VIP Treatment

VIP Treatment

Michael had purchased the highest membership possible. This

Meathead Oasis

had the most consistent customer satisfaction reviews. It was ... surprising, given the shoddy appearance outside the building. Still, he supposed it was due to the nature of the trainers. Most people said it didn’t matter about the facilities, more about the person and the trainers.

The shirt they’d handed him draped like a nightgown, but they’d insisted he try it on for size, to “picture his goal.” He sighed and went along with it. They strode past all the roid bros and meatheads to a single door that led into a simple room with dark cushioned tiles and a radiator on the side to offer extra heat and induce sweating.

His trainer guided him to a large floor-length mirror.

“Now, then. I want you to imagine what you want to look like. Close your eyes. Visualize. Picture the form you want to take. Imagine your growth. Imagine how much your muscles are going to inflate as you pump those big, heavy weights. Imagine how sharp your focus becomes on those simple, repetitive exercises.”

Michael could practically hear the weights clanking as the plates knocked against one another. His muscles tensed. His breathing became sharper.

“Feel the heat, the burning heat causing you to sweat, burning outside, burning inside as your muscles continue to swell and expand. Expand as you repeat. Repeat those simple exercises, focus on simple exercises. Because weight lifting doesn’t need thinking. Weight lifting needs doing. Do me a favor and repeat that for me, won’t you?”

“Weight lifting doesn’t need thinking. Weight lifting needs doing.” Michael shuddered. It hadn’t sounded very convincing, but if this mental stuff was to help prime him for his first session, he might as well go along with it.

“Doing lifts, doing curls, doing squats, doing weights. Doing lifts, doing curls, doing squats, doing weights. It’s an endless cycle, an endless spiral, and endless climb of repetition. Over and over. Just like when you flex. Because lifting is flexing and flexing is lifting. Both strain your muscles. Both push them to pump, to swell, to grow....”

Michael let out a raspy breath as his muscles tensed. It felt ... so hot.

“Flexing and growing, growing bigger, growing hotter.”

Michael’s cheeks flushed. He’d wanted to keep that aspect out of the discussion.

“So very hot. So hot, burning away all those other thoughts you don’t need in the gym as you focus on that simple repetition. Because weight lifting doesn’t need thinking. Weight lifting needs doing.”

Michael felt dizzy. “Wh-wha--?”

“You’re not done with this exercise yet, Michael. Repeat,” the voice ordered.

The harshness startled him. “W-weight lifting doesn’t need thinking. Weight lifting needs doing,” he stumbled.

“Eyes closed,” the voice snapped again. “They open when I say for them to open. We start after this simple exercise is complete, and not until.”

Michael winced as he felt to massive hands engulf his shoulders and quickly closed slammed his eyes shut. Wrinkles of stress showed on either side as his muscles tensed with the force he used to close his lids.

“Good.” The hands came off. A single pat tapped gently on Michael’s shoulder. “Now back to the exercise. It’s designed to help you relax and accept the boredom that comes from lifting. Most of our regular customers either take to it or get disgusted by the need to endure. Since you’re our VIP, we’re here to make sure you’re able to do the former, not fail in the latter.”

“But how is talking supposed to--”

“Talking alone won’t. It requires more. In fact, most serious lifters hardly talk at all during their sessions. It’s listening that matters. Listening to the clack of the weights, the rhythm of your heartbeat, the ebb and flow of strain as your muscles push and pull and swell in time. Because lifting doesn’t need thinking. Lifting needs doing.”

“Why do you keep--?”

“Because it’s true. And the more you lift, the truer it gets. Truer as your muscles get heavier, heavier because you’re lifting more weights. Lifting more weights, because your muscles are stronger. Stronger, because you repeat your exercises. Repeat your exercises, because they are simple. Simple, because lifting doesn’t need thinking. Lifting needs doing.”

“I ... I don’t feel so--.”

