing every morning. Some days, it was my arms that ached. Sometimes my chest. Sometimes, my legs. I liked the fantasy of it. I didn’t care how weird it was that the dream kept repeating. Bro’s gotta do his reps, after all, am I right? Huhuhuh.

The real changes didn’t start till one day when I was at work, though. One of my old work buddies looked real hard at me while I was at my work station. And I could just ... feel his eyes on me the whole time. It was kind of creepy. Then at lunch, he up and comes to me and compliments me! He even asked me if I’ve been working out lately.

Now, I was surprised, bro, like, taken off guard, ya know? So, ... I couldn’t help it, bro, and it was normal, it really was. I just sort of went, “Uhhhhhhhhhhh....” without even thinking about it. I mean, I followed it up. I wasn’t stupid or anything. And I’m still not stupid, just ... thinking different is all. But yeah, I was just like, “Uh, no...?”

Bro raised a brow at me. “Then you’ve got to share your diet with me, man.”

I shrugged. “No diet. I’m just ... doing what I always do.” I blushed. I mean, it was the first positive compliment of that sort I’d ever gotten. I’d been complimented on office work and the good I’d done there. But, never for my body.

It was ... nice.

...

Nah, bro. It was fuckin’ sweet!

And I wanted more.

That night, I took a real close look at myself in the mirror. And, come to think of it, the bro was right. I did look different. It wasn’t much. A little less chub under the chin, a little more neck between the shoulders, a little less flab to jiggle around my arms when I shook them. It was all there.

And I wanted more.

Sorry, did I already say that, bro? Yeah, I do that a lot lately. I’m ... kind of a dumbass. Huhuh. But bro, it’s totally worth the tradeoff.

That night, when I slept, I was still in the forest, but things were ... different. It wasn’t so humid anymore, and the trees looked a little ... wilty. Not the ones by the water, but the ones that were farther away. I swam again. It didn’t concern me. What mattered was enjoying the dream. And besides, I’d sort of started a routine, you know?

Speaking of routines, I started working out a little. I mean, if I could look like this without doing anything, imagine what I might be able to do if I put a little more effort into it, you know?

So, I did. I started small. A few pushups, some situps, things to strengthen my core and upper body. Legs were tough, but I managed with some squats to start.

And bro, when I did, I blew up!

Like, I never knew sweat could feel so good, you know? I mean, yeah, it’s kind of gross if you don’t shower after, but it reminded me of the lake. The sheen, the ache, the growth.

I started to enjoy flexing in the mirror. Especially when I started to fill out the shirt the right way.

I still remember the first crack. I was flexing in front of the mirror, double bis, and suddenly, I saw it. a vein stretching out from one of the cracks in the shirt. It was perfectly aligned. And ... Idunno, there was something just so ... funny about it. I couldn’t help it. The laugh just sort of ... slipped out.

...

And wouldn’t stop.

“Huhuhuhuhuh....”

I was hooked. I had the potential. I could be that guy! I mean, who wouldn’t be happy with that, m’I right? 

It wasn’t much but with what I had saved, I was able to buy some used weights and a squat rack.

I kept them in the back of the house in a mud room of sorts. Lots of open lighting through the windows, but still sheltered from the rain, so I could work out uninterrupted.

Man, I loved to sweat.

And every night, that pool was so refreshing, even as the forest around me got smaller, and smaller, and the air got hotter. In about a month, the dream transitioned from rain forest paradise to desert oasis.

The ground hardened, like my abs. The cracks spidered like my veins. The green died.

And that’s when things started to be ... different for me.

Dunno what came over me, bro. I just ... got up from my computer and lumbered to my manager’s office. By now, I’d made some sweet gains. had to up my wardrobe size to make up for the guns that were stocking up on ammo, if you know what I’m sayin’.

The manager looked at me. I ... think his name was ... Charles? Chuck? ... Something with a C. Don’t matter, really. I didn’t see him again. I strode up to him, flexed to the point where I shredded my sleeves, then said in my new, deep, dull voice.

“I quit, bro.”

And then I walked out. I just ... had to go. I don’t know why. It was ... natural.

I grabbed my stuff, cleared out my space. Last thing I did was tear off the rest of the sleeves to show off my guns properly.

Sleeves suck, bro. They try to keep my bod in check. Bod’s gotta gro, bro. Gotta show it off, ya know?

And bro, did I show off. I walked out in that scorching sun and my skin baked to golden brown perfection.

I looked in that mirror and I watched the cracks spread with every hour I spent pumping those weights, doing those squats, sweating and swelling, bro. Sweating and swelling.

Trapped by my traps. Captivated by my calves. Pumped by my pecs. Lured by my lats. Mesmerized by my muscle.

Bound by my big, buff bod.

I couldn’t think of anything else. I couldn’t do anything else.

My favorite bed shirt became my favorite shirt, period. More and more, I feel ... right wearing it. Like it was meant for me, and I was meant for it, you know?

S’like, huhuh, like it made me, instead of the other way round, you know, bro?

Funny, right, bro?

The clothes make the man.

Huhuh.

But if this shirt’s wearin’ me, bro, well ... I don’t care. Let it.

Huhuhuh...

I like bein’ big. I like bein’ swole.

And bro, when the oasis is finally dry, and all I see is that cracked earth, I’ll know.

I’ll know I’m ready.

So what if the oasis was my smarts? I got what I need right here, bro.

BAM! BAM!

Huhuhuh....

Gonna compete, bro. Gonna win, bro.

’Cause I’m gonna be fuckin’ Mister America, bro.

But I could use an assistant.

Wanna help a bro out, lil’bro?

I promise I’ll make it worth your while....

Just look at my shirt a sec, bro, and ask yourself this question.

Doesn’t it feel so very, very hot?

Huhuhuhuh.... That’s a good bro. C’mon. We’ve got training to do.

My Likes Won’t Load

Is anyone else having this problem? The page will show the first couple of dozen likes, but after that, it cuts off and won’t load anymore for scrolling down. I have over 3,000 likes, and I need to know if this is just me or if others are experiencing this. Please, respond! I need to know whether I need to get @staff involved.

Credit to @brosandbiceps for this image.

