Lifting Up And Dumbing Down Part 35

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 35

You’re a linebacker, tensing down at the starting line, just waiting for the call to crash into your enemies. Your jockstrap and cup hold your manhood securely as you feel the tight hug of the lycra in your pants and the weight of your shoulder pads clinging to your bulky frame. You’re a brick wall, and you’re not about to let anyone past you as you enter a three-point stance staring through the bars along your helmet’s guard. A few flashes later, and suddenly you’re a grinning, happy-go-lucky beach bum in a speedo. You feel the volleyball resting casually between your vascular arm and your hip as you stare into that beautiful lens and chuckle emptily at the sensation of sand between your toes. Sun’s out, guns out. It’s good to show off. Next thing you know, you’re up at bat, ready to slam into that ball as it comes flying over the plate. Your hands clench tightly to the wooden bat as your gloves creak from the pressure of rubbing against the varnished wood. A thick baseball helmet adorns your crown, with an extension of the ear to protect against any blows to that area. You can almost hear someone whispering, “Pose for the cameras....” So, that’s what you do. Because that’s what good musclemen do. And you’re a good muscleman, just doing as you’re told as the flash empties your mind more and more, making it that much easier to just ... do. One more flash, and you’re a goalie who’s just made a saving catch. The ball is hoisted over your head as you prepare to throw it back into the field. The next moment, you’re posing victoriously over the ball, with your heavy cleats resting atop the blended cover of polyester and cotton that forms the outer layer of the soccer ball. Your jersey clings to all the right places as you grin for your fans. Then you’re suddenly feeling heavier as you hunch your shoulders and clutch the rugby ball close. Your compression shorts cling to your legs and your dark jersey shines with every shutter from the camera. The game must be won, the ball passed on to another teammate. Another flash, and suddenly you’re shaking hands with a member of the opposite team. You feel the surge of anger at this, but the voice whispers again. “Sport requires fairness. You must show respect.” Must show respect. You release your crushing grip and look at him with a placid expression, neither friendly nor hostile. After all, you’re both just competitors. Then, suddenly, you’re standing holding a long metal pole with a woven net at its top. A casual glance reveals a heavy white ball that holds the container down. Your pectorals jut out against the material of your jersey as you stare with just a hint of a smile and smoldering eyes. The voice whispers praise, and you grin as your body trembles with pleasure. Suddenly, you’re back at the gym, pumping a massive pair of dumbbells and loving every second of it. Your posing strap holds comfortably to you as you shift and pose in front of the mirror, never once stopping your reps as you maintain your form. It’s so good to just lift and pump, lift and pump. Flash. Lift the weights up. Strobe. Lowering down. Flash. Up. Strobe. Down. “Huhuhuh,” you chuckle to yourself as you retreat to that place deep in your mind and let your muscles squeeze the thought right out of you. ‘I’m a good muscleman,’ you think as the reps continue. ‘I lift things up and put them down.’ You come to in the gym at your living quarters, still lifting, still staring. Your protein shake is on a cup holder off to the side, waiting for you to take another chug. You chuckle again as you notice the bulge pressing against your posing strap. “Big meat,” you low to yourself, then return to your vapid gaping at the mirror. “That’s right, muscleman, because musclemen are meatheads.” “I am a muscleman. Musclemen are meatheads. I am a meathead.” “Good muscleman. Good meathead. Now get back to work.” You happily obey.

Heifer Haven

It was such a funny little name. You really didn’t understand it, considering the fact the place seemed like a dairy. You’d done your research. You knew a cow couldn’t produce milk, unless stimulated through hormones or delivered of a calf. The former was little more than an artificial means of messing with the creature’s biological clock. The latter would render the farm’s name null and void, since a heifer is a virgin cow. Was it just an affectation or did the owner of this place really mean for the farm to only be for heifers? Of course, you didn’t know, and it wasn’t really for you to wonder about in the first place. All you knew was that you were here to test the quality of the product and write about the farm’s practices on your blog.

The farm’s owner was a kind and straightforward woman with broad shoulders and long flowing black hair. She started you off in the field, touring along the border of the property and pointing out all the cows grazing in the distance. Next came the milk room, where she showed you how the pump machines she utilized worked and the best way to milk the cows’ teats without causing undue irritation or pain. Then she showed you the barn and pens, where the cows would sleep during inclement weather and the winter months. You were happy to see she’d laid them with straw and other forms of bedding that would prove harmless and comforting to the herd. As a whole it was definitely one of the best dairies you’d seen. There were absolutely no signs of any form of abuse. The woman seemed to care very deeply for her herd.

