Caution: This Short Story Portrays A Hypnotic Trainer Guiding His Subject Deeper Into Trance. It May

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

What advice would you give someone who wanted to write their own jock TFs?

Here’s a few solid tips that you can make use of in your own writing:

1. Make the transformation realistic and believable. Most changes can’t be and won’t be dramatic and instantaneous. It depends on the circumstances, of course, but regardless, make sure that the characters are relatable and have their own personalities and quirks that we can see and hear through your writing.

2. Descriptors are another very important factor when it comes to transformation. Help the reader to see everything, so they know how a person is changing.

3. Have a clear idea in mind for how you want the change to go when you start. Do you want it to be quick and dramatic or slow and gradual?

4. Listen to your characters. Don’t be afraid to stick yourself in their heads and figure out what they would do in a situation, even if it goes against your initial story idea. Often, I find it’s best to follow the characters’ actions and then guide events gradually to reach the conclusion, rather than shoe-horning it into place.

5. Be flexible. A curveball can fly your way at any moment as the story unfolds. It’s up to you to notice these sudden changes and act accordingly.

6. (Please note, this is a personal preference on the matter, and I am biased.) Don’t rely on graphic sexual content. Too many people focus on porn to sell their work. While I understand it can be used as a tool and can be utilized well by others, personally, from what I’ve seen on tumblr, people tend to take it too far. Let the story itself draw a person in. Changes in anatomy are fine, and talking about certain “conquests” may well fit in with a character’s mindset and actions, but don’t actually write out the acts of masturbation or other forms of sexual action. It’ll force you to focus more on the characters, their mental states, etc., and the story quality, if you write in this manner. That being said, I know some prefer to use sex as the catalyst for a transformation, in which case, I know this advice probably wouldn’t necessarily work. That’s in your hands to decide how you choose to write your TF.

7. Make use of all the tools of writing. These include personification, alliteration, characterization through appearance, italics, certain forms of sentence structure, etc. Each of these factors are incredibly important to helping draw a distinctive narrative.

8. SHOW, DON’T TELL! I can’t begin to tell you the number of writers who have this problem when they do a story. I did the same thing when I first started. Exposition is a pain and a hard habit to break. You need to learn to balance it with action, including dialogue and actual movement. For example:Malcolm clenched his hands into fists and narrowed his gaze. “Care to rephrase that?” he growled.You’ll note that I included action that indicated a combative posture, followed by the dialogue and descriptor that confirmed the implication. It’s a subtle art, but worth the effort to learn and master.

9. Seek for Inspiration. There is a reason that captions are so popular in the jock tf genre. The picture helps to give an image for the reader to lock onto in the story’s progress. It also serves as inspiration for the writer. I often search for a good picture that fits with the idea I have in mind or inspires me in some way, and then more forward from there.Inspiration may also be found in other ways. A passing phrase, an old saying, a pun, a book or magazine, etc. Look for these different avenues and make use of them as you search.

10. You must do reeeeeesearch! (Uncle says) Cookies to those who get the reference. Joking aside, it’s the truth. Make sure you look up the information you need for the story you have in mind, whether it be the names of certain muscles or muscle groups, exercises, diets, etc. Try to make the details in your story accurate. It makes a huge difference. I often do my research on the fly as I need, when I wish to incorporate an aspect into the story, but don’t know if it will work or simply don’t know anything about it. Google is a saving grace there. Whether it’s on the effects of hypnosis, how to write a hypnotic script, some sort of mythical entity or deity, etc., make sure you know enough about it to make use of it properly in your story.

11. Find something that motivates you! If a story doesn’t motivate or hold you as you write it, it’s very difficult to keep writing. Not impossible, mind you, but it’s a slow process. Make sure you enjoy writing the story. That’s what matters.

12. Tune into the world. You are the crafter, yes, but by actually putting yourself into the world and visualizing it, you’ll better be able to describe it to the readers and foresee where things will go as you write.

Hopefully, these tips will prove useful to you and any other writers interested in doing jock tfs or any others, for that matter. Thanks for reading! :D

Driver Wanted

The bold print stood out from the clipping as Andrew made his way onto the lot. The company must have been pretty small. All he could see were a total of three cars and one single story office building. That being said, the cars were very nice, indeed. Their exteriors shone with a fresh coat of paint and cured protective glaze that spoke just how new they were.