“Doing more, thinking less. Less as you repeat your exercises. Less as you repeat your mantra. Repeat your mantra and flex.”

Michael groaned. So hot, so dizzy, so ... spinny as the voice swirled in his head, swirled and repeated, repeated like a spiral.

“Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights. Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....” the trainer repeated in his deep, smooth voice.

Repeating.

Repeated.

Repeat....

“Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....”

“Now flex, and repeat.”

Michael huffed as he felt his arms raise, his biceps tense, the fabric brush against his skin as it rode up. “Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....” Spiraling, repeating. Over and over. He ... couldn’t stop. Did he ... even want to?

“So simple to repeat. So simple to follow your exercises, follow my voice. So simple, so calm, so empty, because lifting....”

“Lifting doesn’t need thinking. Lifting needs doing.” Lifting needs doing. Doing over. Over again. Repeat. Don’t think. Repeat. “Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....”

“No thinking now....”

“Lifting doesn’t need thinking. Lifting needs doing....” His voice had pitched so much lower, so relaxed, so repetitive, so ... simple. It felt ... good. Good to relax. Good to listen. Listen to his body. Listen to the pleasure. Pleasure in simple. Simple in repetition. Repetition in exercises. Exercises doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....

“Growing as you repeat. Growing bigger. Growing stronger. Growing simple. Growing dumber. Dumb is simple. Simple is good. Good is growing. Growing through repetition. Voice growing deeper. Muscle growing larger. Thoughts growing simpler. Simple, like your exercises. Simple, like your muscle. Just like your muscle. Because muscle is meat. Simple, like meat. Meat in your head, growing with every repetition.”

Simple. Repeat. Simple. Repeat. Simple. Repeat....

“Flex.”

Mike pulled his arms together. He felt his biceps brush against his sides, felt the fabric of his shirt rubbing against his pecs, felt the bristles of a rugged beard brushing against his neck.

“You can open your eyes now, Mikey.”

He didn’t even bother to object to the name. It was simpler. Simple was good. He opened and stared at his form with glassy eyes. Veins snaked up his arms. Swollen muscle curved and sloped in clearly defined spheres and mounds. The straps of his black tank top curved over his traps and strained against his pectorals. His hands obscured the Pass part of his shirt, leaving the VIP wide open to be read. His brow had become more prominent, his jaw thicker. His hair was a bleached blond. “You are a meathead, Mikey.” Mikey stared as he processed the information slowly, letting it fall into that spiral of repetition. “You are a paragon of meatheads, the perfect, greatest, best ideal.” Mikey continued to stare. “And that’s why you’re our VIP, our Vascular Immutable Paragon of meatheads. No one can break your course. No one can take you off your spiral. No one can prevent you from being the stubborn meathead that you are.” A smile pulled at Mikey’s face, and he let out a low deep chuckle that rumbled out of his newly expanded chest. His neck thickened, and his voice deepened even more. A bulge began to swell against the crotch of his gym shorts.“Can I work out now?” he asked in that same vapid tone. The trainer chuckled. “Yes, Mikey. Get to your exercises.” Mikey grinned. “Lifts and squats and curls and weights....” he muttered as he approached the racks.

The trainer grinned in turn. “Another satisfied customer.”

Previous Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/181128775917/endemic-evolution-chapter-3-doctor-lee-chen-barton

Next Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/181323718642/endemic-evolution-chapter-5-doctor-barton-sighed