If you like my writing, please join my patreon and help me to write full time for all of you. And don’t worry. The experimental hypnosis file will be coming. I just have to finish some other obligations first. But until then, I wanted to write something quick for you all to enjoy. Keep being safe during the pandemic, guys! We can make it through!

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Smug as a Thug

So, this all started one day after my shirt got torn at school. I had to go to the lost and found to make it through the rest of the day, but all they had was this wife beater, see.

The thing was old and white, the traditional stereotype you usually find for this kind of wear. It showed off my arms, and I was uncomfortable with that, because, well, you know, I didn’t used to look like this, now did I?

But no need to worry. You could say I grew to like it.

I turned it into a night shirt.

And that’s when the weird stuff started happening.

I’d always wake up all sweaty in the morning. And when I had to eat, boy did I eat. I mean, I was like a living garbage disposal! Of course, I understand why now. I mean, look at this mug. Look at this bod.

I’m a ladykiller, and I like it that way.

...

That felt so good to say. I ... I, uh ... fuck....

Damn, my voice just dropped.

It’s the shirt, see. It’s ... well, it’s gotta be. It’s changing me. But ... damn, do I like these changes. Been growin’ hair up the wazoo with these muscles. Gotta show those ladies how much of a MAN I am.

Mmmm... Yeah.

A big, burly man.

A MAN’S man.

Mmph ... been recording myself at night to find out what’s goin’ on. Turns out I’m working out in my sleep. Never heard of that before. Didn’t even think it was possible, but there it is.

And ... I look at myself in the footage and I can’t help it. I ... I need more.

I need to show off.

I need to prepare.

To prepare for....

Something.....

I, uh ... I got this necklace the other day. Thought it’d fit with the whole aesthetic of the gear, y’nkow?

Makes me look like a fuckin’ douche, but ... I like looking like a douche. I want to show off now. It’s ... It’s like I’ve been programmed to do it, if that makes sense.

Like this shirt is driving me.

Ain’t that a funny thought? Clothes making a person.

Huhuh.

Funny.

Anyway, I gotta go after I take this pic. I got class.

Well, yeah, of course I dropped out of high school. I’m talking the School of Hard Knocks.

Da boss is expectin’ me. Says I’m makin’ real progress as a guido. Don’t gotta think as a guido. Just gotta pump up and be ready to fight.

I can’t help but grin at the thought now. Boss helped me see how fun it is to flex and intimidate.

Personally, I prefer makin’ more ... intimate contact. Gets the message across a lot faster, know what I’m sayin’? There’s nothing quite like a little ... networking to grease the gears on business.

He said I could bring a friend.

Wanna come?

You just have to wear this here uniform....

This image comes from @homme-parfait. Check out his gallery if you like these kinds of pictures. Second image was made using gimp, and credit goes to <a href='https://www.freepik.com/photos/abstract'>Abstract photo created by user14579558 - www.freepik.com</a> for the texture that I used for the effect.

If you enjoy this story, please consider supporting me on Patreon. For as little as $3 a month, you get access to unique muscle tf stories that nobody else sees. And higher tiers give you more rewards. Take a look, if you’re interested.

Rated mature and, for once, I’m going to choose NSFW as a tag to be on the safe side. I will not describe sex, but as part of this story, our protagonist will be shown his options, and so description will at least imply part of the bedroom and certain actions associated with that location. It’s Greek stuff. Of course it’s going to get on the riskier side. There is no graphic sexual content included in this piece, however. I refuse to go into that, as I’ve said before.

Author’s note: I’m mad as heck, because it’s not the same as my initial draft, but my laptop shut down on me without giving me a battery notification, so I lost a lot of what I wrote. I reconstituted it as best I could. It’s still satisfactory, but I’m mad all the same for not saving the draft more regularly. Lesson for the future, I guess. XD Anyway, enjoy. I assure you, it’s a very good read.

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A Heart of Stone

Peter Pearson always had a passion for the classics. The myths of his ancestral homeland, the great sculptures of legendary figures and unknown models alike. Goddesses and gods, men and women, children, heroes. He consumed them all from a young age. But nothing could compare to when he would stand in the museum halls and stare at the many statues and replicas from Greece and Rome. Truly, the Mediterranean had many secrets above and below the depths.

But in every instance above or below, there was always one constant, these gorgeous statues of stone and bronze and iron, of men and women fulfilling grand feats or suckling children. Olympian competitors blended seamlessly with anatomical studies. And all of them fueled and spurred the one desire he ever felt toward them.

He wanted to be just like them. Strong, like the mighty Heracles. Fit, like the ancient wrestlers of the Olympics. Hard, like the very rocks from which these statues had been chiseled with time, effort, and a steady hand.

And he had worked himself to the bone toward that end. He loved these statues. He loved their myths, their focus, their drive. They came from a simpler time, where magic still existed, where gods walked the earth, and men and women could live as they wished by the sweat of their brow.

Every week, he would visit the museum. He would sit for hours and ponder over their forms, their crevices. The smooth perfection of their sculpted bodies, ridged only where the master craftsman had gently probed with his tools to make it so. And every week, he would mimic the pose of those statues. He would smile and imagine for just a moment that he had joined them in that forgotten realm between the wakeful and the slumbering, where the old god Morpheus still crafted his dreams.

For years, he worked. For years, he struggled. For years, he invoked absolute discipline for the sole purpose of building his body into the perfect vessel to equal his heroes, his gods. And for all intents and purposes, that is, indeed, what they were. He worshiped them. He smiled each time he mimicked their posture. And though he didn’t have the same hair style or clothing (or lack thereof), he sought to mimic them in other respects.

Wrestling and weights came easily to him now. And there was a certain thrill to exercising that dominance, of gaining that satisfaction and reward of knowing that he had the strength to stand on his own and take what he wished. He still remembered when he took his trophy and raised it high for the statues to see, as if they were aware, as if they could somehow acknowledge his achievement.

Yes, in place of the Acropolis, this was his temple. And oh, how he longed to be a part of its clergy. Dead or alive, he didn’t care. He wanted to fit into this world, to leave distasteful modern society aside. If the gods formed man from clay and stone, then Peter wanted to return to it again. If they could bring metal and ivory and clay to life as flesh and blood, why not the other way around?