Lastly, she led you to a small wooden stand, where a series of empty glasses sat waiting on the side.

“Now for the best part,” the owner said with a playful smile, “the sampling.”

“Sampling?” you return.

“You’ve never had a glass of real milk before, have you?”

“Um….”

“I mean before it’s pasteurized,” she clarified. “If you think you know milk, you’ll change your mind, after you’ve tried some of this.” She made her way behind the stand and crouched down to pull up a plastic tube that she placed inside one of the glasses. Then she twisted something from behind the wood and you watched as the frothy white substance poured out into the cup. When it had filled, she cut off the flow, then offered you the cup. “I guarantee it’ll change your life.”

You looked dubiously at the drink.

“Oh, would you relax? I’ve drank unpasteurized for years. It won’t kill you to try a single glass.”

“I have always wondered what it’s like,” you admit as you come closer and take the cup from the lady. You sniffed the glass carefully. It didn’t smell any different than your usual cup of milk in the morning. Then you took a sip, just a tiny one. The milk was thick and rich with a sweet creamy texture, nothing like what you’d bought in stores before. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head as you fought and ultimately failed to suppress the moan of pleasure that built in your chest and burst out your mouth.

The farmer beamed at you. “Told you it was better.”

You went after the milk with far more gusto this time, letting the froth coat your lip in a moustache as you did your best to swallow every last drop. Each gulp was a symphony of flavor on your taste buds. You moan again as you pull the glass back regretfully from your lips and lower it to the stand. Your nostrils flare as you snuffle, fighting to take in as much of that heady aroma as possible along your lips. With every breath, you enjoy more of the smell and a goofy smile crosses your face as you grin dopily at the farm’s owner.

You feel a peculiar warmth in your nether regions as you lick your lip with your broad tongue, brushing against your nose and moistening it as well. “Moooore?” you ask, heedless of how your voice has deepened. You sway briefly on your feet, feeling suddenly unsteady. You crouch to try to lower you center of gravity, but that doesn’t do you much good, and only seems to make your pants feel all the tighter as you lean heavily onto the wooden stand for support.

The woman is only too happy to provide. She holds a glass up to you and your nostrils flare again as you shove your face into it, licking and swallowing as much as you can. Any that spills, you just bow your neck down to lick up with your broadening tongue. Off in the distance, you can just make out the sound of the herd lowing to one another. Your ears flicker in annoyance as your fingers fumble weakly on the hard wood, scrabbling across its surface as they grow thicker and darker. A slight tickling sensation draws your attention down to your arms, where you notice a rigid dusting of hair. A strange sense of familiarity overtakes you as you look down at your hands. You think you’re supposed to see these strange pink things, but … all you see is a black mass. But … that’s what you’re supposed to see, … isn’t it? You work your jaw and smack your thick rubbery pink lips together as you struggle to gather your thoughts. A curious euphoric fog is clouding your mind as you feel thick calloused hands run over your head, rubbing at an upper corner. You groan in pleasure, and it comes out as a gentle low.

So good. So nice. Nice to just … relax and … and ….

A loud detonation sounds as the zipper on your pants breaks apart. A warm, sloshing mass is swelling, pressing tighter and tighter against your expanding girth. You don’t mind, though. It’s too good just enjoying the woman’s ministrations. She smells so wonderful. It makes you feel warm and safe as you nuzzle her gently.

“That’s right,” she coos into your ears. “Good girl.”

You hardly even register her words, too lost in the euphoria of her touch and the swelling fog that derails your train of thought. You shudder as she nurses and pulls ever so gently at the horn that’s starting to emerge from your skull. Another few breaths and the constriction on your chest is suddenly relieved as the sound of shredding fabric tears through the air. The woman reaches down and pulls off scraps of white cloth, the shredded remains of your shirt, but all you can think of is the loving caress and the question of why such a thing would be on you in the first place. It doesn’t even smell like you.

The woman stops to peer into your eyes and smiles. “You’re coming along very nicely.”

You don’t understand the words, but you don’t mind. You nudge at her with your long, thick neck and toss your expanding head as your ears flick again. She soon gets the message, and you feel that wonderful touch on the other side of your head. A second horn bud soon emerges to join the first. You shudder in pleasure as the warmth becomes more pressing against your belly. You’re dimly aware of a faint sloshing and a distinct sort of pressure starting to build down there. You’re loath to ask, but the question needs to be answered. It’s starting to get a little uncomfortable, after all.

