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One SEXY Bodybuilder & He knows it. (Looking this handsome & this aesthetic who would’nt!)
Sajad Niknam posing at the gym
So proud of my results and can’t wait to see more!
🔥🔥🔥
Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 2
Hunter could hear Subject Thirteen laughing, chuckling deeply. Such a low, empty voice. It guided him in the darkness. Hunter opened his eyes, and then, there Thirteen was. Hunter wasn’t in the pipe anymore. The castle was gone. Now he stood in Thirteen’s cell. The mammoth of a man was busy lifting iron, clanking weights up and down on the bench that had been provided beneath a single spotlight. He just smiled as he lifted, pumping for all he was worth and grunting all the while. He finished his set and sat up, staring with those vacant, murky brown eyes.
“A Meathead’s a meathead, head full of meat. Meathead must grow. Meathead competes. Meathead obeys. Meathead don’t think.” He chuckled again. “Meathead’s a meathead, bro. I know meatheads. I know you.” He laughed.
“You don’t know me,” Hunter growled.
“Know a meathead when I see one.” He laughed again. “Just gotta remember.”
“There’s nothing to remember, Thirteen. This is a dream, a hallucination, nothing more.”
Subject Thirteen shrugged. “If this is a dream, I don’t wanna wake up.” He flexed a bicep. “I don’t think you want to, either.” He smirked.
“I have a mission to accomplish.” Hunter reached for his watch controls, only to find himself bereft. He was naked, save for a pair of black compression shorts that hugged tightly to his frame. He tried reaching where his watch would be, and pressed the location of the emergency button to stimulate electronic shock. It didn’t work. There must have been a sedative in the water. He had to be dreaming. There’s no way a rescue team would have been sent to recover his body. If anything, he would have been captured, and placed in a holding cell. Either way, if he was stuck in this dreamscape, better to play along. At least for now. “What did you do with my things?”
“What things, Lil’bro?”
“Stop calling me that. I’m not your ‘bro.’ I’m not like you. I’m going to kill your boss.”
“Boss? Uh … didn’t know I had one.” Thirteen scratched his head with a meaty hand, the veins on his arms pulsing as the muscles twitched, accenting every curve, every bend, all the way down his arm to the thick slab of meat that was his pec. “Got a coach, but dunno why you’d wanna kill him. Meatheads love coach. Meatheads obey coach. Coach makes us big. Coach makes us swole.” He smiled, stood, and punctuated each sentence with a new pose. Then he stood up straight again, his frame towering over Hunter. “’Sides, you sound like Meathead already, bro.” He chuckled. “Just need the bod to match.”
“That’s my voice changer. This isn’t my real voice.”
“You sure?” He laughed again. “Don’t see none on ya.”
“This is a hallucination, nothing more. I’m going to wake myself up, and you’ll be back in your cell, while I’m working on killing your CRUNCHES.” Hunter coughed and cleared his throat. “What the hell?” His voice … it … cracked. That didn’t sound like Thirteen, but it didn’t sound like him either. And why did he say that word, instead of coach? Never mind. Try again. “Like I said, I’m going to CURL FOR COACH.”
Thirteen’s smirk turned into a sneer. “Sorry, what’d ya say?”
“Whatever you’re doing, stop it,” Hunter demanded, pointing a finger at the muscle man as Thirteen proceeded to pull out a dumbbell and perform some curls.
“Me? I ain’t doin’ nothin’. I told ya. I know meatheads when I see ‘em. You just covered it up, blacked it out. That ain’t right. You took my voice. My voice woke yours.” He pointed down at the compression shorts. “Now all that black’s comin’ out. N’so’s the real you.” He grunted as he began another set. Hunter’s compression shorts had begun to turn white around the knees.
“This isn’t happening. It’s not real.” Hunter shuddered where he stood as little veins began to push out of his legs. “Need to WORK OUT. No! Get out, not WORK OUT.” Hunter’s hands clutched at his throat, only they didn’t feel right. Looking down, he watched them tremble and shake as the little veins popped up there, too. Soon they cracked, swelling a quarter their previous size. Big hands. Strong hands. Like Thirteen. They clenched open and shut against his will. The veins continued to spread up his forearms, and they grew more defined, expanding as the muscle tensed, relaxed, and grew. All the while, the black on his shorts’ legs continued to pull up and away, revealing the blank white beneath.
“Gotta lift, bro.” Thirteen chuckled as he put down his own dumbbell, went to a nearby weight rack, returned, and proffered a new set of hundred pound dumbbells.
“Somebody help ME GET SWOLE!” Hunter gasped as his chest and shoulders expanded, the trapezius muscles bulging and thickening, causing the muscles and sinew in his neck to swell as well. Down below, he could feel something stirring as a tingling sensation took hold in his legs and crotch.
“See, bro? You’ll fit right in.”
“This is my house, MEATHEAD, not yours.”
Meathead boomed with laughter. “Bro, course it’s not yours. It’s coach’s. Come on. Lift with me, bro.” He extended his arms, offering the weights yet again.
“I’m not your BRO. Get that through your MEATHEAD. Damnit! How do I BULK UP?”
“S’easy, bro. You know how it’s done. Curl. One. Curl. Two. Muscles grow. Bring out the real you.”
“No. Stop! What’re you doing?” Much to his horror, Hunter watched as his arms took hold of the dumbbells, and began to follow the rhythm of Meathead’s chanting. His body shifted, so his legs were shoulder-width apart as he worked to curl. A fit of dizziness overwhelmed him as he watched a new spotlight flicker on over a gigantic reflective mirror. The two-way. But why was it floor length? Another spotlight shone on him, and he watched as the black began to bleed slowly away from his waistband as well. The tingling in his crotch grew more intense. “Can anyone hear me? Control, get me out of here. Control! Anyone! BRO ME! SHIT! Somebody HELP ME GET SWOLE! Wait, that’s PERFECT. MEATHEAD, WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?”
“What’s–”
“–UP, BRO?”
Meathead just laughed. “Bro, welcome home.” The room was suddenly flooded with lights as exercise machine after exercise machine appeared, each with an almost identical man working on them. As big as Thirteen, as focused as Thirteen, as vapid as Thirteen. They were all consumed with their workouts, earbuds plugged, screens flickering, watching rigidly, working to a synchronized rhythm. No wonder the clanking was so loud before. It wasn’t just Meathead working at a set of weights, it was a legion of meatheads perfectly synchronized. Smaller men twitched under helmets as IVs pumped something into their blood, and they grew, feet bursting from socks, torsos tearing shirts. One of the helmets raised to reveal yet another hulk, an almost exact duplicate of Thirteen. Hunter watched as another smaller person with glazed brown eyes was shoved into an empty chair. His long, shaggy black hair hung to his shoulders in a style reminiscent of some Japanese haircuts. A series of flashing buttons and lights flickered across multiple panels as he was strapped in. He looked so familiar. As the huge dome descended, the letters CONTROLLER.EXE stood out in bold red print. He watched the man twitch and shudder as his clothes began to tear. Then it hit. Jason. That man was Jason. With that sudden realization, Hunter’s head jerked violently back to Thirteen and the mirror against his will.
