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The School of Buff Jocks Part 1

Ladies and Gentlemen, Jocks and Muscleheads, Bros and Bruhs, it is my distinct honor and pleasure to present to you the long anticipated sequel to Real Men’s Journal and Of Spies and Muscleheads, the School of Buff Jocks! This story is being written on a commission basis, so give thanks to @muscle-jock-bro for footing the bill. And if you want to ease the amount he’s paid for you all to enjoy this, please feel free to throw a few dollars his way. As usual, I am currently open for commissions. Just message me if you’re interested or email me at [email protected] with the subject: Commission Inquiry. And if you wish to support my writing, please feel free to donate via my Ko-fi or Patreon.

Now, please enjoy. The other parts will be coming shortly.

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Stonewall Prep Men’s Academy. You hear words like that, and you’d expect some sort of boarding school for boys or something like that, wouldn’t you? And I suppose it still is. Things are just … different than they used to be. I’ll tell you what, though, we haven’t had to worry about big fights or fancy things like detention and suspension for a long time. Matter of fact, we have one of the best reputations as a no-nonsense school since the business was bought out by its current owner. It used to be called Stone Bluff Men’s Academy, but I guess Coach Stone preferred something stronger.

Can’t say I blame him. It feels so good to be strong. But I’m getting ahead of myself. The name’s Derek. Derek Jones. My friends call me DJ. I’m … sort of a big deal. Folks around the country call me Big DJ. Can’t say I hate the nickname. Feels kinda natural, actually. And, I mean, look at me. I am big. Thing is, I wasn’t always. Nobody is, I suppose. Not at first.

I used to be more of a nerd. Videogames were more my thing. The closest I came to sports was usually with EA Games’ Madden and other sport franchises. That and Wii Sports. I used to have a lot of gamer friends, too. We’d laugh, sass around about things like anime and other common interests. Then things started to change after summer break one year.

Guess that’s where I’ll start, since I’m supposed to tell my story. And, well, my story is the school’s story. I was sitting with a couple of my old bros, Jackson and Slater. We shared classes, had a lot of the same interests. It was a good match for us. And since the prep school allowed for electives to travel in the same circles, we got at least a couple of periods together each day. Being in the same dorm helps a lot for hanging out after, too.

To say we were surprised by our teachers’ appearances was an understatement. Every one of them was ripped. Not in the steroid sense of the word, but we could tell they’d all lost weight, and their new clothes highlighted the tone they had developed over the break. The school’s headmaster was, by far, one of the biggest changes. The man used to be heavyset and overweight. Now he was broad in all the right places. I mean, the man was built like a tank!

The opening assembly gave us a proper explanation.

The headmaster stared at us with flinty blue-green eyes as he spoke over the pulpit. Even without the speakers, his voice probably could have projected to the back of the hall.

“Welcome to another year at Stonewall Prep Academy. Some of you are likely confused by that name, considering the moniker our school has borne for so many years. It has recently been brought under new ownership, however, with new management as a result. There are to be no major changes in your curriculum, nor your daily lives.

“Your schedules will remain the same, save you should choose to alter them. However, the new owner has insisted on a higher budget to pay for greater resources to be utilized by our student body. As a result, the school will be undergoing certain renovations over the course of the year.

“Our computer lab will be updated with the latest in technology to give you all the best chance at learning both digitally and physically. As an additional investment, each of you will be given a personal computer that is to be returned to the school at the end of the term.”

The room was filled with excited whispers at that news. Our own personal computers. There were so many things we could do with those. Stream shows, play videos, post memes. And we could write letters and emails in our rooms instead of having to dedicate time at the computer lab to do it. It was perfect!

“Now, boys, settle down.” The headmaster smiled. “The best is yet to come. Since so many youths are full of nervous energy, our school’s new owner has insisted on donating a heavy portion of his own money to renovate and expand our fitness program, including giving new machines and equipment to allow maximum efficiency for you students and any sports teams. Living conditions will also be improved in due course on a person to person basis. The transitions in your rooms will be simple and swift, so you needn’t fear not having a place to stay. The changes will be superficial at best with updated furniture and amenities. We expect you boys to do your best during this year and immerse yourself in the spirit of health, wellness, and education that this school is meant to embody. With that being said, it’s time to adjourn for a meal. Then you will have free time to prepare for school tomorrow. To all new students, your schedules will be in your dorm rooms, and teachers will be standing by on the first day to help guide you to your classes across the campus. Welcome to Stonewall Prep!”

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Mister Andrews was my teacher for World History that year. The man was a big medieval buff in both senses of the word. He even kept a suit of full plate armor on display in the classroom to show off his dedication to the time period. I heard he used to joust and play tourneys at Renaissance Fairs before he taught at the school. As a result of his hobby, he always kept a solid frame stacked high with muscle mass, particularly in the arms, shoulders, and legs. His stomach had grown over the last few years of teaching as age caught up with him, but whatever he’d done over break had nuked the fat into nonexistence. A thin green froth coated his lip as he switched between greeting students and taking a swig from an intricately carved tankard portraying a knight charging into battle on his horse with sword waving dramatically in front. I figured it must be green tea. I’d heard the stuff was good for cutting fat, and it explained a lot about his sudden change in form.

His deep voice rolled over the class in a no-nonsense tone. “All right, boys, bros, and men, listen up. I’m Mister Andrews. For those of you who intend to participate in wrestling or football this year, you can call me Coach Andrews. I don’t do roughhousing or fighting in this class. You will pay attention, and you will learn. If you do anything to disrupt the other students or my lesson, you will be punished as I see fit. History is no joke, and I intend you boys to take it seriously.” He drained the rest of his stein and slammed it onto his desk. The resulting sound echoed like a gun shot in our ears. “I hope we understand each other.”

Needless to say, Class was quiet and very attentive on its first day of the term. We received our syllabi and were given a general overview of what to expect for the course of our lessons. It took every fiber of willpower I had not to cheer when he said we wouldn’t be doing any papers this year. Like every teen, I hate writing essays. When the period ended, and it was time to clear out to our next classes, I approached Coach Andrews and smiled.

“Glad I got you this year, Mister Andrews.”

Andrews grinned. “It’s been a while, DJ. How’s the gang?”

“Gallivanting as usual, Sir. Were you still planning on DMing this year?”

“With sword and daggers bared,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I hope your party is ready. This year’s campaign, or campaigns as the case may be, are going to be a lot harder.”

I grinned. “I relish the challenge.”

“I would expect nothing less of our Half Orc Paladin.” He smiled. “Now you’d better move it. I won’t be held responsible for you being late to your next class on the first day. You can’t exactly use being a new student as an excuse, now can you?”

I laughed and offered a casual salute. “Yes, Sir.”

Andrews smirked. “That’s my soldier.”

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I couldn’t help but cringe as the scream rent the air, followed by a cascade of sobs. The hardwood floor of the school’s basketball court was now watered, not only by sweat, but by the tears of the goalie that bawled his eyes out as he clutched his crotch. Well, more held his hands gently over it. My grip tightened on my lacrosse stick as Coach Johnson lumbered forward and offered a consoling hand over the kid’s shoulder. The man was about six-foot-three and carried enough corded muscle to show more than his job was fitness. The offending ball now wobbled guiltily on one of the floorboards as he spoke in a deep, soft, and reassuring tone.

“Deep breaths, Kyle. Deep breaths,” he coached. “You’re gonna be okay.”

The teens that had once been so competitive now averted their eyes as Johnson levelled his dark green gaze on them.

“Mister Larson.” The deep quiet tone carried louder than any shout or beration as he looked to his fellow teacher. “Help the boys put away their equipment. I think we’re done for the day. I’m going to help Kyle to the school infirmary.”

Mister Larson nodded as the wails and sobs gradually faded to that hitching hiccup you get when you’re in the limbo between a full-on bawl and silent tears. No man would dare to criticize Kyle for it. Several of us swallowed heavily as our gazes trailed to our own crotches. That could have been any of us, and that was a sobering thought.

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Jackson winced after I gave them the downlow on what happened in gym. One of the first things we’d done was download Steam onto our new laptops and start playing League of Legends. His black hair had that sort of shine that drew the eye and made most people jealous. How he did it, I still don’t know. He doesn’t either. Guess he was just lucky.

“Sucks to be him,” Slater said as he unleashed his character’s highest tier attack on the enemy hordes. His red hair had been cut to short bristles. He preferred high and tight to the longer bowl cut of his younger days.

“Seriously, man?” I asked.