He brushed his hair to the side again as he fussed with his parted comb-over and advanced on the building itself. The interior was well furnished with a more modernistic metallic theme. Black carpet and black leather chairs were highlighted by shiny chrome lamps and side tables. He maneuvered around a burnished metal coffee table that sat in the middle of the waiting room, then approached the front desk.

The secretary seemed a little on the young side, but who was Andrew to judge? If he could do his job, then more power to him. The kid couldn’t have been much older than his mid-twenties. He stared at the screen, typing feverishly behind the monitor as the light flickered over his eyes. His mouth drooped somewhat lazily, as if he were struggling to stifle a yawn, and his hair had been completely bleached to the point of looking almost white as it rose in a series of spikes reminiscent of a boy band. It fit his blocky jaw and tight muscles, however. A set of gray sweat pants and shirt hugged to his frame as he spread his legs wide and continued to type, heedless of the new arrival.

“Excuse me,” Andrew finally said. “I’m here for the interview? I called ahead.”

The kid blinked slowly, then lifted his head to stare at Andrew. The boy’s dark eyes rolled over Andrew’s broad shoulders, his pudgy frame, thinning hair, and hazel eyes.

“Name?” he asked in a low stuffed-up voice.

“Andrew Simmons.”

The kid tapped the space bar on his keyboard, then clicked his mouse a few times to draw up a new program. He scrolled a ways, then nodded. “You’re here early.” He reached for a phone and began to dial. “Take a seat. I’ll call the boss.”

Andrew nodded and strode back to a curved metal chair with black cushions to cradle its occupant. The cushions’ promise did not lie, though the curve made it difficult to support his lower back properly, which left him with a certain amount of discomfort that eventually left him leaning forward with parted legs, so he could rest his elbows on his thighs.

“Sir?” the secretary lowed. “Your next appointment is here.” He listened intently and nodded. “Yes, Sir. I told him, Sir. He’s waiting.” He nodded again. “Yes, Sir. I’ll give him the paper work right away. Yes, Sir. I’ll resume the video after. Thank you, Sir.” His mouth split into a broad grin. “Yes, Sir!” he said excitedly, then hung up and snatched a clip board and some papers from a folder nearby. He practically raced over to where Andrew sat. “Boss has some papers for you to review. Non-disclosure, liability, that sort of stuff. You know how it is.”

Andrew nodded. He’d performed enough stunt driving to know the usual risks and protections involved in a job. His gaze trailed over the boy’s form as he took the paperwork and a pen from him. The kid’s legs were carved like granite, and he walked so proudly. It was more like a strut than a walk. His legs swaggered in his stride, and a light bulge in the sweatpants’ crotch was more than hint enough for why the boy chose that particular gait.

The kid smirked and flexed a bicep. “Like what you see?”

Andrew blushed. “Sorry.”

The secretary just grinned. “S’no problem, bro. I like when people stare at my muscles. Muscles are meant to be admired.” He flexed again as a dreamy look came over his face and he began the return trip to his desk. “Admiration leads to motivation leads to activation leads to....” He continued to mutter to himself as he strode to his chair, sat down, clicked out of the program he’d used to look up Andrew’s appointment, and pressed the space bar again. It didn’t take long for him to start gaping again.

Andrew hastily dove into the paperwork and began analyzing the wording. Much like his other standard contracts, there were the usual safeguards for the company, along with a stated amount of income he would receive for his services and royalty payments, should any footage taken in the course of a drive be used for a commercial.

“Mister Simmons.”

Andrew’s head surged to attention as his neck craned up and up and up to stare at the man that stood before him. The kid was a dwarf compared to the brawn that stood before Andrew now. Andrew quickly surged to his feet.

“Sorry, Sir. I didn’t hear you come in.”

The man known only as Boss chuckled. “Kind of the point of the carpeting. I like to see what kind of reflexes my drivers have when something unexpected occurs. Shall we, Mister Simmons?” He motioned with a meaty hand toward a door marked STAFF ONLY. Andrew took the hint and pushed ahead. The door led to a long hallway lit only by fluorescent overheads that flickered occasionally as they passed along.

“My business is broken into what you might call a set of microcosms integrated into a fine-tuned system,” the man explained.

“Um, excuse me, Sir. I’m sorry to interrupt what I’m sure will be a fascinating explanation, but you haven’t told me your name yet,” Andrew cut in.