“GOOD TO BE BACK. No! I’m not leaving HERE. Damnit! I’m not BIG ENOUGH, BRO. Gotta GET SWOLE.” Hunter stared, horrified as his face grew more square, his jaw jutted out, and his hair shifted into a perfect flat top, identical with MEATHEAD. Wait, no, Thirteen. MEATHEAD. No, … MEATHEAD, but that’s not … HIS NAME IS MEATHEAD, BRO. Hunter watched as his biceps blew up like balloons, while the room seemed to spin around him. The black on his compression shorts continued to dissipate, slowly being drawn from the back and sides to the front as it flowed towards his crotch. The more it did, the more he felt his privates press slowly outwards as his body expanded. “BIGGER BALLS, BIGGER DICK. MEATHEADS DON’T THINK ‘CAUSE OUR HEADS’RE TOO THICK.” Those words … they came out of his mouth! But he didn’t want to. What the hell?
“S’right, bro. You’re a meathead now. Just like me.” Thirteen chuckled with his low, empty voice, and pointed at Hunter. A familiar voice came out over the loud speakers in the PA system.
“Larger penis, larger testicles.”
Thirteen grinned as he struck a pose, and stared. As one, the room resounded. “BIGGER BALLS, BIGGER DICK.”
“BIGGER BALLS, BIGGER DICK,” Hunter’s new voice said with them. “No! I’m H–UGE MEATHEAD.” Hunter’s brow furrowed and pressed further out as his eyebrows grew bushier, and his body hair thickened.
“C’mon, meathead. Let’s pump that other guy outt’a your head.”
“COOL, BRO.”
“No, not cool. Not cool at all. And … wait, why can’t I talk?”
“CAUSE I’M A MEATHEAD, BRO, NOT HUNTER.”
“S’right, meathead. C’mon. Machine’s waitin’,” MEATHEAD said.
“You’re not getting away with this.”
“AWAY WITH WHAT? YOU’RE THE ONE WHO DON’T BELONG.”
“This is my FUCKING body!”
“YUP. MY FUCKING BODY. SWOLE IS GOOD. JUST GO WITH IT, BRO. DON’T FIGHT. WE’RE THE SAME.”
“How are you doing this?”
“BRO. I AIN’T DOIN’ NUTHIN’. S’ALL YOU. I’M A MEATHEAD. YOU’RE A MEATHEAD. WE’RE ALL MEATHEADS.”
“We’re all Meatheads,” Meathead repeated. Soon the whole gym was saying it, echoing, repeating, beating it into Hunter’s head with every clank of the weights as they returned to their starting positions. A wave of pleasure washed over Hunter’s body. The black from his compression shorts had been reduced to a concentrated circle over his manhood spanning from one end of his waist to the other. He watched said manhood bulge further as the black circle shrunk. He saw and felt his still-expanding body flex one more time in front of an identical mirror to the one from before in time to the rhythm of the sets.
“We’re all meatheads.”
Clank.
“Big, dumb meatheads.”
Flex.
“Growing our meat.”
Clank.
“We follow the beat.”
Pose.
“The deeper we go,”
Clank.
“The bigger we grow.”
Flex.
“The more we obey,”
Clank.
“Grow dumber each day.”
Pose.
“Obey Coach’s voice.”
Clank.
“Don’t have any choice.”
Flex.
They dropped their weights as one, having finished their set, and stared ahead at their screens as they flashed and flickered. “Obey coach. I obey. We obey. Meatheads obey. We are meatheads. We obey. I am a meathead. I obey. I am a big, dumb meathead.”
Thirteen flexed, his eyes vacant as he posed next to Hunter, and stared into the mirror. Hunter followed his actions perfectly. “I AM A BIG, DUMB MEATHEAD,” the pair said together.
“Time to work out, bro,” Thirteen said, motioning to an empty weight machine. “Cycle starts again soon.”
Hunter felt his body shudder, then it patted his junk, shuddered again, this time in pleasure, and sat down where Thirteen had offered. Against his will, his arms reached out to grab a pair of earbuds from their position next to the monitor.
“GOTTA GET SWOLE, BRO.”
“I AIN’T going down without a FIGHT,” Hunter thought rebelliously, frustrated that the warbling had even followed him into the one free space he had left, his thoughts.
“BRO, I ALREADY TOLD YOU. YOU’RE ME, AND I’M YOU. YOU JUST LOCKED ME UP, BRO. NOT COOL. BUT I FORGIVE YOU.” Hunter heard the new voice laugh with his body. He wanted to scream. He couldn’t even grind his teeth as the buds were inserted into his ears.
“I am not a FUCKING PUSSY. I’m a special MEATHEAD chosen to infiltrate and CONVERT TO MUSCLE. No!” The voice continued to interfere. His body prepped itself. On the edges of his vision he could just make out the others staring blankly at their screens, breathing heavily as they tensed their arms. He could hear static filtering in through his buds, and assumed the others were hearing the same. Then came the music. His head began to bob. His eyes locked on the screen against his will. His arms reached up, and began to pull down on the cross bar, working his trapezius muscles as he pulled against the weight. A series of 1s and 0s cascaded across the screen for a time, mixed with the occasional flash of words and images too fast to keep track of. Hunter’s body breathed in time to the pump. In. Out. Up. Down. One. Zero. Zero.
One.
Breathe. Lift.
Two.
Feeling good.
And he was feeling good.
Three.
Falling. Listen.
Hunter could feel his mouth pulling up into a smile.
“BRO,” he heard his body sigh, “LIKE, WHY’RE YOU RESISTING? LIFTING MAKES US FEEL SO GOOD. DON’T YOU REMEMBER?”
“I remember TRAINING so I can kill. I don’t LIFT just for fun, BRO. Damnit!” Hunter swore in his mind. That … invasive voice was still interfering. He had to figure out a way to break its hold, take control of this dream.
Four.
Inhaling. Slowing down. Relaxing. Lifting is relaxing.
Hunter could feel his body slumping as he watched the screen. He could feel Th–MEATHEAD behind him. Why couldn’t he call him his subject number anymore? What … was his subject number again?
Five.
Breathing out. A hand on his shoulder. “Just have to remember, Lil’bro,” MEATHEAD said. Remember. Remember what?
“Stop FUCKING messing around with me!” Hunter screamed in his head. But … his mind … sounded strange. Felt … wrong. His body’s smile turned to a smirk.
“THAT’S IT, BRO. FEEL THAT ANGER. FEEL THAT RAGE. FEEL THE BURN! FEEL THE PUMP! FUCKING PRIMAL!”
Primal. So good. Roaring. Pushing past goals. Getting fit for service. Was that what he was supposed to remember? That feeling? That rush?
Six.
Listen. Watch the screen. Obey.
Not like he had much choice.
You have no choice but to obey.
No choice. Listen. No choice. Watch the screen. No choice. Obey. No choice. No … choice …
“Wha–? What’s happening TO ME, BRO?” Bro? But … he didn’t … think like that. … Did he?
“No choice but to listen, Lil’bro. No choice but to obey. Listen to us, Lil’bro. Talk like us. Think like us. It’s easier,” MEATHEAD said.
Listen to Meathead. Talk like Meathead. Obey Meathead. You are a meathead.
Lil’bro. Easier. Listen. No choice. Obey. Obey …
“But … but I don’t … WANT TO LIFT. WANT TO LIFT. Don’t …”
Seven.
Obey. Think like Meathead. Just like Meathead. Think like a meathead. Because you are a meathead.
Meathead loves to lift. Hunter loves to lift. Feels so good to lift.
Lifting is life.
Lifting is life. His life was always lifting when he wasn’t on a mission. Yeah.
Growing is gold.
Growing is gold. He loved to see himself grow in the mirror. Getting closer to his goal. Toning up for the next phase in training.