Slater shrugged. “What? I feel bad for the guy, but I’m not gonna cry a river for him. We’ve got our own stuff to worry about.”

“Either way, I’m pretty sure lacrosse is going to be off the table for a while,” Jackson guessed.

“I feel sorry for the one who did the deed. I know it was an accident, but man, did you see the look on Johnson’s face?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s pretty much screwed,” Slater agreed.

“Or he’s just going to have to apologize. It’s not like he’s going to get expelled,” Jackson said. Then he double clicked his mouse and smiled as his avatar wiped out mine and Slater’s.

“Really, man?”

Jackson shrugged. “That’s what you get for putting me on the other team.”

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Coach Johnson and Mister Larson both stood in front of the mass of students. Their voices rebounded from the tiles of the locker room. Larson raised a bundle of straps with a single green pouch high into the air.

“As of this day, all students are required to wear one of these at all times during gym class. For those students who are unaware, this piece of equipment is known as a jockstrap. It’s designed to support your crotch while playing sports.”

Coach Johnson picked up the narrative and raised his hand into the air. A hard curved plastic insert rimmed by what looked like rubber glinted in the light. The dull gray and black were emphasized by hints of bright green to complement the theme of its paired jockstrap. “This is called a cup. It’s used in most heavy sporting events to protect your crotch from heavy impacts. As you can see, this one is designed with shock absorption, shock transfer, and ventilation in mind, including a gel perimeter and inserts to keep impacts from cutting into your skin. All students are required to wear their cups with their jockstraps in order to participate in fitness activities. This is a safety measure to protect you from future harm. We expect each and every one of you to wear them and take good care of them.”

The two taught us how to insert the cup into a pouch and how to ensure a proper fit. I felt silly and embarrassed by the bulge it left in my pants, but the assurance that I wouldn’t end up in a crumpled ball on the floor helped mute that part of me, even if it couldn’t be totally silenced. At least they didn’t force us to just wear the straps alone. Of course, we were teenagers, so at least a few of us had to make the joke about what we were packing.

Huhuh. If only we knew.

“Jocks and cups will be dropped off in each of your rooms this evening,” Larson said. “You’ll be expected to take good care of them and place the used straps and cups in designated bins for washing. Your surnames will be sewn onto the straps inside the waistband for identification and delivery.”

We played for the rest of that period, though the pain Kyle had experienced was still fresh in our minds, and I’m pretty sure most of us weren’t really putting our whole effort into the game. Our heads were somewhere else.

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Somewhere else. That was the answer we’d received when we asked about Kyle. To be more precise, they’d said he was somewhere else getting treatment. The ball must’ve hit harder than we thought. I was biased then, and angry from past bullying. I thought about those stupid dumb jocks and my blood boiled.

I slaughtered in Call of Duty that night.

Later, we had Trig. Mister Dale had just polished off a blended green shake, probably one of those new kale smoothies, or so I thought at the time. He’d grown, just like the other teachers, and he exuded a confidence that I had never seen in him before when he addressed us. Had the teachers all been using the new gym equipment or something over the break?

Mister D’s voice rolled over the classroom in a wave. “Trigonometry, in many ways, has a heavy impact on us and the way we live. Combine it with the laws of physics, and you can predict almost anything. For instance, how many of you have played air hockey before?”

The majority of us raised our hands.

“How many of you have ever watched the puck in action as it slides over the table?”

Again, everyone raised their hands or nodded they had.

He drew a straight line, followed by two exact angles with the aid of a ruler. “One of the basic premises of trigonometry is angle in equals angle out. If you don’t get involved with friction, spin, or other factors along those lines, the bare essentials lead to this inevitable conclusion. If you strike the wall at a certain angle, the object will bounce off at an equal angle. Hence the ricochet we see in air hockey. Or, for those of you who are gamers, the unique bounce of the ball in Pong as it strikes your paddle.”

He smiled at us, despite our lack of enthusiasm. “Likewise, the same can be applied to philosophy and psychological development. Set a person on a particular course, account for various outside factors like environment and personality, let them collide with an obstacle, and see how they bounce back. In a nutshell, that’s basically life, when you think about it. Release.” He pointed to the first angle. “Strike.” He indicated the axis. “Bounce.” He pointed to the second angle. “And repeat. We may not always get the desired outcome at first, but by repeating the motions, one can eventually analyze a situation, figure out the proper factors, and ensure a means to achieve the desired outcome every single time. Ballistics experts use trigonometry on a regular basis as part of crime scene investigation to gather evidence. Now, then.” He pulled down the projection screen and shut off the lights, so a presentation could begin. “Let’s talk about how we calculate these angles.”

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“Homework sucks,” I groaned as I leaned back in my computer chair.

“At least it’s easy stuff for now, DJ.” Slater pointed out as he clacked on his laptop’s keyboard from my bed. “It could be worse.”

“I suppose.” I sighed. “Least we’re not in the hospital.”

“Relax, Derek. It’s not like Kyle’s never coming back.” He rolled his eyes.

“I know. I just don’t really like thinking about it, you know?” I winced and cupped my crotch.

“Yeah,” the others agreed softly. We spent the rest of the time focused on our various assignments. The trig program was pretty easy to follow through on. The exercise module ran sort of like a Prezi slide show. The line would trace and pause at a unique plane, and we’d have to figure out the angles. Wrong answers would generate a new problem as my point of view spun in reverse from the screen, following the line of trajectory. The more correct answers I got, the closer to the end goal I would descend. It wasn’t so bad as far as game designs go. Basic, but entertaining enough to keep the attention. And using games to teach always seemed a better way to go about school to me.

Module one was a breeze. Two and three took me a little more time. A slim amorphous figure voiced a chipper, “Congratulations,” as it flexed at the end of each one. The metaphorical walls and ricochet spun and drilled into the character, causing it to pulse and vibrate until the module had been absorbed. Then it flexed. The barest hint of definition could barely be perceived on its arm. “We’ll be fit for triggernometry in no time.”

I rolled my eyes. Cheesy one-liners for motivation and a mispronunciation. It was pretty obvious to me where this could end up going. The curriculum was the same for all of us, so we helped each other with our homework, then pulled another game night.

We had no idea what was coming.

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When Kyle finally came back to school again, we hardly recognized him. The pudgy boy had lost a lot of weight and gained in muscle and tone. The glasses he’d worn were nowhere to be seen, and the square block of his skull was much more prominent, now that the fat had been trimmed away.

He became a monster in Phys-ed. And Coach Johnson became his mentor. First term flew by, and he threw himself into every exercise Johnson put us through. He wasn’t the only one. The teachers all were growing. Their shirts were tighter, their figures trimmed. Whatever plan they were following sure seemed to be doing them good.

And surprisingly enough, the program was working. The more homework we aced, the bigger our seamless avatar would grow and the higher our overall performance would become in class. Sometimes, he’d be running a track. At other times, he’d be lifting barbells or performing chin-ups. The animations were so cheesy, we couldn’t help but laugh, but the results spoke for themselves.

I particularly enjoyed the English exercises. Synonyms, antonyms, imagery, symbolism, punctuation, structure.

I was a stickler for structure.

I am a stickler for structure.

Because structure is order and order is strength.

And a guy’s gotta play to his strengths, right?

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Second term is where things started to get … different. The renovations were well underway, and most of them had been finished over the break. It’s easier to work when things are empty. Lets you focus more.

My room smelled of rich pine, thanks to an air freshener that had been plugged into the wall outlet. Not my favorite smell, but I wasn’t about to complain. The bed had been replaced with an extra-long full-sized mattress that gave more support. The mattresses were Sleep System brand, so you can understand when my eyes bugged out at that. These things promise a perfect night’s sleep, and they’ll adjust to your frame automatically to help you sleep longer and better.

And trust me, they work. I love that bed more than I love being home with my family, if you can believe it.

Changes were even more prominent in the mess hall. Stainless steel and chrome shone brightly along the passenger lines. The kitchens, or what little we could see of them, had been decked out with brand new equipment. The food smelled and tasted AMAZING! I’m talking meatloaf, steak, mashed potatoes, tamales, pretty much anything you could name, they had. Not all at once, mind you. The cafeteria still followed a set meal schedule and menu, but the quality was and is out of this world!

The headmaster and teachers were all wearing compression gear with the school’s name and mascot on it. He told us we’d be able to wear school gear now to our other classes if we wished, provided it remained within proper dress standards. Our new “casual” uniforms were waiting for us in our dorms later that night. Me and the guys had a little get together to have some fun with the new gear.