A scowl played over the owner’s face for a moment, then it broke apart as he laughed. “I haven’t, have I? Sorry. I like to get down to business when I’m dealing with work. The name’s Boston. Boston McTavish. I ask my employees to call me Boss. It’s a joke as well as a good way to break the ice, so we can be on more of a first name basis.”

“And the sirs?”

“I can’t help it if I’ve garnered that much respect. And let’s not forget societal norms.”

Andrew shrugged. “Fair enough. So, Mister McTavish, you were saying?”

“Boss,” McTavish corrected absently. “I was saying we have a series of focuses in my service that exist to integrate into a proper whole. We focus on body work and maintenance for the occasional special order. And as you’ve seen, I put a particular emphasis on body.” He winked at Andrew. “Part of the benefits package includes a fully stocked gym for workouts. Now, back to business. We have a unique model of cars for ride service. We specialize in escorting and transporting a variety of clientele. Though our particular niche market focuses more in the richer quarters of the states, we also have a variety of transport geared toward the average customer on their way to or from work. Many of our customers are converts from other services. This is on account of our exceptional service and professionalism. It is a standard I expect all of my drivers to maintain, whether they are working the ride service or not.”

“If you have such a large following, how come I haven’t heard of you before?”

“We originally started in the west coast. This branch office has only recently been opened to offer our services out here in the east. I have enough men covering things out west that I can afford to come out here and ensure the setup goes smoothly.”

“And I assume this is where I come in.”

“Exactly. I want to see how well you drive and how well you can follow instructions. Assuming you pass, you’ll have the job and all the benefits that go with it.”

“Such as?”

“Full health and dental, for a start, and in the event you really impress me, an opening salary of twenty dollars an hour.”

Andrew raised his brow. “That much.”

“And that’s not including royalties, should you be chosen as the driver for any future commercials or advertisements we put up. And, assuming you excel and bring more customers or prompt enough positive reviews, you’ll get bonuses with your checks.”

“What’s the catch?”

“I need you to be available when I need you. Most of the time, schedules will be worked out in advance, but sometimes we get last minute customers. Most will be looking for transport either to or from a gym.”

The door opened to reveal a massive cement garage and a waiting sleek black muscle car. There were no labels or brands that Andrew could detect. “What’s this?” he asked.

“In a word, progress. In more words, a new model of car unique to my company. I’d like for you to test drive it for me.”

“You’re sure you have enough money for all this? I mean, going into making a new brand of car is pretty expensive.”

“Which is why we’re only using the one for now. Our other cars are easily modified with any extra additions they may require, and then inspected by qualified individuals. This one, however, is all us, and we intend to make use of it. As with the other models, it’s passed inspections and is up to code. What I’d like for you to do is take it for a drive.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. I want it to be put through its paces. We’ve already arranged for a course to practice on, and have all the necessary permits. So, are you in?”

“For test driving, I suppose so. For the job, we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Of course, of course,” Boss said. “Now let’s finish that paperwork, so we can get this test started.”

The car rumbled in a massaging purr as Andrew turned on the ignition. The chair had adapted to his body almost perfectly with its various sensors, and the wheel sat easily in his hands. The cool leather gave him goosebumps as he stared out into the forested area.

“Listen closely, Andrew. We want this to be a good clean run. Start off slow, then run it through its paces. You read?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Andrew replied as he reached down and shifted to first gear. The car pulled out slowly and easily as he began along the course. The rough dirt road was level and dry, so there wasn’t a need to worry about testing the shock absorbers this time. Cool AC blew in his face as he began his run at a leisurely twenty miles an hour. His skin prickled as he pushed the gas pedal and heard the engine’s roar.

“Looking good, Andrew. Run her around for the first lap as a warm-up. Then we’ll see how well this muscle car can flex.”

Andrew chuckled. “Whatever you say, Boss.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Andrew stirred impatiently in his seat as he rounded the final curve and passed the starting line. The moment he was free, he quickly picked up the acceleration and shifted the stick. The car roared exultantly as it spat up a cloud of dust and debris. Andrew chuckled at the familiar tingle of adrenaline coursing through his system. “Someone’s anxious,” he muttered.

The car spun smoothly as he took the sharp turns, digging into the track to pull the traction forward. It practically jumped forward as he ramped up the RPMs and switched into high gear.