Training means listening. Training means obeying. Listen. Obey. No choice. Bigger Balls. Bigger Dick. Massive Meat. Smaller brain.
Massive meat. Bulging balls. Big brute. He could feel them. Heavy. Bulging. Swelling manhood. Tight. Close. Pleasure. Grinning. He’s … grinning. So hard to … think … head feels … funny.
Remember. Obey. Remember to obey. Think like a meathead, because you are a meathead. Meatheads are dumb. You are dumb. Dumb. Muscle. All muscle. All weights. No thought but working out and getting bigger. Bigger and more obedient. Remember. Remember to obey. Obey.
Yes. Remember. Remember this feeling. Remember pleasure. Obey and REMEMBER. REMEMBER to OBEY. OBEY. Think of meat. Meat is on the brain. Brain is in the head. Meat is in the head. Thinking of meat. Think like them. Think like a MEATHEAD, MEATHEAD.
“Watch, Lil’bro. Lift. Listen. Remember. Remember,” MEATHEAD said.
“REMEMBER.” Wait … did he just talk? Did he? Does it … matter?
“You’re a big fucking meathead, Lil’bro.”
“YEAH, WE’RE A BIG FUCKING MEATHEAD, BRO.” Lips moving. Not him again. But … maybe it is?
“Don’t … wanna be … want … wanna … WANNA be … WANNA BE … DON’T …”
“DON’T STOP,” his lips say, changing his sentence. Changing his thought. His mouth says. Not him. Or is it? Don’t stop. OBEY. No choice. OBEY.
Don’t resist. Listen to Meathead. Obey Meathead. Be like Meathead. Talk like Meathead. Think like Meathead. You want to be just like Meathead. You want to be a meathead. You are a meathead. Just a big, dumb meathead. So dumb. Brain clouding as you listen, becoming dumber. More obedient. Bigger muscles. Smaller brain. All meat. All meathead.
Listen to Meathead. Obey Meathead. Be like Meathead. Talk like Meathead. Think like Meathead. Just like Meathead. Want to … want to … “WANNA BE A BIG FUCKING MEATHEAD.” Sighing. His sigh. His words. He … said it. But … did he? Wasn’t that … the other him? Does he want it? Hunter didn’t know any more. Everything felt so strange. So bulky.
Pump.
Bulky is good.
Clank.
Bulky is good. But … is it? Watch. Listen. Watch. OBEY. Massive meat. Smaller brain. Smaller … uh … what is …? Hard to … to think. So hard … so … hard … hard … meat … big …
…
…
“M-My name … my name is … is …” Resist. Fight. Have to remember. Don’t let them take that.
EIGHT.
“Hunter … I … I am Hunter. I am … Hun … Uh … I am … I am …” Hard to think. Can’t remember. So damn foggy.
Strain. It’s heavier. More difficult.
Don’t remember. Forget your name, meathead. Fall into place. Listen. Obey.
Clank.
Don’t remember. Do not. No choice. OBEY. MEATHEAD. Must think like MEATHEAD.
You are horny. You are heavy.
“I … I AM H-HORNY … HEAVY … YES.”
Feels so good to pull down that weight now that he’s listening. Arms are heavier. Weight’s not so bad anymore.
Big balls. Big meat.
Clank. Release. Follow the rhythm. So easy to fall in with the others. Fall in and obey. Don’t think. Just move. Just lift. Just obey.
“BIG BALLS … Big … MEAT.” Did … did he really just say that? Sounds like …
Meat.
Meat … Meat … Mea–NO! Have to be strong. Have to remember. Remember who he is. “I … I am Hun … Hun…”
Switching to crunches. Press.
Massive meat. Tiny brain. Don’t think. Obey. I think for you.
Clank.
Massive meat. Bulging balls. Huge. Tight. Pleasure. Remember pleasure. Remember and OBEY. “Hun … I am Hun …” Don’t remember. Forget name. What is his name? It’s … starting with that sound. Can’t … can’t think … can’t … remember …
Like a horse.
Crunch.
“Hun–” Sounds like– Massive meat. Huge. Growing.
Clank.
Like a horse.
Crunch.
“Hung–” Yes. Hung. That was it … wasn’t it? Tiny brain. Massive meat. Bulging. Feels good.
Clank.
Like a horse.
Crunch.
“I am–” Can’t think.
Clank.
Hung like a horse. You are hung like a horse. Say it.
Crunch.
Obey. Say it. Talk like Meathead. “I’M LIKE SO FUCKING HUNG, BRO! LIKE A FUCKING HORSE!” Smile. OBEY. Pleasure.
Clank.
Laugh.
Must obey. Laughing. He’s laughing. Everyone is laughing. Switching to leg lifts. Eyes on screen. Don’t think. OBEY.
Deep laugh. Dumb laugh. Empty laugh. Deeper. Dumber. The more you laugh, the less you think. Empty your mind.
Lift.
Listen. OBEY. Lift. Relax. Laugh. Empty. Grow. OBEY. Deeper. OBEY. Dumber. OBEY. Empty.
Clank.
“EMPTY …” He said it. Not the other. So slow. So deep. Like … like uh … something slow. Weird, usually has better quips than that with his tiny brain. So tiny … because of his massive meat. No time to worry about it. Don’t think. Don’t worry. Obey. Keep working.
Lift.
“THAT’S RIGHT, BRO. FEELS GOOD, DOESN’T IT?” Other him again. Maybe … maybe not so bad, though. Deep voice. Deep is good.
Clank.
Deeper. Deeper.
Lift.
“Good … What … What’m I …?”
Clank.
Deeper. Dumber. Don’t think.
Lift.
Deeper. Dumber. Don’t think. Can’t think. Listen. OBEY. Muscles. Grow. “YUH … GOOD.”
Clank.
Good and dumb.
Lift.
“Uh … Yeah. GOOD AND DUMB.” He grunts. In control again. Feels right. Pleasure. So relaxed. Up and down. In and out. So dumb. So hung. So much meat. Just like he says.
Clank.
Big and dumb.
Lift.
Yes. Big and dumb. Wait … what was …? Don’t think. OBEY. Hung. He is hung. So hung. Good and dumb. Big and dumb. He is hung.
Clank.
You are hungry.
Lift.
He is hungry.
Clank.
Hungry for muscles.
Lift.
“Hungry … I … want … MUSCLES, BRO. NEED MORE MUSCLES.”
Clank.
Good boy.
“Good boy.”
“GOOD BOY.”
The three sound almost simultaneous. Ringing in his ears. In his head. His empty head. Empty. Same words playing across the screen. Good boy. OBEY. Pleasure. MEATHEAD. OBEY. Dumb MEATHEAD. Dumb brute. REMEMBER. OBEY.
Lift.
Obey.
Clank.
OBEY. OBEY. Must … must … “I … I … I OBEY.” More pleasure. Stronger now. So strong. So good.
Lift.
“WE OBEY, BRO.” Other him again. But he’s like Meathead. Gotta listen to Meathead. So, uh, gotta listen to him, too. Obey. Empty. Don’t think.
Clank.
“Meatheads obey, Lil’bro,” MEATHEAD said.
MEATHEADS OBEY. OBEY. OBEY.
Set’s over. Stopping. Staring. Listen. Obey.
You are a meathead, a dumb brute with an empty head. You listen. You obey.
“O-BEY…” DUMB BRUTE. OBEY. EMPTY HEAD. YES. OBEY.