I pitched my voice low and pushed the air out my mouth for greater effect as I flexed in front of the new floor-length mirror that had been installed in my room. Jim, the golden flexing fitness avatar, was showing off the goods on my left pec. His waist was obscured by a stone wall, while the words Stonewall Preparatory Academy stood out along the wall’s face.

“Check out these, guns, bro,” I lowed as I fixed my friends with the most vacant expression I could manage.

Jackson chuckled. “At least we get new clothes out of it.”

“There is that,” I conceded.

Not one to be left out on the fun, Slater smirked and popped both arms into the air in a double bicep flex. “It’s workout time, bruhs.” Jackson and I laughed as he got down and actually did a couple of pushups to hype up the act.

“Behold, Slater the Slayer!” I crowed.

Slater smirked as he got back to his feet. “Not a bad name, ‘bruh.’”

“Fuck, yeah,” I guffawed.

“Fuck, yeah,” they repeated.

We all laughed again, doing our best to push through that deep dull bass as we continued our antics.

We had no idea the seeds we were planting that night.

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Ever the lazy kids that we were, a significant portion of the school began to wear the gear, instead of their usual uniforms. I mean, come on, the stuff was comfy and easy to switch into on short notice if you were running late. What teen wouldn’t use that as an excuse to sleep in a little longer?

This, in turn, led to some developments that our teachers definitely didn’t approve of. Students were coming in late. Once or twice over a long period of time is fine, but when it becomes consistent across multiple students in a classroom, discipline has to be enforced.

And boy, was it.

One early winter morning, five boys came careening into the classroom with panting breath. Andrews was just explaining about Greek culture in ancient times, and we were about to focus on Sparta when we were interrupted. Andrews fixed them with a cool gaze.

“Boys,” he greeted them. “Late again, I see.”

“S-sorry, Mister Andrews,” they said in a low and garbled murmur as they averted their gazes and shuffled toward their seats.

After they’d gotten everything ready on their desks and were about to sit down, Andrews raised a staying hand. “Actually, boys, I’d like your help with a demonstration. Come back up here, will you?”

The kids blushed as they approached the front of the classroom again.

“Now, boys, the headmaster and staff have been talking. We’ve noticed a disturbing rise in the number of children who haven’t been making it on time to class. Not only does this indicate an unprecedented amount of slothfulness, but it also reflects poorly on us as your temporary caretakers. As such, a new mode of discipline is to be implemented, starting today. All boys who are late to class will pay a penalty.” He turned to the boys and grinned. “And you five get to demonstrate that penalty today.” He pointed to the floor. “Now drop and give me ten pushups.”

“Ex-cuse me?” one of the boys asked hesitantly.

“You heard me. Drop and give me ten. Don’t move quickly enough, and I’ll up it to fifteen.” He folded his vascular arms over his chest and frowned. “Now, gentlemen.”

The exercise took particularly long for one of the students, since his arms were basically like twigs. Andrews finally had to allow him to do baby pushups on his knees, instead of using his full body weight.

“Thank you, boys,” Andrews said as he ushered them to their seats with the wave of a hand. Then he fixed the rest of the class with a piercing glare. “And to anyone who gets any ideas about teasing these gentlemen for doing the honorable thing and not complaining, I’ll be happy to show you my personal training course for bullies. As it stands, I expect to see you five here in my classroom after the school day is over. We have a lot to discuss.” He turned back to the board. “Now, then, back to the Spartans.”

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“Damn it!” I swore. My die rolled a two on the table, and Andrews shook his head.

“Language, DJ.”

The gentle whirr of the projector as the game map shone on the screen demonstrated my character’s current predicament. A large Yuan-ti stood next to my character, and I had rolled to avoid being snared by its coils.

I sighed. “Sorry, Mister Andrews. So, what’s the damage?”

He rolled his dice and spoke. “The Yuan-ti’s coils wrap around Lathrok and hold him tightly. Lathrok takes two points in constriction damage. The serpent sneers and blinks as his eyes begin to pulse. He’s preparing to dominate you and will make the attempt on his next turn.”

“Uh, guys, a little help?” I pleaded of my party.

“Our hands are full, Derek. Sorry.” Slater shrugged apologetically to me. “Dealing with an army of thralls is no easy task.”

“Much though I hate to suggest it, it might be better for the rest of the party to retreat for now and try saving Lathrok later,” Jackson noted.

“Seriously, guys?”

“Given the overwhelming number of thralls we’re dealing with, it might be our only option, unless you want all of us to lose our characters with no chance of saving you,” Slater said. “By the way, I’m using my breath attack to clear a path, Mister Andrews.”

“A shrewd strategy,” Andrews praised. He took a deep drag from his tankard, and a button popped off his dress shirt to expose a little more of his chest beneath. We knew better than to comment on something like that in the middle of a campaign. “Let’s see how it works out for you.”

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“All right!” Jim cheered in my ears as his helper screen popped up on the interactive gym. “Time to up those weights. Let’s see how it works out for you!” It seemed that the teachers were going to insist we interact with the program every chance we could get.

“If you have any problems, go to Jim.”

Granted, the fact it was there to monitor and help transition for the workout equipment was very useful for most of us. Whenever we reached a plateau, Jim would log it in the system and trigger the machines to create a more challenging workout. I … wasn’t a big fan of this, if I’m going to be honest about it. I didn’t like working out back then. But since it was part of a grade, there wasn’t much I could do, other than let things take their course.

Kyle blew through his exercises like a machine. Rep after rep, set after set. He’d bust them out, guzzle his drink, then get back to work. When others asked him his secret, he just shrugged and said, “I just do it. I got tired of being scared and taking hits, and I did something about it.” Then he’d turn and get right back to work. It was no wonder he turned into such a hulk with the way he attacked the program. His version of Jim was jacked as all get-out. I mean rippling musculature the whole way through. Either he put in a lot more time on the modules or he was in advanced placement, because assuming the avatar followed the same principles ours did in their programming, that size shouldn’t have been possible. Then again, he might have worked on the modules while he was away to help pass the time between physical therapy and whatever else he did.

Either way, the irrevocable social laws of teenage dynamics began to set in, and in no time at all, everyone wanted to hang with Kyle. Spotting, eating lunch, whatever. The guy couldn’t seem to catch a break. It was no wonder he asked to join the lacrosse team. At least on the field, he could get some rest from all the people clawing at him and actually work off some steam. His coaches made sure of that.

It took five rounds of grueling physical exercises to finally get the hordes to back off. The coaches even got a couple of recruits out of it. It was pretty clever, honestly. I mean, making us do the fitness would test our limits and let them see exactly who would be the best students to scout for the sports programs.

Fortunately, I wasn’t among those students. Unfortunately, that didn’t matter in gym class during the weightlifting segment. The butterfly press was one of my greatest enemies, and Jim knew it. Every time I was on that thing, he would correct my form. He still does sometimes, but not too often anymore.

“Derek, your form is off again, big guy.” The monitor flashed to reveal a diagram complete with drawn lines and arrows to direct me and ensure I had a proper visual of the form I needed to use. “Raise your elbows to adjust your trajectory and put the emphasis on the proper muscle groups.” I grit my teeth and bit back the curse burning in my throat.

“Someone looks angry.” The recently promoted Coach Larson folded his arms and nodded at me as I growled through the next press. A tablet was clasped in one of his hands. “Good. Use that to push through the exercise. You’re a growing boy. I’d be more concerned if you didn’t show any aggression.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said as I rolled my eyes.

“No problem.” He strode up to the side of the machine and spoke into his tablet’s mike as he accessed the equipment. “Hey, Jim?”

“Yes?” the AI querried.

“Add another set to the end of Mister Jones’ routine today. Faculty disciplinary action override.”

The weights crashed as I let go and my eyes bulged. “What?”

“Teacher Identification?” Jim asked.

Larson tapped a code into his data pad, and a chime pinged as the data was submitted. “Okay!” Jim said in a chipper voice.

I wanted to scream, but I really didn’t want to have any more fitness added to what already left my body feeling like frozen molasses in the morning. I didn’t know how I managed to pull through that. Honestly, I was so angry, I hardly paid attention to anything till I felt a heavy hand shaking my shoulder. Kyle’s blocky features stared at me. His brow furrowed in concern, and his short flat top buzz cut flashed white gold under the gym’s lights.

“Hey, it’s, uh, … Derek, right?”

“DJ,” I snapped.

“… Okay, DJ, then.” The fact Kyle stayed calm instead of getting offended probably saved me that day. “You know class is over, right?”

