Musclehead Transformation Story - Tumblr Posts

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 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.”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 44 (End/Epilogue)

You smile goodnaturedly at the blushing young man fidgeting in front of you as you run your sharpie over the photo from your greatest triumph, the day you broke the world record for strongest man. A hint of silver has come into your bristles along the side of your head, but you didn’t mind. It was a sign of character, after all. You still felt young and strong, even after all these years in the spotlight. For the briefest moment, as you look up from the photo at that beaming face, you see the shadow of your former self staring back up at you with adoring eyes. It flickered away as quickly as it came, but you took an interest as you stared at the man’s figure. He was slim, yes, but there was definitely tone there. He wasn’t a slouch. It was quite possible he had potential, just that he couldn’t reach it on his own. You sure didn’t, till you met Hank. You can feel your twin bodyguards chafing as they fold their vascular arms impatiently. Harry said he’d found them on a website. You figured that was probably true, but you had your suspicions about what kind of website that may have been. Of course, you were careful to avoid going too far down that road. Last time you tried, you dropped into trance again. Besides, it wasn’t for a muscleman like you to think about such things. Your purpose was to Lift things up and put them down. You hand the signed photo back to the man and chuckle. “Hey, kid, how’d you like to join me for lunch? I’ve got a few friends I’d like to introduce you to.” The kid blushed. “I ... I don’t know....” “Aw, come on, Draco. It’ll be fun!” “Um, it’s ... Drake, Sir,” the man muttered. “That fire in your eyes when you stood up to my guards says otherwise, kid. I’m calling you Draco, no ifs, ands, or buts. Think of it as a nickname,” you suggest. “Duff and I had plenty of our own, when we first started in the field.” You chuckle then. Ah, good times. Good times.” You wrap your massive arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Come on. It’ll be my treat.”

You sighed in contentment as you laid back in your chair and smiled up at the ceiling. In all the years you’d been trekking around the globe, this place still had some of the best damned teriyaki you’d ever tasted. You couldn’t help but smirk at all the gym goers chowing down. Each of them wore a familiar bicep logo somewhere on their person. One endorsement from a pro bodybuilder, and the whole place had practically exploded. The influx had been so great that they had to relocate and renovate to accommodate all the extra business. “Everything sitting with you well, Sir?” Shirley, a cute little lady with curly blond hair asked as she returned to refill your glasses. “Just fine, Shirl. Thanks for asking.” You smile kindly at her and she giggles and blushes. You then turn your attention back to the table, where Duff and Charlie both sit mashed next to each other. Two young men sit to either side of them, glaring at one another, and you can’t help but chuckle at the sight. “You know, Chuck, I never thought I’d see you out of those fatigues again.” Charlie let out a deep, rumbling laugh. “Y’know, I never thought I would either. The army was everything to me. It feels so strange being retired now.” “Benefits are good, though,” you point out. “The country takes care of her veterans,” he agreed as he adjusted the camouflage pattern ARMY cap on his head. “Been getting back into the ROTC scene again. Feels more like home, you know?” You laugh. “I know exactly what you mean. I’m gonna miss the circuit.” “You can’t be planning to retire just yet,” Duff scoffed. “You’re too dedicated for that.” “Muscle is my life,” you agree, “but even I can’t fight aging.” You shrug. “I figure I’ve got a few more years left in me, but I’m gonna have to pass the torch, eventually.” Duff eyed Drake speculatively. “And do you have any candidates in mind?” You shrug easily. “One or two. I’ll need to test them, though, see if they have what it takes.” “And what about you, Draco?” Duff asked. “What do you do?” Drake blushed, doing his best to avoid Duff’s gaze. “I’m an accounting student, Sir. I’ve always had a good head for numbers.” “That so?” He smiled. “Maybe you can tutor Lance here,” he said as he thumped the young teen hard on his back. “Math and he don’t exactly get along.” “Dad!” the boy cried exasperatedly. “I-I’m not sure if I’m that qualified, Sir. I focus on finances specifically. Algebra and geometry don’t exactly fall into that scale.” “Oh, I’m sure you can do just fine. I can pay you well, you know. And besides, if you were invited here by the big honcho himself, then you can bet you’ll be seeing a lot more of us in the coming weeks,” Duff added with a smirk. “Wait, what?” Drake asked. “Duff, stop confusing him,” you growl. “What, can’t a big bro have a little fun with his little bro’s protege?” “He’s a guest, Duff,” you stress. “Sure he is,” Duff said as he rolled his eyes. “Say, where’s Hank, anyways? I thought he was supposed to be meeting us today.” “He told us to start without him, said something about a last minute appointment. You know how busy he can be.” “Huh. And I was hoping to introduce Draco here.” You shrug. “Guess we’ll just need to make a stop there, then.” Drake gaped at you. “Hank? As in Hank Harrison? The Hank Harrison?” You chuckle. “The one and only. You didn’t think I’d stop at just introducing Duff and Chuck here, did you? We can leave as soon as you finish your meal.” You looked on in satisfaction at how quickly he devoured the other two bowls you’d ordered. As you had suspected, the kid had a fast metabolism. You allow a knowing wink to pass between yourself and your two friends. Their smiles widened in response.