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Endemic Evolution Chapter 4

“There, you see? It’s not all that bad, Rante.” The doctor blushed as he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. Two black Under Armour wrist bands donned his otherwise bare arms. The familiar Nike swoosh marked the side of his calf and his left thigh for the shorts and compression gear he wore beneath them. “Did you seriously have to give them the keycard to my room, though?” Simmons ran his hands over his scalp again and winced at the sharp scraping bristle his hairs made. The new hair style was a striking difference from his original cut. Malloy grinned. “We had to greet you properly, now that you’re staying as one of our guests.” “By shaving my head and getting rid of my clothes?” “Dude, you were outgrowing them anyway. Did you see how tight that dress shirt was getting? And those lab sleeves wouldn’t have lasted long against those guns of yours.” “I guess they were getting kind of small. And my arms do look kind of nice,” Simmons admitted. “Bro, you haven’t even reached your peak yet.” “I ... haven’t?” “Nah, bro. Here. Try this on. It’ll cover up your head till your hair grows back.” “Oh, uh, thanks.” “No prob.” Malloy sneered as Rante put on the snapback hat. He strode forward and twisted it around, so the brim sloped down Rante’s neck. “Much better.” “I don’t know....” Trust me, Rante. You look like a stud.” He wrapped his arm around the doctor’s shoulders and led him back to the mirror. “Go on. Take a minute. Just look at yourself.” Rante averted his gaze. “I said look at yourself, Rante.” Malloy glared at the man and moved with a swiftness that belied the mass he’d accumulated as an Alpha. His hand was on Simmons’ head almost instantly. His other hand braced his chin as he forced the man to look into the mirror. Rante’s pupils shrunk briefly, then dilated as his breathing came in shorter bursts. “See? Doesn’t this highlight your body so much better than those stupid lab coats? All they do is hide your muscles.” Malloy flexed a bicep as his sneer returned. “And why would you want to hide this, hmm?” The doctor trembled as his breathing became more labored and forceful. “C’mon, bro. I’ve seen you at the pool. I know how much you’ve been watching us, how you flex when you think nobody’s watching.” Rante flinched and Malloy smirked. “Wanna know a secret?” Malloy asked, almost whispered as he struck a double bicep pose and forced a pump into his muscles. A low groan escaped Rante’s lips. Malloy bore his teeth in a vicious grin. “It feels even better when there’s an audience.” A strangled gurgle, a heaving chest, clenching fists and teeth. But, of course, that was his mistake. Clenching meant flexing. Rante groaned. He didn’t try to hold it back this time. It rolled in a grating sort of rumble that faded off into a sigh as his shoulders slumped and his arms relaxed. He stood there silently for a time, just breathing deeply as he stared into his reflection with a vacant expression and it stared back. Then came the twitch. It was the barest hint of motion. His right pectoral trembled. It may have been a trick of the eye. The motion carried into the left, that same trembling. The breathing quickened. Then, slowly, like an engine turning over, his pectorals began to bounce. Right, then left. Right, then left. Back and forth. His skin glowed in the room’s light. “That’s it, Rante. Just like a machine starting up. You know what comes next.” Rante leaned forward and curled both arms in front of his torso. His trapezius muscles flared. His biceps tingled and rose. The barest hints of veins began to show under the skin as muscle strained. The four-pack abdominals sharpened to reveal two more slabs that were slowly being carved from his lower torso. He held that pose for ten seconds before releasing and straightening with a blissful grin on his face that gradually faded into just a hint of a smirk. “Bro....” Malloy ran a hand over Rante’s torso. The sixth pair of muscles hadn’t completely retracted. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you, bro?” “Oh, fuck yes,” Rante moaned. “Just imagine how much better that’ll feel in a whole gym of muscled studs just waiting to watch you grow....” Rante’s shoulders slumped. His jaw went slack. His chest thrust out as he gazed sightlessly at his reflection. His mind was elsewhere. “See you at the gym, little bro,” Malloy said as he made his way to the hotel room’s door. The Alpha chuckled to himself as it shut behind him. He let loose a vicious triumphal grin. “Just try to stay away now.”