I blinked in surprise. “What?”

He gripped my wrists and pulled my arms gently off the press. “Class is over, man. It’s been over for the last hour.”

“Congratulations! Way to go! I’m really im-pressed with your progress!” Jim continued to heap praises and cheesy one-liners. His arms and chest had gained significant definition. Mine, on the other hand….

Let’s just say it hurt to breathe, and my arms felt like they never wanted to move again, now that they were resting on my lap.

Kyle laid a hand gently on my shoulder. “You okay?”

I wanted to snap at him on instinct, but I managed to keep that part of me in check. Kyle wasn’t the jock stereotype I’d had to face growing up. A few months ago, he’d been a lot smaller and a lot less fit. This wasn’t getting picked on. This was someone concerned for my health. I nodded. “Yeah, I … sorry. I don’t know what happened.” My whole body tingled, and the hairs I had on my arms were standing on end.

“Come on. I know what you need.” Kyle smiled and hoisted me out of the chair like it was nothing. Then he guided me to the coaches’ office. The place was more like a lounge than an office. Maybe even a locker room with how much square footage it had. Fridges, freezers, first aid and medical stations, scales, this place had the works. Kyle easily pulled open one of the fridges and broke the seal on a plastic bottle filled with green liquid. “Drink this,” he instructed. “It’s a protein shake. It’ll help soak up all the acid your muscles are producing, so you can recover faster from today.”

“Is this … okay?”

Kyle shrugged. “Coach said I could if I needed it. Right now, I’d say you need it more. If they ask, I’ll just tell ’em what happened.” Then he guided me into the locker room itself. “What you need now is to chug that shake and take a shower. Cold water works better, but anything’s better than nothing. Trust me on that.”

“That, and the fact I’m a sweaty mess?”

“Well, I suppose there is that, too.” Kyle grinned, then looked at his own drenched compression shirt. “You’re not the only one. Did you bring a change of clothes?”

I shook my head numbly, then took a swig of the bottle. It was only then that I realized just how thirsty I’d become. The whole thing was drained in a few seconds, and I chased it with several mouthfuls of water from the drinking fountain after.

“Well, that sucks.” He shrugged, then led me farther back into the lockers, where the tile opened up into several shower stalls, each cordoned off by a shower curtain and bearing identical mounted dispensers. Shelving units laden with freshly folded towels stood in front each entrance. “Don’t know how the school afforded it, but these things are legit,” Kyle said. “Jets and an overhead designed to get a full body wash. Seriously, man, you’ll never want to shower anywhere else after you try it. And after the workout you just had, you’ll definitely need it. Turn on the massage setting. Trust me, you won’t regret it.” He grinned and patted me on the back as he traversed to a neighboring stall.

And he was right. I didn’t regret it. That stall left me feeling higher than a kite after it was done with me. I managed to move my arms enough to engage each of the dispensers and get a proper shower in. Then I just let the massage do the rest. Kyle was already gone by the time I finished, but he gave me a kind goodbye before he smacked down the tiles to get changed and go to his dorm. So far, it seemed, Kyle was actually going to be one of the good ones out there. Maybe he would be able to break my idea of the jock stereotype.

Maybe.

The School of Buff Jocks Part 2

Click for Part 1

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That night, I dreamed about a lot of things. First, I slid down the spiral from trig, bouncing from point to point like a ping-pong ball as I jerked along the axis of the slide, until I landed in the soft goopy mess of Jim’s body. I struggled and clawed, but my body just sank, and my arms still ached from the press. Darkness consumed me as I went under. Light finally came through a window, where I watched myself standing in front of a mirror. I opened my mouth to speak, but Jim’s voice came out instead.

“Great job! Time to flex!”

My dream self grinned and raised both his arms to pose in front of a mirror.

Once again, my mouth opened. Once again, Jim’s voice spoke. “Looking good, big guy!”

A deep throaty chuckle reverberated in my ears. “Thanks, Jim.”

“Any time,” I said. “If you have any problems, go to Jim.”

I watched helplessly as my dream self inflated inside the gym uniform. Shoulders broadened; neck thickened; and biceps, triceps, and flexors twitched and expanded with every breath. Shelf-like pecs pressed in slabs against the tight material of the compression shirt.

The laugh reverberated through my little space again as I watched, and a smile pulled across my face. Seconds later, I was staring at my new muscle self in the mirror, still grinning like an idiot. My eyes strayed to the screen where Jim flexed at me, the screen I had once been trapped behind, speaking as the program. The screen was filled with rippling liquid gold now, and that gold spilled in a waterfall from the screen as Jim spoke again. “Go to Jim. Listen to Jim. Go to Jim. Go to the gym. Lissssssssssssten….”

Tight hands. Gold coils wrapping my broad shoulders, pinning my arms. Scales that rippled and spun in accents just like the slide at the beginning of the dream. Pulsing eyes drawing me into pulsing liquid gold. Or were the eyes the gold, too? I suppose it didn’t matter to my dream self, so I guess it shouldn’t matter to me either. All I know is those eyes, pools, whatever they were, were waiting for me. Waiting to claim me as Lathrok had been claimed in the campaign.

And I watched helplessly as my dream self let them.

“Let’sssssssss go again….”

I fell through the coils. My world spun, and I was on the slide again.

I don’t know how many times I went through that dream before I woke up. All I know is when I finally did, it was dark, I was cold, and I was covered in sweat.

I wished I could have used those showers again.

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Two weeks of the same dream. By this point, I felt so shot, I didn’t even bother to protest when Andrews looked at me. I knew what was coming. My arms pumped slowly and steadily till I reached ten, then fifteen, then twenty. The phantom cheers from Jim echoed and swam in my head with Andrews’ voice. I barely understood what he was saying.

“With the influx of sports activities, we’ve noticed a certain pattern of decay in the school’s overall academic performance.”

He frowned at each of us. It took everything I had, just to keep my head from hitting the desk.

“As a result, each of us has been tasked with informing you boys that all sporting and extracurricular activities will be barred to any student who doesn’t meet the proper standards.” He spread his legs wide and leveled a flat stare at us that smoldered with foreboding.

Again, I was too out of it to really notice or care. Hell, at this point, I couldn’t even tell what was dream and what was real. There were several objections from the class, but Andrews’ voice cut through them all easily.

“If you boys don’t like it, then change your performance. Use the tools we’ve given you. Do your homework, focus on your projects and assignments. Get the jobs done. You choose your actions. You don’t get to choose the consequences for them.”

To this day, I still can’t tell you what Andrews said after that. I blinked once, and class was over. I had just enough awareness to gather my things and shuffle toward the door, till Andrews stopped me and pulled me aside.

“Derek, are you okay? This isn’t like you.”

His skin seemed to pulse and writhe as I looked at it. With every second, the muscle he’d built seemed to strain against the spandex. I looked at him, and I saw the phantom of Jim’s placid featureless face flowing over my favorite teacher’s.

“Oh, no. Not again.”

If Andrews asked what I meant, I didn’t hear him. The world faded to black, and I was gone.

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I came to in the infirmary. No nightmares this time. Once more, it was almost completely dark. The smell of pine mixed with the familiar scent of cleaning supplies. I had to grip the sides of my bed to be sure I wasn’t about to go for another ride down that horrific slide. I mean, I guess I wouldn’t mind it so much now, but back then, that thing was effing terrifying.

“Thirty students pushed to the brink of exhaustion. Thirty!”

I furrowed my brow in confusion. Was that … Andrews I heard behind the curtain?

“Calm down, Tobias.” This was a voice I didn’t recognize. The range was far deeper than anything I’d ever heard before. It rolled smooth as silk, but with the inexorable force of a tidal wave. Whoever was speaking was used to control.

“How can you expect me to calm down when my students are being driven to this state by your program?”

A dim light shone on my curtain. The two must have been far enough away that whatever source they were using wouldn’t disturb the room’s occupants.

“You’ve seen the results for yourself, Tobias, and I don’t much like your tone. You and I both know not all minds are the same. Some stimuli clearly had a negative effect on these boys. That’s why I asked you and the rest of the school staff to call me in the first place if you noticed abnormal behavior.”

“Some stimuli? Just what, exactly, is so stimulating for my students, Mister Stone?”

“Please, call me Coach.” I could picture the man shrugging his shoulders. “Given how you’re reacting, you’d think I’d done something to one of your sons.”

“Those boys are my sons.”