“You really do love this place, don’t you?”

Peter blinked in surprise at the attendant. She wore a shimmering white dress that frilled along the collar and hem. Her brown hair was rich and shone with a golden corona under the lights. Her golden tag glinted and flashed with every breath she took, leaving the letters indecipherable. Two dove hair clips helped to hold her hair back behind her ears while the remainder was bound in the jaws of a squeezing clip with a bronze rose motif.

It took nearly a full minute for Peter to regain his wits. “Excuse me?” he finally asked.

The attendant laughed. “This place. You love coming here. I’ve been watching you for the last six months.”

Peter blushed. “Well, yeah. It’s ... well, I don’t know what it is. I just ... I really like it here, you know? It feels like ... home, I guess.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his head awkwardly to ward off the embarrassment while his chest jutted forward in response.

She nodded. “I like the classics, too. Greece and Rome had such beautiful talent.” She smiled impishly as she looked to one of the nude statues. “And passionate men.”

Peter’s blush deepened. The usual technique wasn’t working. And worse yet, he could feel the familiar tingle of arousal stirring. He shifted his legs and tried to focus on the displays, instead. “Yeah, they inspired me to get into wrestling when I was a kid.”

“I wondered what sport you were involved with.” She laughed again as her hair swayed behind her, filling the air with the smell of the sea, the brine of olives, and the sweet honeyed scent of eucalyptus. “You really do love Greece, don’t you?”

Peter shrugged. “It’s my heritage. How could I not?”

The attendant frowned. “You’d be surprised how many people claim to love something, then forget about it the moment something more convenient comes along.” She sighed. “If you put it into a mythological perspective, that’s basically what happened to Pan. Man stopped caring about the wild. They beat it back, throttled it. What they couldn’t change, they destroyed. What they couldn’t control, they mitigated. Why care about the sanctity of a grove of trees when there are homes to build and mouths to feed?” She sighed. “It must have been a sad death, one spent alone while the wilds were steadily eaten away.”

Peter raised a brow at her. “That’s pretty dark.”

“This coming from the same pantheon that literally cracked a skull open to give birth to a goddess, literally consumed its children, and let's not forget how they chopped up the body parts of another elder deity to give birth to yet another goddess from the frothing sea foam, or throwing a baby off a mountain top because it was deformed.”

Peter winced. “Yeah, that ... was pretty messed up.”

“Greek history always was. Wars, conflicts, intrigue....” She sighed. “And then, in those few rich moments of peace, love. It put out the fires. It set them blazing again.” She brushed one of the statues’ legs. “They knew how to respect love, how to honor it when it spoke. Well, most of the time. Sometimes, love could be cruel. And the gods ... less than charitable.” She shook her head. “But what more can you expect from a legacy of abuse? It can’t have been easy being eaten by their father. Even those who weren’t stained by that act were haughty. And the other gods made sure they learned rather ... harsh lessons as a result.”

“I like to think more of the golden ages. Men earning their way, working for their bread, fighting for fame or honor or glory.” He chuckled. “I guess ... well, I guess I want to be like them.” He motioned to the statues. “Frozen in a time when that peace and love let men grow and shine.” He couldn’t help but smirk. “Imagine me wrestling with Heracles.”

She giggled as he struck a pose. “You wouldn’t last a minute.”

“It’d still be fun to try. To compete, like all these men did.”

“You really do like them, don’t you?”

“No.” He shook his head and flexed his arms all the harder as he turned his head in profile. “I love them.”

The attendant smiled. “Far be it from me to keep you from your lovers, Mister...?”

“Pearson. Peter Pearson.”

The attendant smiled and extended a hand. “Aphrodite.”

“Like the goddess?”

A rich chuckle rolled from her lips. “The very same. Would you say I live up to it?”

Again, the tightness swelled in his crotch. His shirt felt taut. “Defi--” He cleared his throat, then tried again. “Definitely. This time, he sounded a little deeper.”

“And if I asked you to, Peter Pearson, would you be willing to sacrifice that dream, that love, for me?”

Peter’s breath hitched as she ran delicate fingers down his chest. Her eyes swirled like whirlpools, drawing him in. Her face. “I....” Her perfume. “I....” The toss of her head as she pulled the rose clip free. “I....” He groaned as his pants began to creak and those lips drew ever so close.

“Yes or no, Peter Pearson.” Her breath flowed into his dry mouth. Moist. Inviting. “Choose.”

The zipper broke open to reveal the bulge and two lumps that became more and more prominent until the button burst off the waistband of his pants due to his broadening pelvis. His head was awash with lust. He could hardly think. “Uhhhhhhh....”

He fell into those eyes as the world blurred. Strong hard hands seized a proper vantage on padded silken sheets. Lips brushed cheeks as that perfume consumed awareness in favor of passionate union. Grunting and moans on both sides rang in his ears as blood surged with unbridled pleasure. That is, until the higher voice began to deepen. Soft delicate skin swelled into firm unyielding mounds as two sides grappled for dominance. Sweat dripped down both frames as soft sheets and mattress transitioned to a wrestling mat, then to hard-packed earth as dust kicked up between them.

Two voices rang in equal measure, the female and the male, the masculine and the effeminate, the bedroom and the arena. “Choose, Peter Pearson.”

Two visions danced before his eyes. The mindless bliss of pleasure, a veritable ocean that yawned and called playfully as it crashed against the surf. A promise to be adored, to be worshiped, to take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, from whoever he wanted. Women would flock to him. Men would go weak at the knees at the very sight of him, the sensation of his passing as his shadow fell over them. A body so virile, so perfect, that they would pay for his time. Modeling clothes, crushing at the gym. And reveling as he scrambled the others’ concentration in favor of his irresistible charisma, then watching them drain into that familiar want of lust in a vain attempt to satisfy his own appetite.

He would be a walking god, a conqueror, a vessel to strike the mortal heart with desire. A plow to till, an arrow to pierce, drawn and fired to strike whatever target he wanted. A veritable Eros among men spending his days in heady bliss as he spread his blessing throughout the realm.