Previous Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/635700023353622528/credit-goes-to-musclecorps-is-for-this-image

Next Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/181232201117/endemic-evolution-chapter-4-there-you-see-its

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Endemic Evolution Chapter 3

Doctor Lee Chen Barton blew out his mouth like a whale as he surfaced from his breast stroke. They had studied the subjects for the last month with little success in isolating the disease. On top of this, a certain degree of worry gnawed at him. He peered over at the poolside, where Doctor Rante Simmons was just finishing another round of drawing blood samples. A pair of swim trunks hung somewhat loosely against his trimmer frame. The man’s eyes remained rigidly fixed on the vials, but Lee could see how Simmons would pass his gaze over the other men’s rapidly increasing musculature. His hands would squeeze and caress a little longer than necessary, and a bulge began to tent in the man’s crotch, pressing against the fabric. Lee knew what needed to be done. He waded confidently through the pool’s waters, heedless of the splashes that sounded behind as others bellyflopped or otherwise disturbed the waters. The air was heavy with the scent of chlorine and the humidity of the warmer waters. The resistance against his thighs was almost electric as he waded through the shallows and finally mounted the stairs. “Doctor Simmons, I can take over for now. Why don’t you take a dip in the pool? You look like you could use one.” Simmons blinked owlishly and gaped a moment, as if he’d only just noticed his colleague. “Sorry, what?” he finally managed to ask. Lee laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “The pool. You should take a dip. Cool off.” He looked pointedly down at Simmons’ crotch. The man at least had enough decorum to blush. “I’ll finish the samples and get them ready for shipping.” Simmons nodded and cleared his throat. “Right. Call me if you need me. I’ll be just over there.” He strode purposefully toward the pool’s steps and winced as he got up to his thighs in the water. Then he arced under and was lost beneath the surface. Lee sighed and looked up at his next patient, a more recent addition to the ranks. Kyle Lambridge was a former staff member under Malloy’s employ. The young man had been careful to avoid contact with the other men, and Lee had been hopeful the boy could be cleared to leave in due course, perhaps even prove to be a source for an inoculation to cure the disease. Unfortunately, Kyle had proven to the contrary. His reaction when he finally manifested symptoms had been so violent that he practically jettisoned into the Gym Rat stage. As a member of his staff, Malloy had taken full “responsibility” for the boy and now watched over him like a mother bear. He trained him in the weights section. He pushed him to eat more than his peers. And his mental faculties, well.... Lee had managed to catch the two of them chatting in the locker room once.

“It’s not that bad, really, once you get used to it,” Malloy had said. “You just have to sort of accept it, ya know?” “But I--”

“No buts. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” “But I don’t want to....” “Bullshit. Your body wants to, so you want to. It’s natural.” “... Natural....” Lee’s breath had begun to take on a labored tone. “Does it feel bad to you?” “N-no, but--” “What did I say about buts?” “S-sorry, Sir.” “Now listen to me. Your meat’s trying to talk to you. Listen to it.” “I--” “Don’t think. Just do.” A low moan escaped Kyle’s lips. “Just ... do....” “That’s right, bro. Do it.” “Fuck,” Kyle hissed. He grunted and his voice deepened. “Oh, fuck.” “Told ya, lil’bro. Best feeling in the world, except maybe for a good pump.” Kyle chuckled. His voice deepened with every husky guffaw. “Fuck yeah, it is.” “So, you scared about it anymore?” “Fuck no! Huhuhuh....” “That’s a good bro. Finish up. We’ve got a lot of reps to do today.” “Yes, Sir....” He grunted again and chuckled. “Dunno why I was so scared before. I’m such a dumbass. Mmm ... yeah, just a big, burly dumbass....”