You kick back with one of your legs and low softly as your ears drop behind your head. She seems to understand, nodding her head and passing behind you. You crane your neck, which feels surprisingly flexible, and watch as she lifts your rear hooves and pulls off the offending pieces of cloth that have been keeping you from feeling the familiar pressure of the turf. A loud popping sounds as more cloth breaks free and falls. She reaches up to reclaim it, brushing your wide, bony hips, which leads to more tingling as a long ropey tail launches out from your rear. It flicks casually left and right, leaving you with a sense of repetition that eases that twinge of fear floundering in the back of your head.

You lick your broad velvety nose as the lady cuts away at the band that’s been biting into your waist. It finally breaks free with a satisfying snap, allowing that uncomfortable warmth to slosh down low to the ground. The pressure has built so heavily that you can’t think about anything else. The tall grass tickles against the protrusion and you low with need. The woman smiles and walks back to the wooden stand, while you drop onto all fours, looking patiently and trustingly at the lady that has been so very kind to you. She withdraws a stool and a large bucket. She places the bucket beneath you, then lowers the stool onto the ground by your withers. She pats you once on the side, then begins to pull at the sensitive sack that had been so tightly pressed against your body before. You hear the distinct sound of high pressure liquid striking metal as she pulls. Relief floods you as the pressure begins to ease. Her hands aren’t even cold.

“Good cow,” she utters. “Good cow.”

Over and over again, she repeats. It’s almost entrancing as you stand there, leaving your tail to flick in the wind. You low gratefully to her as the pressure continues to ease and your eyes widen Your pupils expand into broad ovular pieces that flick left and right as your nostrils flare. You smell your milk. You smell the sweet scent of fresh grass, and your stomach rumbles at that smell. Actually … you’re pretty sure you feel … four rumbles?

“Good cow.”

Euphoria rushes over you again and the confusion is gone. You chew the grass with thick, flat teeth, grinding it to paste and swallowing happily as the green leeches out of your eyes to be suffused with a rich dark brown. A light tingling near your rump is the only source of discomfort as the image of the farm’s brand engraves itself harmlessly on your flesh. You low gently, and the herd responds to your call. It is questioning, suspicious. They don’t know you yet. But that is right. You must earn your place with them.

Suddenly, the woman is standing in front of you, pail in hand as she smiles at you. “Go on, then. They’re waiting.”

You blink a few times as you look at the kind smile with innocent, unthinking eyes. You approach her, nuzzle her hand briefly, then turn and lumber your way across the field.

The woman smiles as you walk off and she whistles pleasantly to herself as she pulls out a fresh insulated container from behind the stand to dump your milk into it. “Score another for the herd.” She smiled then as she flipped her phone open and hit the speed dial. “Yeah, Jack? Tour went off without a hitch. This one’s a real producer. You still looking to add some studs to your herd?” She nodded at the response. “Yeah, I’ve got plenty of wet cows for the season. I’ll see about having your breeders ready, after the next tour.”

Well, as a suggestion, and to add some more inanimate TFs, a buff featureless mannequin TF? The details could be anything. Someone wish to get buff only to have the wish twisted around. Modeling for a friend who draws him then redraws the image to look better, changing him to look buff, before erasing the extra features that would take away from looking at his now perfect body. A mind controlled drone related TF. A fashion store in need of a new mannequin. A weird yet well paying job. Etc.

I’ll consider it. Though, I still need to focus on the work I’m doing with my current series, before I pop into that one.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 41

You beam openly as you step off the stage and out of the hot lights. Your posing strap holds perfectly to your wide hips as they sway back and forth in that familiar swagger that’s become your natural mode of locomotion. A massive cardboard check is clutched in your right hand as you grin almost childishly at your trainer. “I can’t believe I just won!” you gush. “And at my first competition.” “I told you I’d make a proper bodybuilder of you, didn’t I?” Hank asked, smiling enthusiastically as he bore his teeth in a grin to offset the thick dark stubble that had grown in around his face. “Yes, sir, but I mean, wow. Just wow! This, this makes it official. I really am an actual bodybuilder now.” “And how do you feel?” “Fucking fantastic!” You’re still grinning, heedless to the many knowing smiles and angry glares directed your way. “I’m so full of energy. I feel like I could run a thousand miles.” “Then we should see about working some of that off, shouldn’t we?” Hank chuckled. “Yes, Sir!” Hank chuckled again. “You’re a regular gym addict, aren’t you, kid?” “Musclemen are big and strong. The gym is where we all belong,” you say in the tone like a child reciting a line of overpracticed prose. “The gym and the stage,” Hank agreed as he wrapped a burly arm around your shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