Another groan. Another spurt of growth below. The better to please and be pleased. The better to obey. The better to sink and slip into the sea of mind-numbing pleasure as he dominated again and again and again.

But ... is it really domination if the one in the bed doesn’t fight back? Would it really be satisfying to simply take from someone who isn’t willing to grapple? Would he even care about himself and his passions anymore, or would this sea of pleasures cast him against the rocks with pounding waves until he was no more, just a slack-jawed beast looking to satisfy his baser urges?

Why choose a neverending hunger when satisfaction can be so much more rewarding? The thrill of conquest. The crowds roaring, cheering at the entertainment that he would provide. Men and women each competing in their own classes, battling, surging, pushing, pinning. And when the fight is over and the victor proclaimed, all are rewarded, all join in that satisfaction of honorable combat, of a battle well-fought. And the victory to be celebrated after with men or women as they saw fit. Bonds forged between competitors deeper than a one-night stand, strong as iron, hard as stone. Glory, and an intimate connection that he would never be able to fathom, should he choose the other path.

The surge, the cliffs, and the seabed awaited below to his left, with the sirens that called for him to join them. The roar of the arena surged on his right, with the great tunnel arching overhead and a light that shone on the other side. His childhood dream made real.

The caress of fingers over Peter’s biceps triggered a muscle spasm that forced them to flex, to rise into titanic mounds that strained against the sleeves of his shirt. His shoes burst open with twin detonations, followed by shredding socks as he gazed sightlessly ahead. He couldn’t see Aphrodite, nor could he feel the strain of his muscle growing with his frame. All he knew were his warring desires seeking to entice him.

He raised a foot. It trembled in the air as the two lives raged in their own manner, calling, crying, demanding. Until he planted his foot firmly and turned.

The dark shadow of the tunnel consumed him, sending a chill over his body as he strode over tightly packed dirt and stone. The surge of the crowd grew louder. And at the end of the passage, a shadowy figure awaited with arms raised in a proud salute. Though he could not see the man’s face, Peter knew to return the gesture, even as the roar of his heartbeat blended with the surge of the arena’s audience. His pant legs grew tighter and tighter, until their seams finally burst open under the force of titanic thighs and swollen calves. His chest heaved larger, heavier, with every breath while his shirt began to draw up his torso and strain against his traps.

“I ... choose....” He blinked slowly as the portal drew closer. His voice sounded different, deeper, grainy, almost clattering, like the tumbling of a rock slide down a gorge.

The brush of lips over his brought him back briefly to stare at Aphrodite. “I know, little lover. I know.” Her smile was sad, but proud as she ran her fingers down his throat and over his torso to trip along every defined abdominal muscle there.

The grating came slowly, as if his vocal cords were having trouble functioning, even as his Adam's apple became more prominent. “What’s ... happening to me?”

“Your wish, little lover.” She smiled. “You came to this gallery every week. And every week, you would pour your hopes, your dreams, your desires, into these sculptures. You brought no burnt offerings or incense, but you carried your devotion, your wishes, your prayers. You returned. You reported. And you offered thanks for your progress with every victory you achieved. If that is not worship, then I don’t know what is. If that is not love, then I would not be here now. This is your temple, and your desires have not gone unheard, nor your offerings unheeded.” She smiled as he dropped his arms and the mounds of his biceps thrust against the expanded lats in his back to prevent from resting properly at his sides. They had not relaxed once, and one could almost hear a faint grinding as they sought that perfect place to rest. “You loved your ancestral homeland. You honored your history, your culture, your people. You longed to join them. And now you will. This, I promise you.”

Another shudder. Another eye-roll of pleasure as the air permeated with her scent. Delicate fingers traced over his shoulders and traps along his neck as the world fell away to return him to the passage as heavier arms and legs were left to lumber forward in his daze, casting up puffs of dirt into the air.

At last, the figure came into view as he neared the end of the tunnel. The curly hair and headband were unmistakable. His toned body was fit and bared for all to see. A smile pulled at his features as he gazed on Peter and welcomed him into the light.

“Welcome, brother,” he greeted.

The arena erupted into uproarious cheers as Peter strode into the sun. Togas, laurels, pins, loin cloths, and other ancient garb as far as the eye could see. A thrill of pleasure erupted from within as his chest thrust forward in pride. His back straightened, and a smile of his own began to creep steadily over his lips. “Brother. I like that....”

“We knew you would.” A hand clapped heavily on Peter’s broad back. There was no pain. He hardly felt a thing. “We’ve been waiting a long time for you to join us in the ring.”

Peter’s smile widened as he looked down on this competitor. He stood at least a head taller than the man. “You mean it?”

“Of course.” His smile broadened into a cocky grin. “Shall we salute for the crowd?”

Peter required no further prompting. His arms jerked and snapped as they hardened into a mighty flex. His chest thrust forward to show off his defined torso. Excitement throbbed as he took in the erupting cheers of the crowd.

“Why don’t you show off properly?” the ghost of Aphrodite’s voice caused him to snap his neck to the right. Another tingle. Another crack, followed by a reverberating snap as the waistband of his underwear finally gave up the ghost with the remnants of his pants. Just like his brother, Peter’s manhood was on full display for the crowd, as was right in their profession, as was proper for the games.

“You look magnificent, brother.”

“I feel magnificent,” came the reply. “I feel like ... I feel like....”

“Like you belong here?”

Peter nodded as they approached the center of the arena. “Exactly. This is just ... it’s perfect, it’s right, it’s....”

He trailed off at the sight of their opponents. Two more combatants strode with broad grins onto the dirt field. Their faces were unfamiliar, but Peter would never forget the sight of those torsos he had studied for so many years. They embraced as men and competitors both as one of them spoke the words that would forever change the man’s life.

“Welcome home, Petra.”

Petra. The root word of his name. His true name. His true nature. Rock hard, a stone that would never break, never yield. Immortal and immovable. The word flooded his being, washing away the thoughts of the city, of the responsibilities and fears of the modern world. A stone cared not for such things. A stone was simple, with simple needs and desires. And now, in this place, and this time, Peter was long gone and forgotten. Petra had only one focus now, one goal; to grapple his competitor into submission. A smile curved his lips as the dust blew into his hair to lighten it from black to a reddish-brown.