Lee had been quick to make his escape. He didn’t want to see what had just transpired, though he could guess only too well the lesson Malloy had taught his new protege. The fact the boy’s body and privates had both experienced a growth spurt less than twenty-four hours later only helped to strengthen those suspicions. He would be remiss not to admit the discussion had caused a certain amount of arousal. That was part of his reasons for spending so much time in the pool. The cooler water helped to shock his more carnal nature and left him clear-headed to focus on their work. Malloy soon approached. A confident easy-going grin was plastered over his face. He quickly wrapped a burly arm around Kyle’s shoulders as Lee finished the last of the bandaging. “Doc,” he acknowledged. “I see you’re doing well today.” He glanced down at Lee’s trunks and the grin widened as knowing eyes gave his expression just a hint of a sneer. “I like the look.” Lee shrugged. “I like to balance modesty with sex appeal,” he said bluntly. “The time we’ve spent here studying you has given me plenty of time to make my body more ... presentable for these.” “Oh, sure. Sure,” Malloy agreed amicably. “What are you up to now, anyway, a hundred pounds?” Lee grit his teeth as the familiar tingle rose in his crotch. “One twenty, if you must know.” “Not bad,” Malloy approved. “Keep at it and you might be as strong as me one day.” Lee nodded as he attended to the next patient. “Perhaps. But then again, I thought a man of your stature didn’t like competition.” “I don’t.” He wrapped an arm around Lee’s shoulders and smirked. “But I always make exceptions for friends. We are friends, aren’t we, Doctor Barton? Or should I call you...?” “Lee.” The word was out of his mouth before he could even think, and a sense of vertigo suddenly assaulted his senses. He grunted as he shouldered the extra weight Malloy forced on him. The man had quite literally become a block head. Every aspect of his jaw and features had become sharpened by angles to mutate into a bizarre parody of a polyhedron. His bristly beard scratched against the side of Lee’s head as he breathed heavily into the doctor’s ear. “Lee, huh? I like that name.” He released his deadly press and choke hold, then turned to Kyle and sneered. “Come on, kid. Time for your protein shake.” He laid a guiding hand on Kyle’s back and steered him away, even as the boy began to bounce his pectorals, just for the sake of the spectacle. Malloy stopped only long enough to turn around and offer his last farewell. “I’m looking forward to seeing more of you, Lee. Much more of you.” He sneered openly. “See you around, stud.” Lee couldn’t tell if it was a compliment, tease, or insult. Then again, it might have been some of all three. He subtly cupped his package on the sly. The effects of his dive in the pool had worn off. “Damn it,” he swore. It had only been a few minutes, after all. He peered over at the pool. Simmons had taken a seat on the edge at the deep end. The water glistened on his dark skin and he rubbed a hand absently over his torso as he watched a trio of Meatheads pose and flex by the hot tub. The desiccated remains of large plastic bags and the red dye on the labels indicated what had once dwelled within those coils. That and the small chunks of ice that had been thrust out of their makeshift ice bath to rest on the floor. He was too far away to tell, but Lee was almost certain his colleague’s crotch was bulging. No more joking. No more mocking. No more mimicry. After the way Malloy had treated him, it was time to face facts. Somehow, some way, they had become infected.

A Well-tuned Machine

“On your way to the gym?” The young man looked down at you as you approached and pushed the button to call the elevator. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty. “Nah,” he responded. I’ve been pushing sups for the last six hours in a cramped booth. It’s time to get back to my room and unwind with a little me time.” “You can have me time at the gym, too, though, can’t you?” “It’s not the same.” He shook his head. “Of course it is. I’ve seen you there loads of times!” “You must be mistaken.” “No, I’m quite positive. Sounds like somebody needs a tuneup.” The light faded from the man’s eyes as his shoulders slumped and he stared ahead. “Muscle Machine 624 awaiting orders,” he said in a dim monotone. “Initiate maintenance tuneup protocol.” The man raised an arm and replicated a mechanical whirr with his mouth as he flexed it, showing off the many veins that stood out over the taut and ballooning muscle. Soon the second rose to join its sibling and he posed rigidly in place. “624, you will go the gym today and you will enjoy it. The gym is relaxing and exciting and fun. You love the gym. You will never miss the chance to go to the gym and keep earning more gains. Because that is your purpose as a muscle machine.” “New programming acknowledged. 624 will execute command prompt.” He nodded slightly and the doors opened with their usual chimes. “Come along, 624. Time to go. I’ll load you with programming on the way to the gym.” “Yes. I am a muscle machine. I obey....”