“And you think I don’t care about them? Tobias, you ought to be ashamed. These boys are the future. I’m not about to risk that, let alone the lawsuits that would rise if a parent thought I was doing something illegal.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Doing something illegal.”

Stone tsked. “I’m providing advanced tools for education and development, Tobias. That’s all. Now, why don’t you go get some rest? You’re tired and tense. If you can’t sleep, go blow off some steam in the gym.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with these kids.”

“Then we’ll go together. Leave the nurse to handle this. They should be perfectly fine after a good night’s sleep. Come with me, Tobias. I insist.”

Andrews was silent for a while, probably chewing over what Stone said. Finally, he spat out a, “Fine.”

“Tread lightly, Mister Andrews. We don’t want to wake them. You and I can air our respective grievances and rebuttals outside like real men.”

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I missed the next morning’s meal at the mess hall. The nurse insisted on checking each and every one of us for vitals and signs of recovery. Once we had a clean bill of health and were properly fed, we were released to our classes with strict instructions to alert a teacher if we started feeling any more fatigue or other problems.

The look of concern in Anderews’ eyes was mirrored by the intensity of his grip as he squeezed my shoulder. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

I gave him my assurances and thanked him for caring. I mean, the guy kinda went full on papa bear in the infirmary. That meant if there was any teacher I could rely on to be in my corner, it’d be this guy. That day, we went over the origins of the Olympics and the various traditional sports that were practiced in Ancient Greece. Of course, wrestling and track were two of the major ones. Interesting fact, the strongest man in Greek Myth’s real name was actually Heracles, not Hercules. Hercules is what the Romans called him. Guess it goes to show the eggheads in Disney can be kinda stupid, too.

He had Jim show us clips, reliefs, and footage from some old Olympics games to show us how the sport and various events evolved from when it first started. We’ve come a long way since then. For one, we don’t compete naked anymore. I’m a lot more comfortable with my body now, but even I wouldn’t do something like that. Every once in a while, I’d twist my back on my chair to stretch. Some of the guys were practically salivating over the footage. Others rolled their eyes or scratched their crotches.

In other words, it was another day of classes in the life of bored teenagers. When everyone filed out to go to their next classes, Andrews pulled me aside. He looked hesitant, which was a strange sight to see in a man who had always been so confident in the classroom.

“Is … everything all right?” I finally asked.

“There’s … someone who wants to meet you. He arrived after he heard about what happened to you and the other boys that were in the infirmary.”

“He scares you that much?”

“Who says I’m scared?”

“The student who’s known you for over a year?”

Andrews chuckled. “Touche. Look, I just don’t like him all that much. He says he means well, but I’m not so sure he does. Just … promise to come to me if he does anything strange, okay?”

I nodded. “I promise. So, what, is he going to take me out of one of my classes or something?”

Andrews shook his head. “I’m taking you to him. He wants to interview each of you one on one. I’ll be there as a second adult to keep an eye on you.”

“Then I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Andrews smiled.

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As you can guess, meeting Coach Stone for the first time was … interesting, to say the least. The man had to be one of the largest men I’ve ever seen in my life. He dwarfed me and Andrews both with his sheer size, not to mention the tightly cut muscle mass that pressed against his suit and dress shirt. The collar button had already flown off by the time I arrived. The man was a walking, talking oxymoron. His brutish masculine features and brawny musculature were emphasized by the tight platinum haircut he sported to accentuate the blunt square shape of his face. His eyes were a bright silvery gray with flecks of emerald. They shone with a bright alertness and a scrutinous intensity as he stared me down. I suppose sized me up would be a better phrase, given what eventually happened.

His voice was just like I remembered from the infirmary, only this time, I had the full effect of his body and gaze to go with it. He motioned to the chair after the usual introductions and pleasantries. “Please, have a seat. We have a lot to discuss.”

“Am I your first student of the day, then?” I asked.

Stone shook his head. “No, but you are an interesting case. I wanted to hear from you and the others personally, rather than relying on separate accounts. On top of my degrees in physical therapy and other such fields, I also have a doctorate in psychology and psychiatry.”

“Aren’t you a little young to have all of those?”

Stone chuckled. “When you’re as smart as I am, you find shortcuts to get certified.” Then he leaned in closely and whispered loudly. “Between you and me, I’m not as young as I look.” He winked and pulled back.

“Is there a reason you’re trying so hard to put me at ease?” I asked. I wasn’t about to play games.

“If I’m going to give you a proper analysis, I need to see you in a relaxed state.” Stone shrugged. “Was I laying it on too thick?”

“Just a little.”

“Then I guess we should start by saying that whatever is said within these walls will remain completely confidential, save for extreme cases that may require contacting your family members directly. We can be alone or not as you wish. The purpose of this meeting is to ascertain the cause of the affliction you boys experienced, so I encourage you to be honest with me.”

I shrugged. “You could’ve saved a lot of trouble by just asking. It’s no big deal.”

“Then here’s my question. What caused your exhaustion?”

“Recurring nightmare.”

“About?”

“Crazy stuff all jumbled together.”

“I need specifics to compare cases. If there’s a common thread, I need to know, so we can address it.”

“It’s a little embarrassing.”

“As I said, it doesn’t go beyond these walls. If you don’t trust me, trust Andrews. He knows I’m a man of my word.”

“He also doesn’t trust you.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“I overheard your argument.” I shrugged. “Something about stimuli?”

Stone sighed. “Look, the long of the short of it is that developing minds react differently to different situations, hence my broad use of the term stimuli. Jim is designed to help and assist the students here as they study and grow, just like any other computer program uses a mascot, whether it’s Freddy Fish, Treasure Mountain, Clue Finders, or something else entirely. However, there are times where a developing mind can interpret these characters and conflate them with subconscious issues. Whether this be anxiety, anger, or something else, they contribute to the overall mental health of a patient. If you help me analyze your dream, you’ll help me to understand how best to keep this from happening to you again. So, will you help me to help you and your classmates?”

I looked to Andrews, and he nodded subtly.

I sighed. “Fine. Here’s how it went.”

Stone took notes while I described the dream. He frowned as he reviewed the contents, then finally asked, “Are you afraid of jocks, Mister Jones?”

I shook my head. “Afraid isn’t the right word.”

“You hate them, then.”

“Most, yes.”

“Because?”

“Because almost every one I’ve come across has been nothing but a bully who likes strutting his stuff and being an asshole.”

“Derek,” Andrews said reprovingly.

“It’s fine, Andrews. This is therapy. Let the boy vent. Tell me, Derek. What happened?”

The session took an hour, maybe a little more. He never said in exact words what was wrong with me, other than the possibility of what equates to a mild form of PTSD. Basically, changes in the school paired with the algorithm to cause growth in Jim’s avatar and the push in fitness combined with my own angry reaction from dealing with people who always thought might made right. In a way, Stone seemed almost sympathetic. Then again, sympathy is a far cry from change. It’s more like putting a band-aid over a cut, then putting the person right back into a room full of knives.

“If it’s all right with you, Derek, I’d like to meet with you once a week to check up on you. I intend to make similar appointments with the other boys as their cases require. Assuming our sessions don’t yield any improvement, we’ll take steps to remove you from any potential triggers to this condition.”

“There’s no way I’m stopping D&D,” I objected.

“And no one said you would have to, Derek,” Stone said mildly. “That’s merely as a last resort. As I said, let’s take things one day at a time.” He lowered his notepad onto his desk and nodded. “I’d say that’s a good starting point. For now, Mister Andrews will guide you to your next class. Notes will have been recorded to help you catch up with the time you missed, and you’ll be given an excused absence. I’ll see you next week. And remember to alert us if you start having these troubles again.”

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I found a mini-fridge in my dorm room later, completely stocked with familiar green drinks.

Just in case. See you around!

~K

The note was obviously from Kyle. As for the fridge, my guess is it was part of the new additions for our rooms. Pretty smart, when you think about it. It would allow us to have something cool and refreshing to drink during late nights. I popped one, just to help with some of the lingering aches of the last lifting segment from gym class. Then I pulled up Jim on the computer.

“Hi, DJ, let’s get to work.”

And we did. Teachers had a special file sent over to help me cover what I’d missed in class. The real test for whether I’d have that nightmare again would come soon enough.

I wasn’t looking forward to it.

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

The familiar roar of victory bellowed across the school grounds as Kyle sunk yet another goal. He’d grown into a real tank, and all his teammates with him. Their bodies steamed in the cold winter air, but they didn’t seem to mind or care. Broad swollen pectorals thumped into each other as the team performed chest bump after chest bump. Veins stood out on their calves and arms from the intense running as they navigated the opposing team’s defense. Their lacrosse sticks waved in the air like barbarian clubs as they signaled their dominance and their victory to the crowds.