“You’re a meathead, Lil’bro. Just accept it,” MEATHEAD said.
NINE.
DUMB BRUTE. HUGE. HUNG. CARE ABOUT MEAT. MEATHEAD. MASSIVE MEAT. MUSCLE. DUMB. BRUTE. “I … I’M a …”
“SAY IT, BRO.” His lips again. Not him though. Other him. Or … is it? DON’T MATTER. LISTEN. OBEY.
“M–Mmmmm…” OBEY. OBEY. OBEY. “MMmmEAT …” Something … in his head. Must …
Be dumb. Don’t think. You are a dumb brute. OBEY. Convert to muscle. OBEY. You are meat. You are a mindless brute. OBEY.
Grinning. He’s … grinning again. Frown gone. Yes … feels … so good. To–
Listen. Speak. OBEY. Say what you are.
“I’M A … A …”
OBEY.
“TOTAL MEATHEAD, BRO.” Pleasure. So much pleasure. Rebounding. Rocketing.
OBEY.
Yes. So good to just –
OBEY. Lift. OBEY. Drain everything. OBEY. Serve. OBEY. Lift. OBEY. Repeat.
“MEATHEAD. TOTAL MEATHEAD. OBEDIENT. I OBEY. YES. GOOD TO LIFT. GOOD TO OBEY. DUMB BRUTE. MORE I OBEY, MORE DUMB EVERY DAY. I OBEY. EMPTY HEAD. OBEY. I OBEY. I OBEY. I OBEY.”
“We obey,” MEATHEAD said.
“WE OBEY.” PLEASURE. LIFTING IS GOOD. PUMPING IS GOOD. SO GOOD. HEART PUMPING. GROWING BIGGER.
Yes. Say it. Own it. OBEY. MEATHEAD. MUSCLE. BRUTE. OBEY.
“BRO … I FEEL … LIKE SO FUCKING PUMPED! PRIMAL!”
REMEMBER. OBEY.
“TOLD YA, BRO. WE SWOLE.” Other him. He likes other him. He’s a meathead, too.
SWOLE. PUMP. MEATHEAD. OBEY.
His shorts. So tight now. Feel ready to burst. Good. So FUCKING GOOD. Good to flex. Show off.
Make more. Repeat.
“MAKE … MORE.”
“YEAH, BRO. MAKE MORE MEATHEADS. JUST LIKE US.” He’s laughing now. Feels good to laugh. Head is so clear. No. Not clear. Empty. More he laughs, emptier it gets. Yes. Because he OBEYs. The more he OBEYs, the dumber he gets.
Empty your head. OBEY. Laugh it all away. REMEMBER. OBEY.
“I OBEY. Huh huh huh.” The laugh is deep, not the same, sortof dull. Kinda like it. He’s … sitting. Staring now. No new sets. Body not moving anymore. Why? Uh …
Stare at the screen. Watch. Listen. Obey.
STARE. WATCH. LISTEN. OBEY. HE OBEYS. HE IS A MINDLESS MEATHEAD. WATCHING. SEES A BLACK DOT. IT’S … BENT. CURVED AROUND SOMETHING.
Focus on the dot.
“FOCUS ON DOT … I OBEY.”
You obey, sir.
“I OBEY, SIR.”
Obey my voice.
“YES, SIR. I AM A MEATHEAD. I AM A DUMB BRUTE. I OBEY.”
Remember my voice. Remember to obey.
“YES, SIR. WILL REMEMBER. WILL OBEY.” LEANING INTO SCREEN. SO HEAVY. GOOD TO BE HEAVY. HEAVY IS MUSCLE. MUSCLE IS GOOD. MEAT IS GOOD. BIGGER MEAT. SMALLER BRAIN. SHORTS SO TIGHT. DOT IS SHRINKING. CURVE … GETTING BIGGER. WHAT … WHAT IS IT? SOMETHING FAMILIAR … CAN’T REMEMBER.
Your old mind is the dot. Watch it shrink. Make it shrink. Focus. The smaller the dot, the smaller your mind, the more the muscle.
“SMALLER DOT, SMALLER MIND. YES, SIR. I OBEY.”
And?
“SMALLER DOT, MORE MUSCLES, SIR.”
Muscle is meat. Bigger muscles, bigger meat.
“YES, SIR.” HE SHUDDERS. HE FEELS IT. BODY SO FULL. BIG. GETTING BIGGER. DOT IS SHRINKING. NO BIGGER THAN A QUARTER NOW. HE SEES … MORE OUTLINE. WHITE FABRIC. CLINGING. WATCH THE BLACK. OBEY.
“I OBEY.”
“I OBEY.” OTHER HIM. HE OBEYS, TOO. FUNNY.
You are meatheads.
“YES, SIR.”
“YES, SIR.” YEAH. HE’S A MEATHEAD, TOO. SAME. OBEDIENT. HE LIKES THAT.
You are brutes.
“YES, SIR.”
“YES, SIR.”
You are one.
“WE ARE ONE.” MEATHEAD. ONE. ONE VOICE. ONE MIND. HE IS OTHER HIM. OTHER HIM IS HE. HE IS A DUMB BRUTE. WATCH DOT. OBEY. SO TINY. ALMOST GONE. WATCH. OBEY. REMEMBER. OBEY. GROW. OBEY. MASSIVE MEAT. OBEY. MEAT … MEAT … HIS MEAT … THAT’S WHAT IT IS! SOMETHING ABOUT … Turning … into … MEATHEAD. HE … DIDN’T … want … WANT … WANT MUSCLES. YES. MUSCLES ARE MEAT. WANT MEAT.
No fear. You love being a meathead. Obey. Serve. Remember. Love it. Let go. Surrender.
“YES. I … OBEY.” HE CAN SPEAK. HE’S … BEEN SPEAKING, BRO. NO TIME TO CELEBRATE. HE IS A GOOD MEATHEAD. HE OBEYS. HE MUST LISTEN TO SIR. MUST OBEY SIR. LET GO FOR SIR. SURRENDER TO SIR.
TEN.
BLACK SPOT GONE. HUNTER GONE. WHO IS HUNTER? DON’T QUESTION. DON’T THINK. EMPTY. BLANK. STARE. OBEY.
Can you hear me?
“YES, SIR.” SIGH. OBEY. LISTEN. GOOD.
You are mine.
“YES, SIR.” OBEY SIR. BELONG TO SIR.
You obey me.
“YES, SIR.” OBEY SIR.
You serve me.
“YES, SIR.” SERVE SIR.
Remember my voice.
“YES … SIR …” REMEMBER. OBEY. BELONG TO SIR.
I control you.
“YES. YOU CONTROL ME, SIR. I OBEY.”
I am your coach.
“YOU ARE MY COACH, SIR.”
You obey me.
“YES, SIR, COACH.”
What is your name?
NAME? DID HE … HAVE A NAME? He felt his massive shoulders shrug, his giant chest expand and contract. NOTHING. EMPTY. DUMB. DON’T THINK. “I DON’T KNOW, SIR.”
Good boy. You have no name.
COACH IS HAPPY. THAT MAKES HIM HAPPY. REPEAT. OBEY. “I HAVE NO NAME, SIR.” NO NAME. EMPTY. BRUTE. DUMB. NO NAME.
I will give you a name. You will remember it when you are called. Remember my control. Remember me. Remember who you are. Remember to obey your coach.
“YES, SIR …”
Your name is Brute.
“MY NAME IS BRUTE.”
You are Brute.
“I AM BRUTE.”