The gym ran in full swing as you made your way past the reception desk and strode confidently out onto the floor. As you had suspected, there was no sign of your coach, though business was clearly booming. Youths and adults alike grunted and sweated together as they performed their various exercises. You quickly guide Drake through the STAFF ONLY door and pass down the hall towards the great door at the end. You were taken by surprise, when one of the side doors creaked open and a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out, looking dejected. He was soon followed by the titanic frame of your coach, Hank Harrison. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that kind of habit in my gym, Albert. If you can stay clean for a year, come back then and try again. That’s my final ruling on the matter,” Hank rumbled as he looked down almost pityingly at the muscle man. Albert nodded, then lumbered sadly away towards the entrance. “Another steroid user?” you ask. Hank sighed and shook his head. His whiskers had taken on a steel-gray, and just a hint of a pudge had started to form on his belly. “They all think I care about how big and muscular they are. What I want is someone who can teach and work safely with my clients.” He smiled sadly. “Hey, Kid. Good to see you again.” You smile and give the man a quick bro hug with a thump on the back. “Good to see you, too. I see the gym is doing well.” “I can’t get them to stop coming. Something about wanting to be like the world’s strongest man,” he teased. “And who is this?” “Draco,” you say, quickly cutting off any chance for Drake to get the first word. “I met him earlier today, after a gig at a local showing. Thought he might like to meet you.” Hank raised his brow in surprise. “Is that so?” “He’s a good kid. Smart, clean, brave, and one hell of a metabolism.” “And you wanted to introduce us.” You shrug causally. “Already did for Duff and Chuck. Figured I’d round it out.” “Is that so?” This time, he gave Drake a much more scrutinous examination. “And it couldn’t wait?” “No, it couldn’t,” you say pointedly. “I wanted him to have the chance of a proper one-on-one.” “I see.” He tapped a few buttons on his watch, then strode over to the big door. he’d just emerged from. “Why don’t we step inside, then? I’m sure my other clients won’t mind waiting a little longer, and besides, I’d like to hear a little more about you, Draco.” “Um, ... it’s Drake, ... Sir,” the kid said somewhat hesitantly as they passed through the door and into the room. You smile as you note the gentle buzzing filtering out from the speakers. Then you enter, too, pulling the door shut behind you. Coach could see it, too. You knew. Now it was just a matter of convincing the kid. That wouldn’t be much of a problem. The muscleman in Drake was just waiting to bust out. And no one could do busting better than Hank. Time to pass the torch.

Desserts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "You're sure about this, Devon?"

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

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

 "That's the plan." He laughed again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Yeah....

 And you were a good lil'bro.

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

 ...

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

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

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

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

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