When the game was ended, I led Jackson and Slater to the locker room, where a grinning Kyle greeted us with open arms.

“You made it!”

“Saw the whole thing,” I said. I allowed myself a small smile. Given the help Kyle had shown me before, it would’ve been rude of me not to.

“I’m telling you, when I’m on that field, it’s like I’m a totally different person, and I love it!” He chuckled.

“You’re definitely different than you were at the start of the year,” Slater agreed.

Kyle winced. “Yeah, that … wasn’t very good.” The shadow passed, and his smile beamed as he straightened again and patted his crotch. “Got protection now, though. And I think that hit did something to me. I mean, look how big I’ve gotten!” He popped his arm into a flex to show off a swollen bicep. “It hurt like hell, but I think that may have been the best day of my life.”

“And it gave us one hell of a captain,” Jackson contributed.

“Hell, yeah, it did,” Kyle agreed. “Fuck, yeah!”

“Fuck, yeah!” rebounded back as teammates cheered, hooted, and hollered from their places by lockers or back at the showers.

I cringed. “Anyway, thanks for the, uh, gift.”

Kyle beamed. “You been drinking them, then?”

“Not often. Just … for emergencies, you know?”

Kyle nodded. “I get it. Got to play it smart, conserve your resources.” He nodded. “Speaking of which, word on the street is there’s a D&D club? You guys wouldn’t happen to know who I should talk to about that, would you? It’s been a while since I dusted off my old character sheets, but I kind of miss it.”

“What class do you play?” Jackson inquired.

“Used to play a dragonborn necromancer. That character was OP as fuck when I finished leveling him.”

I cringed again. “… Yeah, you’re gonna need to make a new character if you want to join the campaign.”

“Who’s DM?”

“Andrews.”

Kyle smirked. “Figures. That guy’s a tactical genius on the field. He’d know how to run a campaign no sweat.”

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Andrews was all sweat when he burst through the door. His face was flushed, and his compression gear hugged even tighter to his frame as a result of the intense workout he’d doubtless run from to get to the classroom.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said quickly. “Weight training today.”

Kyle grinned. “Took some time to get in a session yourself, huh?”

“Can’t expect the teams to put in the work if I don’t,” he said by way of explanation.

Kyle nodded. “Lookin’ swole, Coach.”

Andrews smirked and flexed one of his biceps. The fabric looked more like a blood pressure cuff than a sleeve. “Swole and in control. Now let’s get up to speed.”

Kyle’s new character was discovered in the slave pens of a compound outside the main temple that was their party’s destination. He was being enthralled with Dominate Person and in the middle of being garbed in new armor when the party struck. Once they killed the caster, the spell was broken, and Kyle’s barbarian was freed to reap his revenge. In exchange for saving him from that fate, he was honor bound to help them deliver my character from his own enslavement and kill the Yuan-ti’s leaders in their temple.

The final boss was a real pain, the Anathema. Think of a huge serpent over twenty feet in length with burly arms tipped with three-fingered clawed hands and six heads atop its torso. Six heads means six chances to target someone with a charm.

Unfortunately, we failed miserably. All four of us were ultimately defeated, enthralled, and disarmed. In time, three of us were sacrificed to their demonic god. My character was forced to watch the proceedings with a smile on his face as the others were led to their gruesome demise. Yuan-ti are subtle creatures. They knew how to make the altars seem like beds or examination tables to their thralls. It was a simple matter of ordering them to lie down and close their eyes.

My character’s new master took great pleasure in experimenting with its new toy, altering his mental state and twisting him into a variety of forms and classes by convincing him mentally that he was those things. A full-blooded Orc with no signs of his human half remaining. A ruthless barbarian with an almost animalistic bearing. A loyal pet at its master’s side.

“And so, Lathrok Stormhammer lost his mind and his very soul, the last of his party to survive, and the first of many in his order to be controlled. Through him, the dreaded Yuan-ti infiltrated the city and gradually dominated its denizens until none remained to stand against their empire and their ambitions. Thus began the Yuan-ti campaign for their god to conquer not by the sword, but by cunning, by whispers, by secret combinations. And their demon god was most pleased.” Andrews looked around the gathering of stonefaced youths. “I did warn you the campaign would be harder. I don’t want any complaints.”

“So, what now?” I asked.

Andrews smirked. “Well, assuming you’re done playing the good guys, I thought you might like to try playing for the other team next. The Yuan-ti have a long way to go before their plan succeeds, and they could use all the help they can get in their campaign.” He extended a sheaf full of character sheets and smirked. “What do you say? Wanna join the team?”

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“Are you insane?” I practically spat in Stone’s face when I met in his office again.

“Analysis indicates at least a part of this issue you faced revolves around muscle and sports, most likely a primal fear instilled as a result of a past trauma you faced,” Stone noted coolly as he peered up from his clipboard. “If you want to avoid enduring this recurring nightmare again, I strongly recommend you consider joining a sports team and living the lifestyle, at least for a time. It would dispel your suspicions and address the concerns that are clearly lying beneath the surface, including a fear of becoming the very stereotype you seem to despise so much.”

“I’m not going to join a sports program!”

Stone shrugged. “That is your choice,” he admitted. “But I can tell you now that the better option would be to face and overcome your stigma, rather than allow it to fester. Such feelings have an intensely negative impact on social and mental development.”

I twisted and adjusted my position in the chair for what had to be the sixteenth time.

“You know, I’m not going to judge, if you need to,” Stone cleared his throat, “relieve yourself. I’ll even look away if it makes you feel better. Or you can excuse yourself to the bathroom and we’ll resume afterward.” He shrugged. “I want you to be comfortable in my office.”

“I’m good. Really.”

Stone narrowed his gaze. “No, you’re not.” He lowered his clipboard and handed me a pass. “Go. Take care of whatever you need to and come back after. I can wait.”

“But—”

“I said I can wait.” Stone practically lifted me out of my chair. “Now go. And don’t be ashamed to ask to leave if you need to again.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder as he opened his door. “Come back soon.”

My whole face felt like it was on fire when I was practically propelled out of the office. It took all my will power to keep my composure. When I got into the bathrooms, I rushed to the nearest stall and locked it. The relief when I finally got to scratch myself was beyond anything I’d ever felt before. For a moment, there was just mindless bliss. And in that fleeting moment, I think I understood, at least a little, how Kyle felt when he flexed his muscles after a long workout. That same almost explosive relief after the fact.

The words slid easily from my lips. “Oh, fuck, yeah….”

My voice echoed only slightly before the words faded into silence, a lone cry in the wilderness. I’m not sure what it was, but I think part of me felt incomplete somehow, almost guilty at how paltry the words sounded. The other was mortified I’d even dared to utter them. I quickly shook my head and readjusted my jock strap. Gym was next period, so I’d decided to just wear the thing for the day. It might have been a trick of the light, but the pouch looked … fuller as I reinserted the cup that would protect my groin and complete the look.

I washed my hands for extra measure, then opened the door and barely evaded getting bowled over by one of the upperclassmen. His eyes were desperate, almost glazed as he adjusted his crotch. The stall door closed. And seconds later, I heard the same haunting words in a far deeper and resonant voice.

I left quickly, but those words echoed in the cavern of my brain for the rest of the day like some ghostly knell.

The School of Buff Jocks Part 3

For those who are joining the story late, here’s the link to Part 1

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The gym was practically full to bursting when Kyle pulled me in after him. The weight of his arm around my shoulders was basically the equivalent of a headlock. To be honest, I almost dropped my gym bag. He was a lot heavier than I’d thought. Jim’s constant praises echoed through the air as he complimented or corrected the lifters.

“Remind me why I’m here again?” I asked.

“Because I needed a lifting buddy and you needed a break from school.”

“I usually game for that.”

“I know. But this is something different. Besides, you know how much smarter a person can be when they actually balance fitness with their schoolwork? Seriously, it’s incredible stuff.”

“I still can’t believe you roped me into this.”

“Don’t you mean strongarmed?” He smirked.

“Ha-ha-ha,” I said slowly.

Kyle’s smirk widened as he deliberately pitched his voice lower and duller as he tried to make his eyes lose focus. “Nah, bro. You got it wrong. It’s huhuhuh.” He scratched his crotch with his free hand and led me on.