The familiar sounds of fife and drum thrum in time from the crack beneath as you knock on Collin’s door. Of course, a knock for you is more like an aggressive pounding, but musclemen should always show off their strength, and it wasn’t like you were about to bust it off its hinges or anything. It took a few moments, but the music finally paused and the door opened to reveal Collin’s sweat-streaked face. His gaze was somewhat distant and his pupils seemed to be having difficulty adjusting to the light, as if they were resisting shrinking. As usual, he wore his fatigues, a pair of heavy duty boots, and a shirt with earthy tones that currently clung to his toned frame in wet patches. “Hey, Lil’bro,” you low gently as you smile down at him. A big grin spreads across Collin’s face. “Welcome back!” He laughs as he lunges forward to embrace you. “Harry called me with the news.” He smacks you manfully on the back, then steps off. “So, how does it feel to win, Mister Bodybuilder?” You smirk. “Fucking amazing.” “Hell yeah, it does,” Collin said. “Come on in. I was just in the middle of my workout.” The broad suite was more like a house than it was an apartment. The floor had a massive open concept with a great kitchen filled with sleek modern appliances and an almost spartan level of cleanliness as the marble counter tops shone in the overhead lights. Your eyes wander over to a gun rack, where you note a series of shot guns, rifles, and pistols waiting to be used. “Found some more for your collection, huh?” you note idly as you lean in to peer at the registrations that are mounted behind each of the weapons against the backdrop of a flowing American flag. “Gotta keep up the practice,” he shrugged. “You talk to that recruiter yet?” Collin shook his head. “Not yet. I wanted to, but....” His brow furrowed in confusion. “I ... don’t exactly remember why I didn’t, actually. Something about ... not ... quite ... ready.” “You have to be in tip top shape.” “I ... have to be in tip top shape,” Collin parroted. “Ready to follow orders.” “Yeah....” “Ready to obey.” Collin nodded dreamily. “Sir, yes, Sir.” You chuckle. “Nah, man.  I’m just your bro. Your big bro, but still your bro.” You smile knowingly at the familiar twitching you see in his hands and pectorals. “I think I’ll leave you to your workout, man. We’ll talk later, okay?” “Yeah, ... later,” he said as he reached for a remote. “Gotta get fit.” “Fit for service,” you prod gently. You remember how much he loves talking about stuff like that. “I will be a good soldier. A good soldier serves his country. A good soldier obeys.” “That’s right, Lil’bro.” You smile as the fife and drums renew their rigid cadence and you take your leave. That smile soon grows into a predatory sneer. Seeing his growing muscles has left you with a pump of your own, and your body practically vibrates with the need to exert itself. You couldn’t get to your apartment fast enough.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 29

You continue to pump your weights, heedless of the movers as they tromped into your apartment hauling boxes and bits and pieces of furniture. A few of the laborers look almost familiar to you, somehow. Maybe ... you saw them at the gym? You ... can’t ... quite seem to ... focus on it.... Then your eyes fall on your hulking torso in the mirror and you let that thought drop. The hairs on your chest have spread out in a perfect triangle that’s just the right thickness to accentuate the muscle, without obscuring it. You grin at the sight of your broad shoulders and perfectly sculpted abdomen. The veins standing on your arms only serve to better accentuate the pistons you’ve worked so hard to build and maintain. The rhythmic pulse of screwdrivers deepens your trance as you sink into that familiar emptiness and smile. You’re not sure how long you’ve been pumping, when you feel a firm tap on your shoulder. You turn to look into the mover’s murky brown eyes. “Job’s finished,” he rumbled. “Good,” you grunt. You look around the room briefly, eyeing the new surround sound speakers, the motivational posters, the new bench press, the pull-up bar, the squat rack, and so many weights. One of the men is busy organizing your DVDs and Blu-rays on the shelf. The screen of your new massive television pulses a myriad of patterns and images. “Welcome to your new and improved home.” It was like something set a switch off in your brain. The response was automatic. “The gym is my home.” The man nodded. “That is right.” They each file past you, one at a time, laying a meaty hand over your shoulder as they make their way out. When the workers had gone, a single figure remained at the doorway. He’s short, kinda on the scrawny side. Could use a good bulking, you think absently as you look at him. He swayed briefly, then stepped inside, looking about in confusion. His hair was tied back in a long black ponytail and his sneakers scuffed against the floor as he shuffled in. One word clicks in your mind. Landlord. “Wh-what ... did you just do?” He blinked rapidly and shook his head, as if trying to shake off sleep. “These renovations. I ... I never gave--.” You tromp over to him with an easy gait and, pausing only to squat down and pick up a set of lighter dumbbells from your new coffee table on your way to the door, you finish your advance. You press them into the man’s chest and he grabs the handles out of reflex. He stares down at them, dumbfounded, as they drop to his sides. You shake your head in disgust. “What’re you standing there for? You gotta lift ‘em, like this, bro.” You clasp your meaty mitts around his pale skinny fingers and get behind him to manipulate his arms. You show him the form, just like Hank and Duff showed you. “Up and down. Up and down.” “This ... this isn’t--.” You shush him quickly. “Gotta focus to lift,” you say gruffly as you fold your arms and glower down at him. “Focus and listen.” “Wh--wha--?” You tromp over to the TV and access the first beginner workout DVD you see. Curiously enough, it’s the only one of its kind sitting at eye level. You let that pass, however. It’s not for you to think about. All you think about is growing your muscle. You pop the disc into the player and back up as your speakers blare into the room. “Now, let me show you how to lift....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 36