You are my Brute.
“I AM YOUR BRUTE.”
OBEY.
“I OBEY.” OBEY. OBEY. OBEY. BRUTE OBEYS COACH. BECAUSE BRUTE IS A MEATHEAD. A BIG, DUMB MEATHEAD.
When you are ordered to wake up, you will return to Brute. You will be only brute. You are brute.
“BRUTE WILL WAKE WHEN ORDERED. I AM BRUTE.”
You will wake when your controller tells you to remember.
“YES, SIR. BRUTE OBEYS.”
If I have need of you beforehand, I will call you. When you hear me call you by your new name, you will return to Brute. You will OBEY my orders and carry them out.
“YES, SIR.
Always OBEY.
“ALWAYS OBEY.”
Always SERVE.
“ALWAYS SERVE.”
REMEMBER. You are my Brute.
“I AM YOUR BRUTE, COACH.”
Watch the screen.
The screen flickered, then showed some weird video. Some twinky walking in with two MEATHEADS. He is thin. Nervous. NEEDS MUSCLE. NEEDS TO BE A MEATHEAD. MAKE MORE MEATHEADS. Twinky sits in a chair. IV gets stuck in his arm.
Remember, Brute.
The twinky is bulking up. He’s grinning. His eyes are alive. Then restraints slide out. He is held in the chair. A helmet lowers. He starts to struggle. He is scared. He screams. MEATHEADS just stare ahead. Helmet drops. It whirrs up. Helmet reads SLEEPER DRONE in big red letters. Screams stop. Body twitches. Body grows. Twinky isn’t a twinky anymore. Helmet lifts. Newbie is asleep. But … he’s not a MEATHEAD. Looks familiar.
Remember, Brute. Remember. Your trigger word is remember.
“… REMEMBER.”
It’s time to wake up.
“…WAKE … UP?”
Wake up … Wake up …
Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 6
“Woah. That one was ... kind of weird, Doc.” You reach up slowly to clasp the headphones wrapped so closely around your ears and pull them off to rest on your neck. Your head is still abuzz from that strange place you went. You didn’t quite black out, per se, but at the same time, you hadn’t really been all there either. Miss Schroder had only recently explained how she had earned a doctorate in psychology and psychiatry both to help you understand her proper qualifications. The certification in hypnosis had been more of an after thought, but she had proved to be highly adept, showing multiple awards for her services and even a couple of books she’d written on the theory. She had just one warning: call her a quack, and she would make you regret it. You could live with that. Now she sat across from you holding a microphone in one hand and a laptop on her lap. A wire tied the computer to a sound machine, which in turn tied to the headphones. “Good. That means we’re getting closer to a method that works for you.” She made a few notes on her clipboard. “Now what, exactly, do you mean by weird? I need to know the specific side effects.” “Dizzy. Sort of light-headed. I could still hear your voice, but it was sort of distorted. I couldn’t quite make out what you were saying.” You put a thoughtful finger to your chin. “Well, maybe a few things,” you clarify, “mostly about listening and going deeper. It gets sort of boring after a while, though.” “And your surroundings?” “The room was spinning a little. And I thought I heard ... laughter?” Her face remained impassive as she continued to jot on the clipboard. “Describe it for me.” “What?” “The laughter. Describe it,” she clarified. “Young, old, raspy, piping. These things matter, you know.” “I don’t understand why.” “Because I’m trying to find the right combination of wavelength and frequency to compose a proper soundtrack for you. We’ve already been over this.” You feel a blush rising in your cheeks. “I just don’t see how telling you about those bits matters is all, if you’re looking to adjust the way the sound hits my ears,” you say somewhat sheepishly. “How about we just operate on a leap of faith and trust in my certifications and training on the matter,” she suggested. “Now, about that sound?” You sigh in defeat. “Kids. Definitely kids. It was faint, but it was there.” You furrow your brow. “And ... something else. I’m ... not sure. It was sort of sharp, brief, like a soda bottle, I guess.” “A ... soda bottle?” The blush intensifies. “You know, like the glass ones that you blow into to make a sound.” “I see.” She scrawled another note. “And that was it, just the soda bottle popping a note and children laughing?” “Yes,” you finish lamely. Your ears are burning now, too. She nodded and adjusted a few dials on the sound system, then stroked the keys on her keyboard and clicked the mouse a few times, before nodding in satisfaction. “All right. Let’s try again.”
“Try again,” Hank’s rumbling bass grated as he shifted the key along the weights of the leg press. “We’re going for three sets this time.” “Three?” you balk. Your legs already felt like a pair of wet noodles. “No pain, no gain,” he quoted the old adage. “Now move.” Your legs tremble as they strain against the heft of the additional weight. Your heart feels like it’s about to bash against your ribs, and the sweat from your exertions is flowing into your eyes, stinging and burning as the salt makes contact. You barely manage to cut off a curse as it rises in your throat, and settle for a few grunts of pain and frustration, instead. Across the way, you see the redhead pulling squats with a barbell resting on his back. He moves rhythmically, up and down. Up and down. Were it not for the torturous agony that was the leg press straining against your poor glutes, you might even be gaping at his efficiency. Hank chuckled wickedly. “We’ll get there soon enough, kid. After all, you’re supposed to ‘lift things up and put them down,’ remember?” You grate your teeth in frustration as your chest heaves with exertion. You have to put that anger to good use. You think of the contract and amenities involved, the payment the company offered you, the rent being paid. You signed a contract, so you have to put up with the bad just as much as you enjoy the good. You unleash your exasperation in a roar as you barely manage to push through the set. Hank smirked and nodded. “Good. Good. One down.” His smile widened into a sneer. “Now for the other two.”
Your legs felt like they were made of cement as you powered through the sluggishness. All you wanted to do was get home, shower, take that stupid shake, and get to bed. At least in sleep, you didn’t have to worry about the constant aching. Four days. That was all it had been, and already you regretted your decision. You’d nearly reached the door, when a heavy hand clapped down on your shoulder. You whipped around, smacking at the arm as your workout bag spun on its strap to smack into the stranger’s thigh, only he wasn’t a stranger. “Hey,” Duff said sort of lamely. “I, uh ... saw what you were doing out there. I just wanted to say I admire you, ya know?” His tank top still clung to him from his workout session. “Hank was hard on me when I started here, too. I know how hard it is the first couple of weeks, but he’s actually a lot nicer than he looks.” He shuffled his feet against the floor. “If, um ... you ... want to talk about it sometime, here.” He took your hand and you felt the sensation of card stock paper against your palm. You look at a heavy set of weights bending a barbell over a black background. A name and phone number shone with gold embossing. “That’s my cell. If you can’t get ahold of me that way, I’m probably here.” You couldn’t tell if he was blushing or if it was just the general flush from his workout. “I really like the gym.” He chuckled. “And, well, without Hank, I might not even be around today.” He stepped back to give you a little more space, then rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “So, uh, yeah. That’s ... sort of what I had to say. See you in a couple of days?” You look down at the card, then back at Duff, then chuckle humorlessly. “I guess so.” You shrug as you pocket the card. Duff’s face lit up with a smile as you made your way towards the doors. He waved enthusiastically as the automatic doors slid open. “See you soon!”