“It’s good to be home,” he replied. The two smirked at one another. And then, as the contest began and their frames met to grapple one with another, the faintest brush tingled and faded from his lips. Petra grinned as he began to fight in earnest. He was living his dream. He had found his home. And he couldn’t be happier.

Back in the museum, Aphrodite smiled as the last color drained from Peter’s lips and eyes to merge into the spreading marble. His last breath had sealed his fate, but it was a fate that he chose, and a curious reversal of the gift she had offered Pygmalion so very long ago. The tattered remains of Peter’s pants and undergarments littered the floor. His arms and face were frozen in a pose of joyful masculinity that would endure for ages to come.

“I promise you,” she whispered. “You will never be separated from your brothers.”

As if he had taken some comfort in this assurance, the last ripples and stains of the new marble statue blossomed into existence, a perfect burnished match colored by the age of time as much as the minerals from which his body was now composed.

A mover in a white jumpsuit strode in and shook his head as he wrapped a tag around the new statue’s wrist to dangle on the edge of its vision. EROS had been sewn into the uniform over the man’s left pectoral, and three arrows jutted through the name to flourish at three angles. He sighed as he pulled back from the statue.

“Such a pity. He’d have made a fine arrow.”

Aphrodite shook her head and smiled as her features continued to shift, even as Eros’ did the same to match that perfect ideal for their kinds unique aspects of love. “It was his choice, my son. And you have many more already flying around the world.”

Eros chuckled. “I suppose that’s true. It took them long enough to acknowledge me again.”

Aphrodite cupped his chin and cheek lovingly. “My darling Eros, love always endures, both yours and mine.”

Eros sighed and his stance loosened under that gentle caress.

“Is everything ready?”

He nodded. “Hermes has already taken care of it. The papers are filed and the system hacked and updated.” He chuckled. “These mortals really did blunder when they called their invention the information superhighway. I don’t think he’s had this much fun in over a millennium.”

Aphrodite chuckled. “He certainly has enough charges to look after now. And the curator?”

“I’ve given him a nudge and the proper alert. He’ll be on his way soon.”

“Excellent.” She smiled as she flexed her fingers and looked back on the statue. “I wonder if I should get back into sculpting,” she thought idly. “I haven’t felt that relaxed in centuries.”

Eros laughed as he extended an arm in invitation. “Then we’ll have to find more mortals seeking a boon, won’t we? You won’t believe the number that actually want to be turned to statues.”

“Is that so?” Aphrodite’s eyes flickered with just a hint of appetite as she seized his arm in hers and they strode toward the wall. “Tell me more.”

“Gladly,” Eros said as they faded through the structure of the building and disappeared.

A few moments later, the clack of leather shoes on the marble floor echoed through the space, until the curator arrived to gape at the newest acquisition. His face shifted from white to splotchy pink to a mottled red and finally to cherry tomato. “Security!” he bellowed into his radio transceiver. “Get me the footage for the last hour in the museum. Some prankster thought it would be funny to deface our latest acquisition. I want to find out who, how, and when, or heads are going to roll!”

The faintest ghost of laughter reverberated through the museum halls as a flicker passed on the edge of the curator’s vision, then was gone. Hermes continued to laugh as he sped on his way to guide the next soul to the afterlife. “Ah, Aphrodite, I do so love how you push those mortals’ buttons.”

The School of Buff Jocks Part 4

At the request of a new Patron, instead of a custom story, he desired the next chapter in this commission series to be published. In accordance with that request, I am now publishing the next chapter of The School of Buff Jocks.

If you would like to support me and my work, please join my patreon. For $3.00 a month, you get to enjoy incredible transformation, muscle, and hypnosis content. Or if you go for a higher tier, you can also get a custom story. Thank you for your patronage! Details to be found on each tier. I look forward to writing more for you all soon. Please, enjoy the chapter. Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

---------------------------------------------------------------- “Great job!”

“You’re doing great!”

“NICE AND SLOW. KEEP PUSHING.”

I furrowed my brow as I finished my set at the leg press and passed over to Andrews. “Is it just me, or does Jim sound … different?”

“It’s part of his design,” Andrews explained as he logged in. “The better you perform, the bigger he gets and the deeper his voice becomes.”

The avatar for Jim that appeared looked more like Atlas or some other giant. His skin or whatever that surface was called looked shinier and seemed to have gained more graphic definition. Had there been a patch recently?

“Welcome back, Coach Andrews. Are you ready to resume your teacher training?”

Andrews shook his head. “Another time, Jim. I’m here to work out.”

Jim nodded. “Linking to machine now. Please don’t forget to finish your module. It is important to learn and grow, so that you may better teach.”

“I won’t forget,” he promised. “Remind me when the workout is over.”

“Your reminder is set. Now let’s get to work.”

“So, when am I sup-posed to notice the difference?” I rubbed my throat and drank some of my protein shake. Those cracks were happening more and more often.

“You’re not,” Andrews said as he pushed against the press. “At least, most people don’t. Either that or they don’t care. I’m not sure which. Stone explained it to me once. It’s basically meant to help students adapt to the idea of their voices deepening as they get older. The farther along they get in their education, the bigger Jim gets, the deeper his voice becomes, and, as a result, the more natural it feels for them to let their voices drop when the time comes.”

“Because they’re talking to someone else whose voice is deepening with them?”

“Exactly,” Andrews said. The veins on his legs had begun to stand out as he continued to push. “In other words, you don’t have to worry so much about social awkwardness.”

“What about late bloomers?”

Andrews shrugged. “They get there when they get there. You know how strict we are here about bullying, Derek. We don’t like it and we don’t tolerate it in any form. We’re all part of one big team. Players who don’t understand that will either learn or get tossed out. It’s that simple.”

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

Stone’s smirk was smug as he folded a leg casually and peered at me. “Forgive me for sounding so juvenile, but I told you so.”

“Look, Mister Stone—”

“Please, call me Coach.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Coach Stone. Just because I made friends with Kyle doesn’t mean I’m over what happened to me before.”