“Oh, yes.” He smirked as the trees began to blur by. His body tensed as he clutched the wheel and his heart pounded in his chest. He shuddered in pleasure, the noticed an icon light pop up on the dash. “Hey, Boss, what’s with this mark on the dash board?”

“It’s just the driver assist function. Don’t worry about it,” Boss replied.

Andrew grunted as he rolled his shoulders to readjust his shirt. Things were starting to feel a little snug. “Whatever you say, Boss.”

“Damn right, whatever I say,” Boss teased.

Andrew laughed and scratched at his chest. “What’s this bar icon for?”

“Storage charge. The car’s a hybrid. Gas for the harder faster road and electricity for residential driving. The battery’s just charging, while the gas is burning.”

“Oh. Okay.” He scratched his head and the bristles on his high and tight cut scraped as a dull haze settled over him.

“Eyes on the road, Andrew.”

“Yes, Sir,” Andrew said as he rolled his eyes. He knew what he was doing. The scent of the car’s air freshener washed over him, putting his body at ease as the familiar scent of old spice, or maybe AXE, filled the air. The sun flashed as he took a turn. He blinked and grinned as he barreled through the straightway. They knew the course. They recognized the track. It was easy. He reached over to pat the dash board and sneered at the sight of his muscles tensing against the driver suit. “Ready to really show off?” He sneered as he pushed his foot on the pedal and forced the engine to roar in agreement. “Fuck, yeah,” he muttered under his breath.

The next run, a bout of tunnel vision struck as Andrew pushed himself fully into the track. The car rumbled under his body, massaging it as the seat adjusted to his needs. The static from the bluetooth radio was soothing. This course was his, and he owned it. He never even noticed the tears and pops sounding in his ears. They were only so much static. He had to stay focused.

He raised an arm and chuckled as he glanced at it. His bare bicep launched into the shape of a hill as he flexed. His beard scraped against his shoulder as he allowed himself a piece of vanity.

The muscle car flexed. He flexed. The car showed off. He showed off. He didn’t know how many times he’d run the course now. He didn’t care. It just felt so damn good.

A dull ringing in his ears finally pulled him out of his trance. The bar was flashing white and blue, and the gas meter had dropped to low.

“All right, Andrew. Come on in. We’re done for today.”

“One more circuit?” he wheedled.

“I said you’re done. We need to run a diagnostic, now that you’ve run the car through the course. Besides, the gym is waiting for you.”

He sighed as he pulled up in front of Boss and stepped out of the car. The tatters of his driver suit dangled in the breeze. Andrew didn’t seem to notice.

“Damn, son,” Boss swore as he took in Andrew’s frame. He walked around the driver, testing the tone and density of Andrew’s muscle. Andrew’s pectorals had evolved into two thick hairy slabs mashed together by broad shoulders. He’d gained at least a half a foot in height, and a chiseled six pack pressed out into the air, while his boxer briefs strained to contain the increased mass that had accumulated in his waist, legs, and crotch.

“Call me Drew, Sir,” Andrew said. “I like it better. It’s simpler, you know?” He let out a low deep guffaw.

Boss tapped a glowing light fixture situated between the cup holders and pressed a button on his observation console. A long tube emerged with a gentle hiss. It glowed a bright blue. Boss pocketed it and smiled as he turned to face his driver. “You made this test a complete success. Thank you, Drew.” He clapped the man heartily on the back. “Now, tell you what. I’ve got a special job in mind for you, one that I think you’re really going to like.”

Drew’s eyes glazed over on the contact. “Whatever you say, Boss,” he droned.

Boss sneered. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

Drew smirked cockily in the mirror as he took in his form. The red tank top strained tightly against his muscles. The bleach job in his hair gave him a perfect layered appearance that only added to his raw sexual appeal. He barely suppressed the sneer as the rear doors opened and closed, and the customers gave him directions to where they wanted to go. Just a couple of wimpy kids. They wouldn’t be so wimpy when he was through with them. He pulled out from the curb and pressed the button, just Boss showed him. Then he chuckled as he triggered the system and the lights flared in the back.

“Congratulations, and welcome to the Muscle Cab.”

To See The Light

“Hey, man,” Chris greeted you with a massive grin as he opened the door. “Come on in! Sorry I missed D&D the other night, but my old man and I were doing some real father-son bonding stuff, you know? S’the first time in ages we’ve actually had fun together.”