“I am an alpha.” You stare at yourself in the mirror. The condensation was finally clearing and you sigh as you lean onto the rough cut counter top. Its smooth laminate surface hissed as your palms rubbed against it in time to your own frustrated exhalation. You roll your eyes at your reflection and it rolls its eyes back at you. “This is so stupid,” you groan. At the same time, though, you signed a contract. You always swore to put your best into whatever part or role you were assigned. You clench your hand into a fist out of frustration, then heave another heavy sigh. “Keep going,” you tell yourself as you raise your head to face yourself once again. “I lift things up and put them down.” You lift your eyes to the sign hanging just above your head on the mirror. Its single command of FLEX bears down on you, and you sigh again. You raise your arms and perform a halfhearted flex. “I love my muscles.” Somewhere, in the back of your head, you hear Hank’s harsh bellow. ‘No, no, no. Push! Harder! I know you can do better than that.’ You wince, then pull yourself together and try again. You fix your reflection with a look of determination. “You and I both know we can do better than this,” you say to yourself. “It’s humiliating, ridiculous, asinine even.” You sigh again. “But we have to try.” You raise yourself up again and think about that last look Duff gave you as you departed the gym. That smile was enthusiastic, elated, genuine. You fuss over the mirror as you adjust your lips, doing your best to replicate that same look of sincerity. “I really like the gym.” A shudder suddenly passed through your body, and you furrowed your brow in response. “That was odd,” you mutter to yourself. A look of confusion has replaced that simple smile. “What ... was that?” You cock your head curiously, then try again. This time, you clear your throat, picturing Hank, his flinty eyes, his gravely voice, the flat line of that grim expression that seemed almost frozen there. You feel your shoulders tightening as they bunch together. You imagine someone has just insulted him, mocking his way living. You imagine yourself standing there in his place, and you feel a burning in your chest. “Bodybuilding is my life.” The growl scratched at your throat. “This gym is my life.” Both fists are clenched now as you stare into your face with a barely contained anger. “I lift things up and put them down. You got a problem with that, pipsqueak?” Your eyes widen suddenly, and you stumble back from the mirror, breathing heavily. You swallow, rubbing at your irritated throat. You close your eyes and focus on the patter of your heart beat as it gradually slows to normal. When you feel you have enough control of yourself again, you open your eyes. “Where did that come from?” you ask yourself. Afraid to look at the mirror again, you turn to look at your shower stall, instead. A laminated page stares out at you with big black letters against the pale creamy white of the stall:
YOU ARE A BEAST
Despite the shower, you suddenly don’t feel so warm anymore.
Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 16
Previous: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/174795146417/lifting-up-and-dumbing-down-part-15
“Damn, bro, you’re growing fast,” Duff said as he wrapped a measuring tape around your midriff. “Thanks again for helping me out with this project, by the way.” “No problem. What else are friends for, ‘bro?’” you ask as you smile down at him. His apartment was actually pretty sweet. He’d turned the majority of the studio into an at-home gym, complete with weight rack, dumbbells, a bench press, and a few other accessories. A broad floor-length mirror had been installed on one of the walls, and his kitchen counter was lined with protein whey, creatine, and all manner of other supplements, including a few familiar silver packets. “And how long have you been working on bulking up again?” he asked as he wrote something else on his clipboard. You look up at the ceiling and scratch your head for a moment. “You know what? It’s funny, but I can’t seem to recall the date.” You chuckle. “I’m usually pretty good at that sort of thing. I know it was around midwinter. I think a little before.” Duff shrugged. “I’ll just check the computers for your sign-in date.” “That’ll work,” you agree. “So, what other changes have been happening for you?” You blush. “Well, if we’re being honest, I’m getting a bit ... bigger downstairs, if you catch my meaning, and my voice has been cracking a little.” Duff nodded. “I thought you’d been sounding a little sick lately.” “I’m not sick!” you object. “I said sounded sick, not that you were sick, stupid.” He chuckled. “In other words, I noticed how your voice has been reaching towards deeper registers lately.” “Oh.” You frown a moment, trying to find some problem with that. You’re not quite sure why you are, but ... you are. You’ve been feeling a lot more confrontational lately. “I ... guess that’s okay, then.” You reach back to scratch your head casually. “Thanks for the weights, by the way. They’re a big help.” Duff chuckled. “I thought they would be. There’s nothing quite like a good lifting to work off some stress.” You smile dreamily as you raise an arm to flex. “Yeah, and the pump’s not that bad, either.” Duff smiled. “Sounds like someone’s catching the muscle bug.” You grin impishly, then strike a pose as you pitch your voice as low as you can manage. “I love lifting weights, bro.” Duff punches you in the arm as tears of mirth form in the corners of his eyes. “Stop it,” he laughs. “That’s my line.” He set down the chart. “Besides, you’re not anywhere near this yet,” he smirked as he pulled off his shirt and began to pose. “Are you challenging me to a flex off, sir?” Duff smirked. “And what if I am?” “You cheeky little--.” Soon you’re both posing and flexing like your lives depend on it in front of the mirror. You look curiously at yourself. Your bangs are brushing against the sides of your face, obscuring parts of your vision. You always liked your hair before, but now it just doesn’t seem very ... practical. And it’s a real pain in the a--you catch yourself, before you let that thought complete itself. Pain in the butt. It’s a pain the butt, when the sweat runs down off it and plasters it to your face, especially when it gets in the eyes. Maybe ... maybe it’s time for a change. Change is good. You shudder at the thought, a pleasure that’s redoubled by the sensation of your muscles rippling and shining under the lights. Your head feels sort of fuzzy, and you grin at yourself, before turning your head to stare at your friend. “Hey, Duff?” you ask in that huskier, stuffed-up sort of voice. “You know any good barbers?” Duff turns back to look at you with that same dazed smile. “I think I know a guy. I’ll see about hooking you up.” “Thanks, bro.” It came so effortlessly. Duff’s smile widened. “No problem, bro.” Then Duff shrugged his thick shoulders, and you were back to posing again, just a couple of bros having a friendly competition.
Caution: This short story portrays a hypnotic trainer guiding his subject deeper into trance. It may induce trance in some readers. If you are driving or operating heavy machinery, please do not risk reading this story. You have been warned.
Also, please leave comments, reblog, and like, if you enjoyed this. Thank you!
Dumb Down Pulldown
That’s right, Grunt. Keep pulling. Keep grunting. The lower you get on those numbers, the better you feel, falling deeper into trance, deeper into pleasure, pleasure at working out, pleasure at lifting, lifting to grow, growing stronger, stronger in body, your muscular body, muscle filling your body, growing with every pump, spreading with every pump. Spreading, like my voice through your head. Spreading to increase your discipline, to increase control, my control.
You feel it now, don’t you kid? I can tell you do. That pleasure, that desire. The desire to keep listening to my voice, to pull down on that bar over and over, getting lower, getting deeper with every set as you count down those notches.
Weights go higher, bar goes lower. Voice grows stronger, thoughts get slower. Slower with every pump, every rep, dropping deeper and deeper, lower and lower, slower and slower.
So low. So slow. Slower as your body takes control. Slower as you feel the strain on your muscles driving away all other thoughts. Slower is dumber, Grunt. But that’s okay. You like dumber, don’t you? It feels so good to descend into that empty place where your mind is so calm, so dull. Dull, like these weights. Dim, like that black cable moving up and down, up an down as you pump, as you listen, as you fall deeper and deeper into my voice. It’s funny, isn’t it, just letting it all go as you listen, as you pump, as you pull yourself deeper and deeper.
That’s right, laugh, Grunt. Let it out. You remember that lesson, don’t you? Controlled breathing, measured, confident, just like your sets, just like your pulldowns. Pulling down those barriers, pulling down those walls of resistance as you welcome me in, welcome my voice to guide you, guide you down, down into bliss, the ignorant bliss that comes from a life a pure muscle.