“But you haven’t had any more of those nightmares since,” he noted. “And even if you haven’t completely overcome your past, this is a definite sign of progress. You’re beginning to see one of the most important truths any of you children can learn, the fact that people are people, and each should be judged on an individual basis, rather than being lumped into a social stereotype or clique.

“Take you, for example.” He pointed his pen at me. “You would be considered the stereotypical nerd. You enjoy things like anime, comics, manga, videogames, and other products of that genre. You do relatively well in school, and you don’t cause trouble. However, lately, you’ve also been branching out into other areas, like the gym and outdoors. And you’re comfortable wearing more than just baggy clothes. Your stereotypical nerd wouldn’t be able to do that, or rather wouldn’t have any desire to. And yet, you seem to enjoy it, or at least not hate it so violently as your stereotype would suggest.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that those stereotypes have roots in truth. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be stereotypes in the first place.”

“Perhaps, but it also doesn’t change the fact that in this case, in this time, that stereotype has yet to fully apply, and you know that and acknowledge it on at least some level. It’s that simple.”

“For you, maybe. Not for me.” I shook my head.

“Then it seems to me that the next stage of your therapy is clear. Observe. Look at the behavior of the ones you mistrust, these stereotypical jocks, and see if they really do act in the way you’ve been treated previously. If they don’t, then you’ll see that the stereotype is far from absolute, and hopefully have less aversion toward being in the same space as them on your own.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.”

Stone smiled. “I think I can manage.” He lowered his pad. Anyway, that’s it for our session today. I have another appointment who should be—” A knock sounded at the door. “And there he is. We’ll pick up again next week. Don’t forget to try what I suggest, Derek. I think you’ll be surprised at what you may find.”

We shook hands, a ritual Stone insisted on as part of his attempts to bond with me. Then he escorted me to the door. You ever heard of getting caught between a rock and a hard place? Well, I got stuck between a Stone and a beef Frank. The guy had to be at least half a foot taller than me. The school’s logo strained against his swollen thigh as a pair of sweatpants clung to his legs. His torso took up most of the doorway, and his hair had been cut down to a short stubble with sharp angles that emphasized a masculine jawline and brow ridge.

“Hey. I’m not too early, am I, Coach?” His voice sounded congested, a sort of forced low that was part diaphragm and part cold, only this guy looked healthy as a horse. Hell, he could’ve been a bull with how thick that neck of his was!

“You’re right on time, Francis,” Stone said mildly. “Derek here was just leaving.”

He blinked slowly and looked down at me with murky green eyes. “Oh.” He stepped aside to let me pass. “Sorry, bro.”

“No problem.” I strode into the hall as Stone ushered the behemoth in. For such a diverse school, it seemed we were getting an awful lot of buff students on campus. I waved briefly to the office staff on my way to the main door. Tight button-up shirts strained as they waved back. Their stubble glistened under the fluorescent lights. Again, with the buzz cuts. I hadn’t noticed it before, but a lot of the staff seemed to follow that style. A few of the kids were sitting in chairs waiting for their turn to meet with Stone or some other official in the offices. Some chugged shakes. Others were running through their homework modules. Others still were reading intently.

“Got it. Finally,” one of them hissed in triumph as Jim issued his congratulations and the familiar tone of his module absorption.

One of the bigger students smiled. “If you’ve got a problem, go to Jim.” He chuckled and scratched his crotch. And like the contagion of a yawn, I felt a sympathetic twinge of my own building.

“Huhuh. Yeah, it’s good to go to Jim,” the kid replied and smiled.

The others nodded or added their own affirmations as they popped caps off their bottles and drank deeply. My brow furrowed as I thought about it. The green stuff was supposed to be for the team players, wasn’t it? So why did everyone else seem to be carrying a bottle? Even the secretaries had some at their desks.

All that drinking and gulping left me feeling thirsty. I reached to the side of my backpack for the familiar bottle. Off came the cap. Pop went the seal. Down went the drink as I walked out the door. I smiled as I scratched my crotch and my muscles tingled. I’d ask about it later. It was probably nothing. “Huhuhuh….” The anxiety left me, and I smiled as my biceps tensed and my shirt perked. The fabric slid out from under my belt as I took a deep breath, exposing skin to the cool air of the school for the briefest of moments. I shuddered, and for the first time, I took the time to simply zone out and focus on how my body felt. My legs were taut, the cuffs of my pants exposing the ankles of my school socks. The jockstrap was tight against my legs and rear, and the polo I now wore strained against my chest when I breathed. The changes had been so subtle, but now that I took the time, it was obvious. “Looks like I’m going to need a new uniform soon.”

I heard it before I saw it. The locker room door slamming open, followed by the rip of shredding fabric. A curly redhead with shamrock eyes strode bare-chested, hefting the rags of his former shirt like a trophy as he walked toward the Nurse’s office. The pump on his arms was immense. His body was built specifically to take heavy blows and never budge. He was a walking pile of meat. As for the talking, well … that was yet to be seen.

Truthfully, I don’t know why I followed him. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe I was curious. Or maybe I was just too buzzed to care about anything and going with the flow. Regardless, I trailed behind to see what came next.

My heart beat as heavily as my breathing as I waited outside the door. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to hide. Was I embarrassed? Was it something else? Finally, I heard the razors buzzing to life from behind closed doors. I don’t know if it was curiosity or what, but at that point, I just … moved. One minute, I was outside, the next I stood there in the middle of the plain tiled waiting room. The buzz was coming from one of the examination rooms. When the door finally opened, the familiar stubble of the angular induction cut stared back at me. A compression shirt had replaced the polo that had once rested on the boy’s chest, and my chest tingled at the sight of the slab-like muscle tone that stood out against the spandex.

He walked past me without a word. And, honestly, I don’t think I was in a state to say anything, myself. It was sort of like when you’re dreaming and you want to talk, but you can’t, and you have to watch yourself move around, instead. The nurse stepped out with one of the aids and eyed me carefully.

“Another one for size change.” He sighed and rolled his eyes as he picked up a tablet. “Name?”

The word released me from the spell, at least in part. “Derek Jones.” The moment I finished, my mouth clamped shut again.

“Dorm?”