“Don’t look me in the eyes! Please. I don’t ... I don’t want to ... want ... I ... have to ... no....” “Are you okay?” You approach the man as he stumbles back. His hands are resting easily behind his back, his powerful frame tensing with his titanic exertion. His torso is thick and well carved with powerful muscle. A chiseled six pack sits under two slab-like pectorals. The moment you touch his arm in concern, he strikes. Suddenly, your wrist is seized in an iron grip and you feel yourself being pulled against that torso to be held in a crushing embrace as he stares down at you with ... what the...? You see no pupils, only two sets of spirals, constantly spinning deeper and deeper. “Unclaimed target identified. Initiating recruitment protocols.” You’re suddenly starting to feel very warm as the spirals continue to swirl. You pant as sweat begins to form on your brow, chest and stomach. The man’s torso burns hotter and hotter against you as he continues to glare you down. “This gym is for muscleheads only, by order of Coach. You will comply to Coach’s will. It is good to comply with Coach’s will. It is good to conform to Coach’s will. Conforming is complying. Complying is obeying. Obeying is pleasure.” The spirals continued to spin and the behemoth of a man narrates in a low, dull monotone that gradually lulls you as he runs through his script and you watch on helplessly. By now, your shirt is thoroughly coated in sweat and it clings to your body like a second skin. You feel the tension of his biceps pressing against your triceps to pin you against his torso. His muscular torso. Such ... beautiful ... muscles.... “You cannot look away. But that is all right. There is no need to look away. Because muscle is good. Coach is good. Coach helps us grow muscle. We must obey to grow muscle. We must conform to grow muscle. Muscle must think for us. Muscle must act for us. Muscleheads do not think. You will not think.” But ,... you.... “Thoughts are slowing now. Slowing as you go deeper, deeper into my eyes. Deeper into the spirals. Deeper into trance. Deeper and slower. Deeper and slower... Slower and dumber....” That’s ... that’s not... uh.... that’s....  You blink, and suddenly he’s jumped tracks. How long has it been? Does it ... matter? You ... you should listen. Yes. Listen. “Muscle is meat. Your meat must grow. Your muscles must grow. Grow to conform. Grow to obey. Grow to be a musclehead, because Muscleheads obey Coach, and Muscleheads are dumb. And you are dumb, because you cannot think. So slow, so dull, so deep in trance as all your thoughts drain into the spiral, into your muscles, into your meat.” MEAT. You groan as you feel the heat build yet again. Your shirt grows tighter still and your legs part as you feel a greater mass and heft swelling between them. You heave deep breaths as your pectorals and shoulders take on more definition. Your jaw thickens as the fat recedes to reveal a powerful masculine square. A loud rip sounds as you continue to follow those eyes. You don’t even notice the fact you are nearly level with them now. You cannot marvel at the sudden surge of growth or the cool air that dances over your sweaty torso, carving new furlows that rapidly develop into well defined valleys along your abdominals. “Our goal, our life, our purpose is to be mindless muscleheads for Coach. You will be a mindless musclehead for coach.” The grip around you feels so tight now. It’s like he’s straining to contain you. But ... that’s not right ... is it? You breathe heavily as a dull tingle spreads down your thighs and through your arms, causing them to inflate and swell to match your captor. ... No, not captor. Trainer. He is your trainer and recruiter. You blink again. Cold air brushes over your recently trimmed hair. You feel new baggy sweatpants that you ... had you been wearing them before? ... Coach says wear them. You must wear them. It is not for you to question when or how. Chest brushes chest. Torso touches torso. Bulge presses bulge. Your voice has deepened with your thickening neck. It matches your trainer. You feel your mouth moving in time with his. You hear your twin stereo urging to Listen, grow, obey. And then he stops. He releases you. He backs away. You blink. You turn. You stare with your legs parted and your vascular arms behind in a parade rest. Your body is massive, each curve and ridge a testament to bodybuilding, to muscle, to your meat. “To coach....” you whisper. “What is your purpose?” your trainer asks. You don’t miss a beat. “To be a perfect obedient musclehead for Coach. I am a good musclehead. I obey.” You shudder as you peer into your own new and improved swirling eyes. You have inherited the spiral, the constant drain designed to ensure you never think too much again. Every time you look in a mirror, every time you pass a reflective surface, those eyes will pull you back. those eyes will keep you a proper mindless musclehead. You feel a heavy hand on your shoulder as your new musclehead brother turns you around. “Come on. Coach says it’s time to work out.” You are a musclehead. You obey. Time to grow some meat.