Brain becoming brawn, smarts becoming small, smaller and smaller as you grow your meat, grow that thick, dull space in your head, clearing it so my voice can echo within, echo and rebound, whispering, repeating, repeating. Repeating my mantra, my words, my will. So empty, so clear, always there, always repeating, reinforcing as you listen, as you obey, because my voice is my will, my will is your will while I train you. You trust my voice. You trust my will. So it doesn’t matter whether it’s my voice or yours, because they are one and the same.
This is the mantra. This is my will. This is what you will repeat:
“I am a dumb musclehead. My place is in the gym. Fitness is my life. The bigger I grow, the dumber I become. I am a dumb musclehead. I will grow into a muscle bull. I am a dumb musclehead. I will grow. My place is in the gym with my fellow muscle bulls. I will follow the herd. I will obey.”
Repeat.
...
Good muscle bull. I must check on the rest of the herd. Repeat your mantra. Should you break out of trance, you will recall none of what I said, but it will whisper all the same inside of you, driving you forward, driving you to work out, like a good muscle bull.
Now get at it, stud. We have prizes to win.
Andrea presti
Himplants
Running through Lift.exe now. Subject is reacting incredibly well to positive reinforcement. Dopamine levels are nominal. Triggering electronic impulses through the brain now. Strengthening cerebral synapses and reinforcing new neural pathways. Stimulating auditory nerves.
Subject appears to be reacting in time. He is reciting rhythmic instructions to maintain proper form. Initiating reward.
Subject has officially entered into a trance state.
Yes, Sir, the subject definitely does love the gym now. It’s quite the transformation from when he first started. We’ve also been able to mute the anxiety and focus on raising his confidence levels. As a result, he has chosen to wear more revealing clothing that is designed to complement his growing physique. The triggers are most definitely a success with this tester. There is some concern about a disconnect from his previous personality, however.
Well, yes, Sir, he did sign the waiver, but--
I see. Well, you are the boss, Sir. So far, the product is definitely a success. We’ll need to tweak it to avoid so dramatic a change, but I believe that once we do, we can help everyone to achieve their desires. We might even be able to help the mentally disabled using this.
I’m sorry, you’d ... like to see how far we can push the subject? To what end, Sir?
...
I ... suppose a certain amount of safeties would be necessary to research, assuming the subject does go that far. But do you really want to risk irreparably constructing those pathways? We can destroy them now, but if we build them too strongly, it will take far longer for the subject to recover from whatever we do to him. Do you really want that, Sir?
...
I see. Understood. We’ll ... monitor his progress for you, Sir. Did the company owner desire a record of his electronic impulses? We can translate them into live feed as the subject transitions.
Yes, Sir. I’ll get right on it, Sir.
Beginning purge of former unnecessary pathways. Queuing instructions to build new paths. Stimulating the necessary glands now.
And execute.
Time to be a bro, Zero.
Consequences (A Sequel Story) Patreon Preview
Credit for the images used in this story go to tumblr users: heavy-package, sneak40xxl, fitaestheticguys, and bb3527.
For the prequel, follow this link to my public gallery: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/31525732/
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The following is a patreon preview using each of the above images as part of the captioned story to tie the narrative together. I highly recommend you pledge to my patreon to view the whole story. It’s a very good one.
When the main character accidentally says the wrong insult to his trainer in the heat of the moment, he reaps the whirlwind. This is his journey to become a true muscle gorilla. Please, enjoy the snippet below, and pledge to my patreon to view the full story.
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I still can hardly believe it.
I mean, I was just angry. I never meant to attack the guy's species. I thought it was a commonly accepted term!
Now goosebumps are crossing over my flesh as I wait here for the clothes that will be my uniform for the foreseeable future.
To make a long story short, I opened my big mouth and said something that could clearly be deemed hate speech in the presence of no less than ten gym goers. A few days later, I'm being served with a subpoena from a monkey in a suit. He bore himself with a rigid posture as he adjusted his red silk tie and passed me the summons. His tail swayed gently behind him.
It was literally a monkey in a monkey suit.
But I knew better than to add gas to the fire when I was already in hot water, especially when there was a lid hovering over my head to trap me inside. I could already hear the iron clang of bars echoing by the time I arrived in the actual court room.
It boiled down to three options. I could go to jail, pay a huge fine (including damages and expenses to the plaintiff), or the third option offered as a compromise by my oh-so-merciful victim.
I didn't have the money to pay for the court fines, and there was no way I was going to jail. So, naturally, I had to take the third choice.
I'm sentenced to live and follow the lifestyle of a gorilla for the duration of what would be my prison sentence.
In other words, I'm legally required to walk in the plaintiff's metaphorical shoes.
That's right. I get to be just like Lance, sleeveless tank top and all.
Credit for this image goes to Maxx114. If you enjoy this, please consider donating to my ko-fi or joining my patreon to help fund my writing. More money means more free time to write these stories. :D Thanks!
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Trapped
Ever wonder how I got this big? It wasn’t steroids, if that’s what you think. Everyone thinks that. I always test clean, though. My body won’t take any drugs that aren’t medically necessary.
Why’d I word it that way? I can’t ... really say. My tongue will get tied. No literally, I mean my tongue will try to tie itself up. The minute I say something my body doesn’t like, my tongue will—
...
...
...
You can see what I mean.
I don’t know how it happened. I just ... can’t control it anymore. I’m trapped. No, literally, I’m tra—uhhhhhhhhh.....
...
...
...
Fuck.... I ... how long was I out?
Look, let’s just say my body is my top priority, okay? I treat it right so it’ll treat me right.
You’ve heard of muscle memory and all that stuff, right? Muscles learn, and so does your body. It does things you don’t even have to think about after a while. It just ... knows that’s what it’s supposed to do.
Some folks deal with their bodies eating themselves, immune system attacking healthy cells and going out of control for no reason. My body’s sort of the opposite. It’s gone into hyper mode to make me as healthy as I can. Every impulse, every step, day in and day out, my body’s health comes first.
...
Fuck, that felt good....
Sorry, call it ... a reward for compliance.
When I work out, what I eat, when I sleep, who I hang out with, all of it is centered around my body and the lifestyle it needs to keep this shape.
Fun fact. Did you know that the brain isn’t actually a muscle? While it is an organ, the majority of its composition and cellular structure has nothing to do with any kind of physical work in the sense that the arms or the legs might. The only muscle tissue involved in the brain has to do with the blood vessels that control where the blood flows, so your brain can get enough oxygen to keep functioning. And that muscle tissue functions as an insulator and, I guess you could say a sort of control valve to the blood vessels to regulate the flow.
Yeah, it’s pretty interesting. I’m what you might call a muscle man. In the traditional sense of the word, yes, I’m talking about my muscles, but I kind of mean it on a deeper sense. For me, it’s more than just dedication to my craft. I have to build my muscles. I have to get stronger. I have to be the very best my body can be. It’s not a choice for me anymore.
No, I mean it literally. I have to do it. I’ve lost so much because of this. And I may get some of it back with the recent success I’ve been having in the bodybuilding community, but it’s never going to be the same. I’m never going to be the same.
I’m never going back to the old me.
...
...
...
Sorry, I, uh ... zoned out again there. Another one of those rewards I mentioned.