You were rendered speechless for a time as you gaped at the sleeveless muscle tee that draped over your friend’s form. His light brown hair jutted out beneath the bill of his snapback. A healthy tan had replaced the paler skin you recalled him bearing just a little over a month ago. Your eyes traced over the curves and definition he’d developed in his arms and chest.

“You okay, bro?”

You blink at the question. “Sorry, what?”

“You were kinda zoning out.”

“Sorry. It’s just ... you look ... different. Have you been working out?”

Chris let out a deep throaty chuckle. “Every day, bro. Dad and I have been going to the gym nonstop. Sure, I had trouble at first, but look at me now, man. I’m jacked!” He grinned again as he flexed a bicep to emphasize his point. “C’mon. I got everything ready for tonight. This party’s gonna be sweet!”

“You got the table set?”

“Table, drinks, snacks, the works. Today’s my cheat day anyway, so Dad won’t mind if I break my diet a little. He even got these new spot lights, so you guys can really see everything.”

“So he’s cool with you hosting tonight’s campaign?”

“It’s fine, bro. He said the more the merrier. Bros gotta hang out sometimes, am I right?”

“Uh ... yeah,” you said uncertainly as you followed him into the kitchen and down the stairs to the basement. Since when had he started talking like some sort of ignoramus? Seriously, he sounded more like some sort of meathead than he did the boy you remember having so much fun with talking video games and RPG elements. Sure, he’d always wanted to be big and buff, but you never thought he’d push himself this far. “Are you sure things are okay?” you finally managed to ask somewhat timidly.

“Better than okay,” he assured you.”Things are fucking fantastic!” His heavy steps thumped along the stairs as he raced down to the basement floor. “Dad and I used to argue a lot, but now it’s just ... better. We’re finally seeing eye to eye on things.”

The heavy clank of metal striking metal and the thump of heavy music echoed numbly through a door in the far end of the basement.

“And you dad won’t try to interrupt or anything?” You wince. “I know he doesn’t really like us that much.”

“He doesn’t like D&D, bro. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you guys. He just wants to make sure we’re all active, like boys our age should be.” He reached down and scratched at his crotch. “Gotta say, once I started, I kinda got hooked. It’s hard to stay still anymore. My body just keeps wanting to move, you know what I mean?”

“Not really, but I’ll take your word for it,” you say noncommittally as you look over the room. A deep-seated sense of foreboding had taken residence in your chest. That drastic of a chance to take place in just a month seems ... well, practically impossible. And the change in Chris’ manner and speech patterns was also highly suspicious, yet there was no sign of foul play that you could see just yet.

True to his word, a large table had been set up in the middle of a stretch of basement. The dungeon master’s divider had already been set up, and a dish filled with various bags filled with sets of dice had been prepared for each of the players, should they have forgotten their own. Another table had been set up at the edge, laden down with chips, dip, punch, soda, and other hors d’oeuvres.

Chris strode past all those to the window, where he closed the blinds and reached over to a nearby switch. Brilliant white light flooded out from two cylindrical sockets, bathing Chris in their light and causing his skin to glow as he raised a bicep and grinned.

“See? Gives a pretty damn good view, don’t it?” He chuckled and flexed. “Mmm ... what a pump.”

“Chris?”

A low blush flooded your friend’s cheeks as he turned his head to face you. “Dad and I like to spend time here after a good workout,” he admitted. “We ... sort of have a pose-off. I know, it’s kinda stupid, but ... I don’t know, it just feels good to do it, you know?”

“Not really,” you admit as you look down at your somewhat pudgier frame. “Don’t exactly have the figure for it.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself, bro,” Chris chastened.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m not. You remember how Travis used to treat me till we got together in class.”

Chris scowled. His jaw became set as his traps flared and his shoulders tightened with his clenched fists. “He’s not picking on you again, is he?”

“No, no. We’re good for now. It’s just ... well, look at me. Fitness and I are like oil and water. We just don’t get along.”

Chris was silent for a few moments as he stared at you. Then he nodded, as if coming to a decision. “Come here.”

You approach slowly. “Um, why?”

“Just come on. I’m not gonna bite, you know.” Chris rolled his eyes in exasperation.

You couldn’t help but smile. That was the Chris you remembered. “All right,” you finally relent as you step over next to him.