I rolled my eyes. “Careful, ‘bro.’ Keep acting the part, and soon you’ll be it.”

Kyle shrugged his broad shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t think I’d mind if I did. Do I really look like the kind of guy who’d be a jerk just because he’s got big muscles?”

“And the dumb part?”

Kyle shrugged again. “Don’t feel stupid yet. Honestly, it’s more like a culture than anything else.”

This time, I smirked. “Can’t have culture without a cult.”

Kyle laughed and gave me a gentle bump to the shoulder with his fist. “Smartass.”

“Right back at you, dumbass.”

“Did we just come up with nicknames for each other?”

“Don’t push it.” He looked at me expectantly, and I sighed in defeat. “Dumbass.”

Kyle grinned as he leaned in closer. “Let’s get to work, little bro.”

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“What team?”

“Stonewall Riders!”

“What team?”

“Stonewall Riders!”

“What do we do?”

“Charge!”

“Now get out there and make those Gunners run!”

The stampede out of the locker room shook my whole body as cleated foot after cleated foot trampled across the tile. The whole team was built like tanks, and this was just the Junior Varsity! Half of them were already nearly as tall as I was, and they still had a couple of years to grow. I hefted the bottles of sports drink in their carrying cases, and Andrews held the door open for me as he had for his team.

“Thanks for helping me out, DJ.”

I shrugged. “No sweat. Fair’s fair. If this’ll help speed us closer to getting our campaign going again, you bet I’m going to help.”

“We really do appreciate it, though,” Andrews said. “The team needs boys like you, too.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, pretty sure they don’t.”

“I think you’d be surprised.” Andrews smiled gently. “By the way, is that a little growth I see in that bicep, or am I just seeing things?”

“Totally imagining. You should probably go see Doctor Stone, get your head checked.” I smiled playfully at him.

His smile tightened. “Yes. Maybe I should. Think you might have a few minutes to talk after the game?”

“I’m pretty sure I can spare the time.” I frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Andrews shook his head. “Later,” he insisted. And then I felt his broad hand shoving me out the door. “We’ve got a game to play.”

Andrews transformed into another person on the football field. His gaze was intent, his bearing cool and calculating. I felt like I was dealing with a military commander, rather than the teacher who had been my friend. The coordination between the offense and defense left them functioning like a well-oiled machine.

And I was the one providing the lubricant. Seriously, I felt like I was running the whole time to keep up with all the guzzling the players were doing with the drinks. Bright green streams poured into their mouths and down their bobbing throats. And the sheer aggression they showed left me cringing as I relived some of my worse moments from growing up.

By the time the game was over, I was a sweaty mess that matched the team. I had to steal a couple of swigs, myself, from time to time as I raced to restock the water coolers and bottles for the team. We slaughtered the opposing team, allowing them only one touchdown for the duration of the game, while we scored seven.

The team was showering and getting changed while I worked to clean out the coolers and bottles. I noticed Andrews approaching out of the corner of my eye, but he got intercepted by Stone before he could reach me.

“Excellent game, Tobias. As usual, you’ve performed very well. Congratulations.” The big man squeezed Andrews’ hand in a tight grip as he clapped Andrews’ arm with his free hand. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with you before you go.”

“Mister Stone, I appreciate the need, but my team—”

“Can finish cleaning up just fine. They know the routine by heart, and this really is very important.”

Andrews sighed. “Can I trust you to finish cleaning up, DJ? Coach Dale will help you get everything where it needs to go.”

I nodded. I wasn’t looking forward to the extra time I’d waste, but like I said before, I owed him, and Andrews doesn’t ask favors lightly.

The jocks were actually really helpful. They didn’t expect me to pick up their slack. They cleaned up their towels and other gear, put them in the proper hampers, and even went so far as to help move the baskets to the washroom. When everyone was finished and dressed in their regular clothes, we shared an order of pizza, compliments of Coach Stone for a job well done. When I sat down on the wooden benches, my arms and legs felt almost swollen in a way. They twitched with energy, and for once, I was ravenous. Meat lovers and supreme both fell to the powers of my jaws. And rather than criticize me for it, the team actually cheered, like it was all some sort of game.

“Damn, bro, did you see this guy hustle?” Kenny Yates was the biggest player on the team, with a voice to match. “Bet he could put Patters to shame.”

I shook my head at the praise, first because it didn’t suit me, and secondly to save my bacon, in case Kenny’s comment offended Ryan Patterson, the wide receiver. “I’m not really the sportsy type. I’m just doing this for Coach Andrews, because he asked me to.”

The whole team smiled knowingly, and I started to fear for my life. The only reason I was able to stay calm was because Dale was watching us so closely. “See? Already running plays for him.” A hefty arm wrapped itself around me and wedged me against Kenny’s bulky frame. The guy could’ve been his own personal space heater. “Just gotta bulk up a little, and you’re ready to charge.” My head swam at the attention. The action reminded me only too well of Kyle and his happy-go-lucky attitude.

“Damn, Kenny, let him breathe. You’re gonna choke him,” one of the others hollered, which prompted a round robin of laughter that spread like a chain. Or maybe a circuit? I guess either could work for an analogy.

Kenny was actually blushing when he took his arm off me. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s … it’s okay. I’m fine.”

I’d said it to be polite, but … I was surprised to find I actually meant it.

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

The blowback from the work was remedied with the aid of Kyle’s drinks. That stuff is seriously some of the best I’ve ever tried. I don’t know what’s in it, but I perk up hard core when I drink it. I gave some to Slater and Jackson to help them out, too, since they’d been called to help with some of the other sports events that day.

Kyle took one look at them after the fact and said those fatal words. “Okay, bros. That’s it. You’re coming to the gym with me.”

“Why?” Slater had asked.

“First, because you clearly need training if you’re hurting that badly after helping out. Secondly, because it’s relaxing. And third, because it gives us a chance to hang out in more than just D&D or gaming.” He smirked. “When I’m done with you, they really will call you Slayer.”

“I don’t know….”

“Bro, trust me. One month, and the gym’s gonna feel like your home away from home.” He smirked. “And you’re going to love every second of it after.”

“Wanna bet?”

Kyle smirked. “Sure. If I get you over 240 by the end of a month, you talk with Andrews about joining the wrestling team.”

“And if I win, you have to break that strict routine of yours and spend a day marathoning anime with us. Unhealthy snacks included.”

Kyle grinned. “You’re on.” Next, he turned to Jackson. “You wanna get in on this?”

Jackson shook his head. “Someone’s got to be there to referee.”

“Good. You can work on dumbbell curls while you watch.”

I chuckled. “Kyle, you’re incorrigible.”

Kyle smirked, then let his face go slack as he gaped at me and pitched his voice low. “Uhhh, what’s incorrigible mean?”

That earned him a pillow to the face. “Quit it, dumbass,” I said playfully.

He smirked as he pulled the pillow away. “Take it easy, smartass.” He pulled back his arms and bared his teeth menacingly. “Let me show you the benefits of working out at the gym personally, little bros.”

The combination pillow wrestling match was the stuff of legends.

Naturally, the dumbass slaughtered us all.

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

I stood in front of Andrews as he leaned back on his roller chair in the Coaches’ joint office. I hadn’t been in there since Kyle brought me back after that first workout session went overtime. The traffic running through the locker room felt more like rush hour on the freeway when I weaved through the crowd. Boys waited patiently by the shower stalls or passed one another on the way in and out.

“Busy out there today, isn’t it?” I asked.

Andrews nodded. “It’s becoming an almost daily occurrence.” Then he smiled. “It’s good to see so many boys dedicated to getting fit.”

I eyed his chest. The shirt he wore was straining heavily. I could actually see the jutting of his pectorals and the ridges of his six pack. The tension of the sleeves over his biceps looked like they could give at any moment. “And teachers?”

Andrews laughed. “And teachers. So, what was it you wanted to talk with me about?”

“What you wanted to talk with me about. You said you wanted to talk after the game, but you didn’t leave the office when everyone cleared out.”

“Oh, that.” Andrews rose to his full height and laid a hand over my shoulder. I couldn’t help but wonder. Had he always been so tall? “Don’t worry about it. I had some concerns over your meetings with Stone is all. He cleared things up for me after our talk. This school couldn’t be in better hands.” He smiled. “But since you’re here, how about you join me for a little workout? I want to run some ideas by you for a campaign I’m cooking up, and I think best when my body is working out.”

I felt that familiar itch building again. The nurse had explained it was just a part of puberty that all men had to bear. That didn’t mean I liked it. And it was so hard to pay attention when an episode came on. Stone’s words came back to haunt me.