The secret to my success? It’s all in my head. I mean, it started in my traps. You see how huge these things are. And then it was sort of like a rebellion at that point. An itch, a nag. I started building to level things out, get more even. But when I was satisfied, my body wasn’t. That’s when I started noticing ... things. Things that weren’t quite right.
I was sore every day, even on my rest days. And it got harder and harder to do the things I used to to relax. Going to the movies, eating at buffets, gaming in my off hours from work. I used to have a cheap ramen diet. That was one of the first things to go. Things were sort of subtle at first. My eyes would be drawn to supplements, health foods, all the things my budget wouldn’t necessarily allow me to enjoy, but I lingered over them anyway. I’d sit there and stare at them for five, then, fifteen minutes. And I knew I couldn’t afford to get these things, but ... I didn’t move either.
It started turning into a real problem that I didn’t understand, so I finally gave in and just bought one of the darned things. And just like that, I felt free to move again. There was even a warm feeling in my chest. You know, like the kind where you just did something really nice, and you feel good for it?
Eventually, there were some things that I couldn’t push myself to do anymore, though. Once the supplement was gone, the urge was back again, that strange stillness, all while I continued to ache. I was getting some great definition, but ... I was concerned. I didn’t want to go to the doctor. Didn’t have enough to cover a visit. I was barely scraping by with my other work.
It was work, then home exercises, then shower, then meals and supplements, bed, repeat. I was as surprised as my friends and family when I logged into my social media accounts one day and saw my tags had changed. Vacant, empty stares were in every picture of my increasingly muscular body.
And I never remembered taking any of them.
I was scared, but ... I don’t know whether it was the shock or what, but ... I didn’t feel it so badly. Kind of like a jump scare, you know? There in a moment, gone the next. Instead, my heart started pounding. I felt that itch. My usual patch of floor was waiting.
...
And then I was working out.
I don’t mean I chose to. I mean ....
You know what it’s like to go through an out of body experience, right?
It was something like that, except I was still in the car, so to speak. I just ... watched.
It was the freakiest thing I had ever experienced.
And I knew I needed to see a doctor then. This wasn’t normal behavior.
I met with the doctor first, then got forwarded to a psychiatrist.
You can guess where this is going. I was given pills, told to take them, report back on how I feel in the next couple of weeks after they’ve had time to build up in my system.
I tried. I really did.
It didn’t help.
I don’t know whether they were placebos or something else, but things just ... kept going the same way. My muscles got bigger. And I got ... smaller, I guess. Not physically, but mentally. I was literally losing control of my own body. It wasn’t hurting anyone directly, but it frightened me.
I tried everything. Hypnosis, self-help books. Heck, I even checked into a psych ward to see if they could figure out what was going on with me. Nothing worked.
When I did the things myself, doctors say I was being rewarded. Dopamine and all those other hormones and chemicals shot through the roof, well beyond the norm for the average male. When I resisted, however, something ... different was discovered.
In a very real way, it was like coordinated mutiny. Bloodflow in my brain literally shifted as some of the valves tightened and others opened full blast. And as they did, I found myself being the passenger again. When I tried to eat certain foods, my limbs would go limp. I literally couldn’t even feel them. If I tried to go somewhere that wasn’t conducive to my body’s welfare, I would find myself suddenly unable to progress past a certain point. Or worse yet, jogging right past and not stopping.
I couldn’t type or write certain words or phrases. And the more I grew, the ... fuzzier things became, I suppose. When I hunch forward like this, it’s not so much a habit or for comfort as a ... friendly reminder. Kind of like My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The neck controls wherever the head turns.
I’m a pris—
...
I’m a pri—
...
I’m a pris—uhhhhhhhhhhhhh....
I’m a pristine example of the fruits of hard work and discipline.
It is my intention to continue to grow and exceed expectations in competition. It’s just a matter of listening to your body. When you listen to your body, you are rewarded by your body.
...
Yes, everything is fine now. You could say we’ve come to an understanding since then. I can honestly say this is the most pleasurable life I could ever hope to have. Some things have changed, but I’m happy. And happiness is what matters in the end. I do what my body wants, and it rewards me, just like everyone else. Now, I hope you’ll excuse me, but it’s time for me to get back to work. My body wants to break its record today at the squat rack.
Don’t worry, I just cry randomly sometimes. Don’t know if it’s something in the air or just a thing, but I live with it. Thanks again for the interview. Goodbye!
...
...
...
A behemoth of muscle and strength sits on a bench before a mirror and stares at his reflection as he reaches for two massive dumbbells.
Now, then. What do we need?
A low groan fills the room as the eyes lose focus and the tears cease to fall. Shoulders rise and fall, prompting the trapezius muscles to almost massage his neck with his deltoids and pectorals. The lips smack. The tongue lolls and lashes momentarily in the mouth before finally settling limply, meekly against the base. The breathing grows deep and steady as his cheeks flush in euphoria and the weights clank with the beginnings of reps.
WE ... NEED ... TO WORK OUT....
The twitch of a smirk pulls at his face in the mirror.
Good boy.
The eyes roll briefly.
You won’t be talking about us like that again, will you?
Another groan. The eyes grow dull in their gaze as the body continues to rep.
NO ... SIR....
Good boy. Listen to your body....
OBEY MY BODY....
Me last night, "Are you serious? It's leg day?" #legday #gym #fitness #legdayproblems #worthit #wobble #cramps #sore #soremuscles #workingout #workout #weightlifting #weights #squats #quads #thighs #calves #hamstrings #fit #thickthighs #quadriceps #latenightworkout
Late night as usual, but it's always better that way. Time to pay attn. to these arms and shoulders I've been lagging a bit on. #gym #gymtime #💪 #weights #delts #deltoids #shoulders #arms #biceps #workout #fitness (at 24 Hour Fitness - Hollywood Super-Sport, CA)
How I feel after I do #cardio #rare 😜🏃♂️🕺🤓 Snuck it in after a great bis and shoulders session -tryin' to grow them delts! 💪 #fitness #treadmill #workout #lifting #weightlifting #deltoids #biceps #weights #gym #gym💪 (at Los Angeles, California)
Thanks @kryptonianadrian 🤗 -as it turns out there's only 1 page I needed to read to set it. Tmrw. I'll read the other 999 pages of the manual so I can figure out how it can do my laundry. 🤓 ...Okay, enough #goldengirls ("Thank you fpr being a friennnnnnd" @kryptonianadrian lol 😜) - now time 🕒 for gym. 🏋️♂️💪 #gym #workout #birthday #birthdayworkout #fitness #gymlife #lifting #weights #weightlifting #bodybuilding (at Hollywood Hills)
The unending quest for size. 😜🙃🤓 #gym #gymlife #armworkout #triceps #arms #thepump #swoll #fitness #workout #weightlifting #weights #addicted #size #bigger #grow #growth #loveit #pumped #neversatisfied #armpump (at 24 Hour Fitness - Hollywood Super-Sport, CA)
#Repost from @david.dooner ・・・ 📸 @pauldedona 🇦🇺🌞🏄🏽 #muscle #australia #LittleRok #LittleRokOriginal #mrolympia #mensphysique #fitness #fitnessmodel #goldcoast #preworkout #ukbff #gym #weights #training #tattoos #6pack #pose #firefighter #aussiefitness #aussie #aussiefit #aussiemodel #mma #ufc #smile #love #life #athlete #aestetics #wbff #npc #ifbb
Multiuse - Gym
Large, modern image of a multipurpose home gym with a medium-toned wood floor and white walls