“Now close your eyes.”

“Chris....”

“Close your eyes, man. We’re gonna have a little role play of our own, just you and me.”

Now you’re blushing as he seizes you and you feel a sudden warmth on your face. The light shines through your lids, and you know you’re standing under the two spotlights.

“Now we’re gonna imagine you’re not yourself, got it? Forget about Travis. Forget about what’s happened before. We’re putting you in the shoes of a big hulking barbarian. You know the type. Warrior class, lots of strength, plenty of charisma and constitution. A real brute of a man.”

“Chris, this is--.”

“I said to focus on your character.” His hand slaps firmly on your shoulder, while the other seizes your left wrist. “Picture it, man. Picture those broad shoulders, those wide lats, massive pectorals, a rippling six pack, and thick, powerful biceps. Imagine those muscles straining, bunching, tensing. They want to move. They want to be used. And as a warrior, they’re the first answer to everything. Because the warrior is just that, hired muscle.” He pulls your arm into position and pulls your wrist back slightly to force your arm to bend and tense.

“Chris, I don’t think--.”

“You’re right. You don’t. As a muscular barbarian, your task is to simply be the muscle. Now, you’ve been challenged to a pose-off. Some tiny man is challenging your masculinity. Such an insult cannot stand. You lash out. You punch.”

He forces your arm forward in a harsh jab and quickly pulls it back.

“He dodges. You raise your arms in a guard.”

Suddenly, you feel his arms pressing yours against one another in front of your chest. His bigger frame is against yours, and you feel incredibly uncomfortable, and ... just a little hot.

“You take a blow, then duck and strike. Your blow connects, due to your experience with brawling. Next, you give him a solid kick.”

His foot forces you to push your own out as he supports you.

“Chris...”

“Exultation floods you as your heart rate picks up. You have laid your foe low to the ground. You have defended your honor, and an intimidating scowl leads the cur to fleeing with his tail between his legs. You know what comes next, bro.”

You blush. “A victory crow,” you mumble.

“Exactly.” You feel your hands thump heavily against your chest, almost knocking the wind out of you with Chris’ machinations. “You flex your muscles to an adoring crowd of maidens and jealous men who wish to have had your courage, after routing the lout.

“Chris, I--.”

“Come on, bro. Just one little flex. Just one. You don’t want to disappoint all those adoring fans, do you?”

You sigh. “You’re not going to let me go until I do, are you?”

You could practically hear his grin. “Nope.”

You have a reluctant sigh. “Fine.” You raise your arms and proceed to tense your upper body. It was a paltry attempt, but enough to show you were trying. “There. Are we done now?”

“Not quite. Let me show you how it’s done. Gotta have the proper form.” He moved you around like a man would a doll, and you had to put up with it, because he was stronger. With every pose, he would praise you. With each new direction, he would twist you around to make sure the light highlighted the “best side.” It gets sort of monotonous after a while, so you just let him do what he wants. You’re not sure how much time has passed, when you suddenly notice the bottle cap waving in front of your face.

“Hey, kid. Drink up. You’re gonna drop from exhaustion at this rate.”

You blink slowly. “Uh ... wuh...?” Something feels ... different somehow.

“Water. Drink,” the big man said as he made exaggerated motions, then sneered.

“Dad!” Chris laughed. “Knock it off!” He punched the behemoth of a man lightly. 

You blinked owlishly at your friend. How long had it been? Your mouth felt so dry. You reach to the bottle and take a heavy swig of its contents. Seat has drenched your frame, and your clothes have ridden up against you. You notice a set of adjustable dumbbells laying on the table next to the D&D dice.

“What ... just happened?” you ask. Your head feels stuffed with cotton. Your voice ... is sort of dull, lower, like when you’re congested with a cold.

“You got a little too into character,” Chris said with a smirk. He popped a flex under the lights and you swear his shirt looked tighter than it had before. You gape in amazement when you see your free arm has followed his in almost perfect unison. A ridge had begun to rise out from the fat that had accumulated there. “I ... I have a bicep,” you finally manage to say.

“Everyone’s got a bicep, kid. Drink up,” Chris’ father instructed. You suddenly feel the bottle shoved to your lips. Cool water rushes down your throat and coats your tongue. You drink greedily and crush the bottle in your grip. It feels good to do that.

“‘Atta boy,” the man cheered. “You enjoy your little posing session?”