I want you to be comfortable.

That was at Stone’s office. I didn’t know what to think of him yet.

Want.

But this wasn’t Stone’s place. This was Andrews’.

Be comfortable.

Andrews knew me.

Want.

I wanted to scratch so badly.

Be comfortable.

Andrews dealt with boys before. He was a coach. It was normal for him.

Want.

He wouldn’t mind, right?

Be comfortable.

He was a friend. He’d understand. “I, uh….” My fingers twitched.

Want.

I wanted him to understand. I wanted not to be judged. I wanted not to have to ask to go to the bathroom every other period, just because of this stupid fucking itch!

Be comfortable.

A quick adjustment. Nothing lewd. Just a necessity.

Want.

One wasn’t enough. Locker room was full. No bathrooms. No privacy.

Be comfortable.

Screw it. I scratched. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but it was worth it!

“So, that’s why you’ve been running off to the bathroom so much.” His voice was soft as he looked down on me.

Be comfortable.

I averted my eyes. “Yeah, it’s….”

“Nothing to be ashamed of.” Andrews shrugged. “You’re teenagers, and you have needs. Stop worrying so much about what other people think. If you need to scratch, you’re not about to be sent to the headmaster’s office.” He smiled.

Comfortable.

“I … thanks.” My cheeks were still flushed, but at least the heat was receding.

“Any time.” He led me toward the locker room door. “Now, let’s get to that session, so I can discuss my idea.”

Comfortable.

My back straightened. My shirt stretched just a little as my chest inflated with air. I smiled. “Yeah, I think I have some time.”

The clack of weights and the rhythmic thump of heavy feet on treadmills struck in time to the music that played over the speakers when we finally entered the gym.

“There’s always time for a workout.”

Andrews grinned at me. And, honestly, I couldn’t help but grin back. I just felt so…

Comfortable.

“Yeah.” The chuckle was more of a hiccup than a proper laugh, a sort of a catch, like you get just before you sneeze, only in reverse. It felt weird, but … also kind of good, like I was pushing out all the anxiety I’d had balled up in my chest. I stopped, frowned, tried again, and I felt even better after. A giddy sort of high settled in, and I could hear the rhythmic whirring of the blood rushing through my ears and body. If this was the reason why jocks laughed the way they did, I was sold. I would never make fun of them for it again. This time, when I scratched, there was no fear, only reward as I finished my reply. “I guess there is.”

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

The rhythmic chunk of the throwing arm was quickly answered by the reverberation of metal or the heavy popping thwack that resounded as a bad throw from the machine struck the ground or the back of the batting cage. Things were warming up at last, and the sheer motion of the sequence was, well, mechanical. Kind of should’ve expected that, since there was a literal machine at work for the practice. A stonewall baseball cap on our heads kept the sun out of each of our eyes as we sat on the bleachers and worked on our respective homework assignments.

“Ivan Petrovich Pavlov is one of the psychological giants of the nineteenth century. Thanks to his research, humanity came to understand the scientific and psychiatric principle of the art known today as conditioning,” Jim explained in a chipper voice. “He is, in fact, the twenty-fourth most cited psychologist of the twentieth century. This theory has been applied in a variety of means and places, including educational classrooms, phobias, and various behavioral therapies.”

“Remind me why we’re out here again?” I asked as Jim droned on through the module.

Jackson shrugged. “It helps me concentrate.”

“How?”

Whirr. Ka-chunk. Ping.

“Dunno. It just does.”

Whirr. Ka-chunk. Thwack!

“Guess I just—”

Whirr. Ka-chunk. Ping!

“—Like the sound of it.”

“The batting cages?”

“Yeah. The ball, the bat, the vibrations, the sun on your face.” He leaned back and spread his legs to emphasize his point. “It just feels … better, you know? Sort of like a dance. It just beats stuff into your head.”

Kyle grinned. “I can totally relate. I feel the same way when I’m lifting weights. If I have a problem, I go to the gym. A good workout always helps me, well, work my problems out.” He smiled and flexed one of his arms to show off the swollen bicep. “Good for the bod, too.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Slater rolled his eyes. “We get it. The gym is your happy place.”

“You’re just mad because you’re sore,” Kyle retorted. “If you’d just drink those shakes I gave you, you wouldn’t have this problem in the first place.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“I’m not the one who agreed to the bet,” Kyle pointed out, then chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll make a meathead of you yet.”

“In your dreams, ‘bro,’” Slater sassed.

“That’s big bro to you,” Kyle countered.

Jackson continued eying the cages. Jim was long since forgotten by all of us. Or rather, none of us were paying attention to him. If he were alive, I’d probably have felt bad about it, but since he was just some computer program, we just let him run his mouth. We could go over the module again later. After all, if you have a problem, go to Jim, right?

“You know, you could always just go and try one,” I noted. “It’s not like they’re the sole property of the baseball team.”

“I don’t know….”

I grabbed his arm and pulled him off the bleachers. He stumbled but managed to catch himself as I dragged him behind. I guess you could say since overcoming that one hurdle, it felt easier to do things like this and not be afraid of a bad outcome. “Come on. I’ll start up the machine. You get a bat and helmet.

The first impact was enough to jar the bat out of Jackson’s hands. He looked like a living tuning fork the way he shook after he took the shot.

“Maybe try turning down the speed a little?” he asked as he nursed his hands.

“Rookie mistake.” I turned in surprise. I hadn’t heard the player approach. His shoulders were broad, his arms swollen and pumped after what I assumed was a session in one of the other cages. Bro had a blunt face with a thick brow and smooth dark skin that shone under the sun. “Your arms aren’t built to handle that kind of blowback yet.” He nudged me aside and shoved his fingers over the console. The whirr of the belts lessened as their speed slowed. “Try it now.”

The difference was night and day. Jackson started landing hits. He managed a few good pop flies, though most of them were fouls. The player shook his head in disgust and stomped into the cage after the cycle wound down.

“You’ve got it all wrong. Wrong stance, wrong grip, and definitely the wrong break.” He wrapped his arms around Jackson like a father would his son and adjusted Jackson’s grip and stance. “Follow through. Don’t break your wrists until the last possible second.” He nodded to me to start the next round of shots.

Crack went the bat.

“Feel the rhythm.”

Crack!

“Make it sing.”

Ring!

“Eye on the ball.”

Smack!

“Just the ball.”

The bat rang again as Jackson struck a solid blow that arced into the netting above.

“That’s it, bro. Read it. Follow it.”

Smack!

He let go of Jackson’s hands and whispered in his ear. “Crush it.”

Jackson was a tuning fork again. Only this time, he didn’t drop the bat. The ball drove straight for the machine with a resounding crack! Fortunately, the machine was heavy duty metal, so it could take some blows, and the netting took care of the rest. His mouth dropped open at the result, then broadened into a manic sort of grin. “I … I did it.” He laughed. “I did it!” The exultant whoop carried far over the school grounds.

“Not bad.” The player smiled and nodded as he folded his arms. “You’ve got potential. But if you really want to beat that ball up—” He raised both arms in a double bicep flex. “—You’ve gotta get jacked, son. Huhuhuh.”

Jackson scratched his crotch and stared almost hungrily at the player’s arms.

He smirked. “If you want to be more than just the water boy, meet me here after school tomorrow. I’ll make a player of you yet.” He hefted a bottle and guzzled its contents. A small stream of green liquid dribbled down the side of his cheek, and he wiped it after. “Come dressed for the gym and ready to sweat. Understand?” His gaze hardened. “Be ready.”

Jackson nodded. His mouth hung slightly open as he breathed. The jock chuckled and clapped one of his massive hands on Jackson’s arm.

“Name’s Barry. My bros call me Bruiser.”

“J-Jackson,” he replied.

Barry smirked again. “Good name, bro. See you soon.”

“Yeah….”

The jock walked away with a measured swaggering sort of gait that showed off just how taut the muscle was around his legs. It was evident he could do a lot more than just crack a ball open. His whole body was built for the field, whether it be running, throwing, or hitting.

When my friend didn’t move, I finally walked over to check on him. “You okay, Jackson?”

“Yeah,” he repeated again in that same faraway tone, then shook his head. His gaze came back into focus as he concentrated on me. “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s get back to that homework.” He rubbed the bicep Barry had touched as I shut the pitching machine down and returned the gear. Then we walked back to the bleachers. We’d put off our assignment long enough. It was time to go back to Jim.

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.”