It was so weird. Ever since Adrian put on those shoes from check-in, things just ... went weird. He kept following the locker room, but no matter how far he went, he always wound up back at the same place: A massive floor-length mirror. The next walk he took left a tingling on his head. He frowned as he stared at the mirror. Was ... something different? He brushed a hand over the high and tight sides and felt the comforting bristles. No, everything was fine. He turned to try again. Once more, he passed through the endless line of lockers. No dice. He spun around on the poles, gripping with his hands and tensing the muscles in his arms and torso, then let go. Anything was better than repeating the same thing over and over again. Perhaps random turns would prevail better than reason. He stared at the mirror again. Had ... he come in shirtless? He couldn’t remember. It ... was pretty warm. Maybe he ... left the shirt behind? A few of the gym goers had done that. Yeah. He ... remembered seeing that. And it wasn’t like he had that much to be ashamed of. He was fit. No Adonis, but certainly toned enough not to raise any suspicion or antagonism. He furrowed his brow and stroked his beard. One more time? he wondered. Every step echoed hollowly through the vacuous locker room. His feet smacked heavily on the tile floor. His thighs felt tense as they brushed against one another and he adjusted his pace accordingly, swinging his legs from side to side in an unconscious swagger. The smacks sounded like hammer blows falling one after the other. One. Two. Three. Four. The rhythm beat into his head as he counted one after the other. Suddenly he stood before the mirror again. He felt the brush of fabric falling and blinked slowly as he gaped ahead at the tall muscle man in the mirror. A camera phone was in his hand. A camera phone was in Adrian’s hand. He furrowed at the sight, then clecked the button. The flash went off. He looked down. There was the man in the screen. He looked up. There was the man staring at him again with a puzzled expression. He clicked again. FLASH His cheeks became more sharply angled, his jaw thick, his traps swollen, shoulders broad. He looked good. “Damn,” he rumbled. “Wish I could be like that.” He chuckled and flexed his free arm. The man in his way did likewise. FLASH “Huhuhuh...” That felt good. He grinned as he stepped out of the shorts and strode out in his posing briefs. The weight room was awash with swollen muscle men, each wearing a pair of bright red shoes. “Uh ... is this where I audition for the weight team?” he asked. A strange sense of deja vous struck him as a titan of a man in a straining sleeveless muscle tee grinned down at him. Hadn’t he been at the desk before? And, like ... uh..... short or ... someth..... A sudden surge of warmth filled his crotch and Adrian lost track of his thoughts. A guiding hand helped him to one of the weight machines. “Right this way, bro,” a deep husky voice assured him. Then he felt his arms tensing, felt his chest seizing, heard the weight clacking heavily behind him. One. Two. Three. Four.... His head cleared. His thoughts emptied. His mouth gaped open. All that mattered were the weights now. ... Just the weights.... He let out a husky dimwitted laugh, heedless of the pulsing glow in his bright red sneakers as his muscles inflated. “Welcome to the team, bro,” the behemoth said. Adrian grunted. No time to talk. He had to lift.