“26-B.”

“All right,” he said in a bored tone. “Let’s get your measurements.”

I walked out with a new pair of pants and a bigger polo shirt. The pants hugged in all the right places without being too tight or short, but the polo felt loose and baggy. I felt … I guess almost ashamed of that feeling. It was weird.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll feel right at home in that shirt soon enough.”

I frowned. What did he mean by that? “Uh, okay, I guess.”

“Your new clothing will be delivered in the next few days with the next shipment. Let us know if there are any troubles with the fit, okay?”

I nodded numbly. My eyes drifted back to the open door. The floor was littered with curls surrounding a sturdy metal stool.

“Was there something else I could do for you?”

“I, uh, no. I guess not.” I chuckled again out of reflex. It was almost like a defense mechanism at this point. “Thanks for the new clothes.”

“You can thank Mister Stone. He’s the one funding all this.”

“You mean we don’t have to pay?”

The nurse shook his head. “No. Now how about you move along? I have the sneaking suspicion you’re not going to be the last one coming to me for a fitting today.”

Of course, he was right. It was time to move along. I’d gotten what I came for, even if I didn’t know that was why I’d come. But now I was immobilized by another question, and my head was thinking about as fast as molasses as it echoed over and over again.

Move along to where?

I didn’t know.

“Huhuh.”

Be comfortable.

Where?

I scratched my crotch.

Be comfortable.

Where?

Two hands guided me toward the door. My feet moved. My head was … full is the best way I could describe it. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t think. I just … walked, like a wind-up doll put in motion. No real destination, just … moving forward.

Where?

Corridors yawned. My legs moved. Left. Right. Left. Right. I’d turn. I’d shift. I’d turn again. The question remained.

Where?

I don’t know.

Where?

I don’t know.

Where?

I. Don’t. know.

It took a while for me to realize my walking had taken on that same cadence, as if my whole body were answering my brain, shouting back in its own way together, defiant, resolute, and … something else.

I don’t know.

The question was dulling.

I don’t know.

Growing quiet.

I don’t know.

As though it had lost its voice. Or maybe lost the will to object? Or ... was it drowning?

I don’t know.

Just a fading echo, the last bubbles.

I don’t know.

The answer reverberated through my skull as the quagmire hardened and set. I was completely in my head. Or maybe I was completely out of it? Who knows? You can’t really describe it. It’s something you have to go through yourself to really get. Popular media would probably call it no-mind.

I don’t know how much time passed. All I know is that, finally, illumination struck, like a sledgehammer shattering bedrock. Like a wedge breaking open a mold to reveal something beautiful.

And it was.

It wasn’t that I didn’t know.

It was that I didn’t care.

“Huhuhuhuh….” My chest shook with the explosive force of the epiphany. The fabric of my polo brushed against my skin. The realization was so revolutionary, so lifechanging somehow, despite how simple it was. “I don’t care.” I grinned like an idiot. Or maybe like a stoner on a high? I definitely felt high.

“That’s right, smartass.” The voice was soft, gentle, … proud? My legs stopped moving. The setting sun blazed over Kyle’s face as he smiled at me, igniting his eyes with emerald lightning as the world came back into focus again. I’d somehow transitioned from the hallways to the track outside. My legs felt like jelly. And like a set of gears cleaned by WD-40, my brain cast off the rust and started to work again. I stumbled into Kyle’s waiting arm.

“Easy there, little bro.”

“What … happened?” I shook my head to dispel the last of the debris. My throat felt like someone had covered it with horse glue and squeezed it so tightly that only a straw could fit through.

Kyle shrugged. “You sized up.” Then he smirked. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I … how did … what?”

He handed me a bottle. “Drink,” he said. “You’ve been walking a long time.”

No protein drink this time, just water. But the flood helped dislodge some of the cake that had built up. My voice didn’t croak so much when I looked at him. “Why did I—?”

“You said so yourself, smartass.” Kyle chuckled. “You didn’t care.” He guided me back toward the dorms. “Lucky for you, you’ve got teammates that do.”

“What?”

Kyle chuckled again. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get you to your dorm, so you can sleep. And maybe take a shower.”

“A shower?” The wind blew, and I felt the cold patches as we hobbled along. “Oh.”

“Yeah, all that walking’s bound to break a sweat eventually. Your jock is probably soaked.”

“Shut up, dumbass,” I grumbled.

Kyle laughed. “Sure thing, smartass. Sure thing.”

I didn’t realize it then, but as I got my second wind, I matched Kyle stride for stride. That lumbering swagger I’d seen on Kyle, then on the football team, on Barry the baseball player, and finally that redhead from earlier, was mine now, too.

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

“You guys notice anything kind of … weird lately?” Slater asked as he squatted under Kyle’s careful observation. The layout of the bar was designed to allow him to stand inside a sort of rectangle while the weights were stacked on either side. That way, he’d be able to bend and rise with equal weight distribution. His thighs had grown in the last couple of weeks. There was a firmness about them that I hadn’t seen before. His calves jutted with hard, tense muscle that all but consumed the fat that had once been there.

“Weird how?” Jackson was busy pumping some dumbbells to strengthen his arms and upper body. The exercise also allowed him the freedom to observe Slater as he trained under Kyle’s guidance.

“I don’t know. Just … different, I guess.” Slater shrugged. “I can’t really put it in words. Things just feel … off. Sort of snug, I guess?”

“Snug?” Kyle smirked, but … I don’t know, it felt sort of … meaner. I guess … maybe it was a sneer? At the very least, it was smug.

“Shut up, dumbass,” Slater grumbled.

“Takes one to know one, Slayer.” He chuckled. “Can’t wait to weigh you.”

“Fuck off!” he snarled. The weights crashed to the ground, and the whole gym suddenly became quiet. All eyes turned on us. Honestly, I’m not sure who was more shocked; us or them. The only time we’d ever seen this side of Slater come out was when he succumbed to gamer rage in online matches. He’d never lost his cool in public before.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

I stiffened. We hadn’t even heard him approach. Yet there he was. Coach Stone towered over us.

Kyle shrugged his broad shoulders and smiled casually. “Slayer here’s just losing his shit, because he knows he’s going to lose a bet we made.”