You lumber through your apartment door with a dopey grin on your face. It feels so good to be back. The two weeks were such a blur, but it was a happy blur. And if you were happy, then there was no need to question it. Leave the money and stuff to Harry to manage. You drop your suitcases easily by the door and stomp your way to the kitchen for your protein shake and a healthy meal. You crash down into the reinforced steel chair by your new dining table and start forking your typical lunch of brown rice and chicken, while the siren call of the blender roars through your ears. Musclemen drink their shakes, and yours would be ready soon. It didn’t take long to finish. You rise about halfway through your meal, when the motor finally dies. You don’t even wait to start chugging the drink, and make your way to your chair to resume your meal. After all, muscle machines need fuel to run, to produce more muscle. You pull out your phone and check for messages, noticing some new voicemails. You stick it on speaker and continue to eat as you cue up the first. “Hey, lil’bro. Duff here. Just wanted to be the first one to welcome ya back. Been pumping at the gym a lot, since you left. The guys all miss you. Been wondering where you’ve been at. Think I had to remind a few of them a good three or four times, before they finally got it.” Duff’s dimwitted chuckle reverberated through your ears, and you couldn’t help but join in. What a bunch of dumbasses. “I’ve been making some gains of my own, since you left. Hank’s been helpin’ me out again, pumping my brain with anatomy as much as he does with lead, so I can pass my classes. Let’s hook up again at the gym for old times’ sake. Then we can hit up that restaurant for some teriyaki. My treat. Anyways, gotta go, bro. Those weights are calling my name.” He laughed a deep, husky bark of a laugh, then spoke again. “See you soon, lil’bro.” A big grin crosses your face as you think back to all those late night gym sessions with your best bro. Duff really was a great training partner. The guy would go pretty far, once he got his training certification and graduated. Then he could help build other muscle machines. You casually shovel another bite of your meal and chew as you access the second voicemail. “Kid, it’s Hank. You’d better not have slacked off during those two weeks. I’ll whoop your ass, if you did,” he growled. You couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Good old Hank, always looking out for you. “No, Sir,” you mutter absently, after swallowing your food. “Anyway, the gym’s waiting for you. So am I. Don’t flake out on me. You know what’ll happen, if you do.”  Like you’d ever do that to him. You can’t help but smile at the concern you know is hidden under that gruff bravado. The man was harsh, but after all that time under his tutelage, you’d come to understand that elusive language all musclemen seem to share on a subtler level. Every word, every action held a hidden meaning. With those few short sentences, the man had communicated an ocean of questions and concerns ranging from diet to health and dedication to maintaining ties. “I missed you, too, Hank,” you say as you smile at your phone. Of course, neither of you would say that to your faces. Musclemen don’t do mushy. They banter. They bluster. Their muscles do the talking and the thinking. Every word said and not said is registered and interpreted in that secret language that’s becoming more and more natural to you with each passing day. You pop a double bicep pose and flex, grinning in that way that says, ‘I am healthy. I am happy. I am ready to return to work.’ “I want you here bright and early tomorrow morning. No excuses, understand?” You chuckle to yourself. Why put off for tomorrow the workout that can be done today? Besides, you’d like to see that stony face surprised for once, and what better way than to come unexpected? “I’ll see you then. Don’t be late.” The message clicked shut and your smile widened. You can’t wait to throw him off his game, just once. The third message had Harry’s familiar voice blaring out the speakers. “Kid, that last shoot was incredible! The camera loves you, and so did the photographers. They said you were one of their best models, bar none! I’ve got some paperwork I’ll need you to sign a little later for some last transactions and a few formalities involving finances. I’ll drop by the gym, and we can take care of it during your rest period. I’m telling you, big things are coming, kid. BIG!” You chuckle as you lift up your bicep and flex one more time, watching the muscle strain and pop against your skin. “Yes, they are, Harry,” you agree. “Yes, they are....”