“Is that so?” He set his eyes on Slater and folded his arms over his massive chest. “Is this true, Slayer, was it?”

Slater mumbled as he averted his eyes. “It’s Slater.”

“Well, Slater, it appears you’ve managed to silence the whole gym. That’s not an easy task.” He peered at the rest of the onlookers and raised his voice. “All right, folks. Nothing to see here. Get back to your workouts or get out of the gym.”

Like the flick of a switch on an assembly line, the gym began to move and breathe again. It seems I wasn’t the only one intimidated by Coach Stone. Those silver eyes lingered on me briefly, passed over Jackson, then shifted back to Kyle and Slater.

“Now what, exactly, is the nature of this bet to prompt that kind of reaction?”

Slater was silent. He still wouldn’t meet Stone’s gaze.

“I bet him I could get him over 240 by the end of a month, and that if I did, he’d have to talk with Andrews about joining the wrestling team,” Kyle supplied.

“And if he won?”

“I’d have to take a cheat day and hang out with them for an anime marathon while we veg on snacks.”

“And this prompted such a reaction because…?”

“I teased him, Sir.”

Stone raised an eyebrow. “And has this teasing rendered you mute, Slater?”

“No, Sir,” he said softly.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Slater.” The rebuke was gentle, but the command was ironclad.

Slater did so reluctantly, though only just.

“Back straight,” Stone continued. “If you’re going to take criticism or punishment, you should do it proudly.” He leaned over and planted a thick hand on Slater’s shoulder. “I’m not here to punish you, Slater. No harm was done. No one is hurt. You just lost control of yourself. It happens to every boy at your age. Some yell, others fight, and some just lose themselves in a fantasy world. We all have our coping mechanisms. What matters is which ones we choose to keep and which ones we choose to replace.” He squeezed briefly and smiled. “Now I don’t want this happening again, okay? Yelling is fine, if you need to, but this equipment and the gym are expensive. And more importantly, if you’re willing to do this, then one day, you may get angry enough to hit someone with one of these weights. That’s not something I can let happen. So, from now on, for the foreseeable future, I’m going to arrange some meetings with you. Jim will alert you of the scheduled times.”

“But—”

“No buts, Slater. And I want your full name.”

“But—”

“Now, Slater.”

Slater slumped in defeat and gave up the name.

“Good. I’ll be expecting you on time in my office. Derek can give you directions.” His eyes flashed briefly as he returned to his full height. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“Yes, Sir,” Slater mumbled.

“And you. You’re Kyle Fredriksson, aren’t you?” Stone asked as he turned his attentions to the other party of the disturbance.

“Yes, Sir, Coach.”

“Did you push him to this?”

Kyle straightened and threw his shoulders back. “Yes, Sir. Though only a little,” he clarified. “Slayer doesn’t like to lose.”

Coach Stone turned his gaze on me and Jackson. “You two are the neutral party here. Is he telling the truth?”

Jackson nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Jones?”

I nodded. “He doesn’t usually get this angry.”

Stone nodded. “Then we’ll find out the root of that anger later. For now, carry on, gentlemen. Those muscles aren’t going to grow themselves.”

“Yes, Sir,” we all replied.

Stone turned to leave, then paused. “Oh, and Slater?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Next time, try laughing it off instead. You’d be surprised how much that helps.”

“Uh, yes, Sir,” he said awkwardly.

“As you were, gentlemen.” Stone waved behind him as he passed into the rows of machines and out of sight.

My whole body tingled as he walked away. I reached absently and adjusted my crotch, where the sensation felt strongest, then shuddered. Kyle grinned at me.

“You heard the man, Smartass. Grab some dumbbells and work those arms. If we can campaign together, we can work out together.

I rolled my eyes but obliged him. “Whatever you say, Coach.”

“Not a coach.”

“You’re sure acting like one,” I teased.

Slater smirked. “Point to DJ.”

“Trust me, you haven’t seen coaching till you’re working out on an actual team. I’m just teaching you how to handle it.” Kyle chuckled. “Now how about you put that snark into finishing your set?”

“You did agree to follow the routine for the month,” Jackson pointed out as he curled his weights. “Stop now and you’ll forfeit, and you’ll have to talk with Andrews about joining the team regardless.”

Slater’s lip curled as his hands clenched tightly around the bars to either side of him and he pulled the squat bar back up. “Guys, I’m not in the mood for getting in trouble with Stone again, so could you just can it about the bet?”

“Or you could try his advice,” Kyle pressed. “Trust me, it works. DJ knows.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why did you have to drag me into this?”

“Because you’re the smartass?”

That name was really starting to get old. Especially when Kyle used it for ammunition. But he did have a point. I had firsthand experience, and Slater would probably take it better from me than from the lug that was currently putting him through hell. For a dumbass, Kyle had a keen mind for strategy. I sighed, then turned to face Slater. “Look, it doesn’t work with everyone, but for me at least, it helps relieve my anxiety attacks, okay?”

“And you think I should try it?” Slater asked.

“I think you should use your own judgement.”

Slater chuffed as a hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “And point for you.”

“I wasn’t aware I was playing.”

He smirked. “Didn’t you know? Everyone’s playing the game, DJ.”

I cringed. “Why did you have to bring back that accursed meme?”

“Because it’s fun.”

“And with that stealth kill, Slater the Slayer finally takes his place on the board,” Jackson said in his best impression of a sports commentator.

A weak chuckle burbled from Slater’s lips. “About time.”

“Do my ears deceive me, or did I just hear him laugh?” Kyle asked.

“Don’t push it, jock boy.” But despite his threatening tone, Slater smiled.

“Nah. I just push up, bro,” Kyle returned as he flexed his arms.

We couldn’t hold back at that point. The air filled with our laughter. Slater spread his legs a little wider and resumed his squats.

“Whatever you say, Kyle.”

Kyle grinned. “I’ll hold you to that, little bro.”

Was wondering if you could do a story like coach stone but a guy who turns men into farmers and country boys to improve their lifes

Hmm. Not sure on this one. I might, but if I do, it may be a while. I have plenty of other series that are sitting, waiting to be worked on.