“Uh....” you respond, at a loss for words.

A heavy hand smacks you on the back. “Of course you did. Come on. Let me show you a few tricks. I’ve got the time, and your party won’t be starting for a while yet.” He smiled and guided you to the open door frame. The music pumped. More spotlights beamed overhead with their glare, flashing like cameras off the polished metal surfaces of the gym equipment. You hardly even noticed the sound of the door closing behind you as he planted you down and started running you through some basic exercises with a set of dumbbells.

“See, boy? It’s nice and simple. Your body knows what to do. You just have to let it move.”

You do. And a dull chuckle pushes its way out your mouth as you fall into that simple pattern. You watch a television screen in front of you showing a transition video and you smile as you watch the person pump in time to the beat. You watch the muscles inflate. And you chuckle as a tan slowly creeps over his pale skin. A high and tight cut replaces the old bowl cut from before. The jaw becomes more chiseled and defined. A low, “Fuck yeah...” echoes and reverberates in the room as you stare with glazed eyes at the screen and the changing teen staring back at you.

Chris’ father sneered as he watched you continue to work, heedless of the changes taking place in your own body, despite the mirror he’d planted you in front of. He chuckled as he watched a series of security monitors mounted next to a control panel. Chris was already lumbering to the front door, where another boy waiting to be educated on the joys of fitness stood.

“One down, four to go,” he purred.

“Fuck yeah, bro,” you low absently, completely unaware what you’re praising in the rush of endorphins and the sheer mindless ecstasy of the repetition. All that mattered was the work and the lights warming your skin as you shredded your muscles to get swoll.

The muscle man chuckled as he watched second guest gradually became enamored by the fixture. It was so good to help them see the light.

Square

“You’re such a fucking square, man. Fuck off.”

Jared had heard it all before. That was one of many insults that had haunted him over the years.

“So, you wish to have more confidence in yourself, and possibly to change your image, to prove these tormentors and detractors wrong?” the therapist asked.

“Basically. Like I said, I’m tired of being looked down on.”

“I see.” The therapist tented his fingers as he leaned forward and peered through his glasses at the young student. “You realize this kind of change will require diligence and endurance, yes? Not just mental, but physical. There will likely be opposition to the changes you intend to make. You may be harassed or worse.”

Jared shook his head. His hazel eyes darkened with the weight of his frustrations. The surface became glassy as tears began to form. He hastily blinked them away. “It couldn’t be worse than what I’m facing now.”

“And if it is?”

“Then I’ll make them sorry they ever hurt me in the first place.”

“That’s very bold. Are you saying you intend to put them through some sort of torture session, then?”

“Like I said, Doctor. Whatever it takes.”

“Then let me be blunt. Will you actively seek revenge against them, should I help you?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Jared shrugged. “On the one side, I really want to make them hurt for what they’ve done. On the other, though, I know I’d pretty much be just like them, if I did that.”

“You realize this drastic of a change may require a complete override of your current personality, correct?”

“Do I look like I’m flinching?”

“I just want to make sure, Mister Rogers. This isn’t the kind of thing you step into lightly, and it requires commitment and trust for even a chance to work. If you don’t really want this, then I won’t be able to help you.”

“I want it.”

The therapist stared intently at the would-be-patient. He maintained that quiet gaze for a full minute.

Jared met that gaze and never flinched.

Finally, the doctor reached into a drawer and withdrew a document and a pen. “Sign this. It’s an official release form. In layman’s terms, it’s saying you chose this path of your own free will and that you won’t hold me responsible for any damages, losses, etc. that might come to pass as a result of our sessions. The mind can be a delicate place, and one does not perform surgery on it lightly. For the sake of my personal protection, you will also be agreeing to be monitored while meeting in my office and to report in on a regular basis via video calls to ensure that you are moving forward and not experiencing any adverse side effects.” He held the pen back just as Jared was about to seize it. “I must advice you, Mister Rogers, that I expect complete honesty from you. If something starts to go wrong, you must say so. Dizzy spells, blacking out, etc. must be reported, so that we can make sure to modify your, for lack of a better word, curriculum.”

Jared snatched the pen. “I will. I promise.”

“Very well then, Mister Rogers. Sign the papers, and let’s begin.”

Jared breathed slowly as he laid back against the leather couch, following the instructions of his therapist’s voice.

“And in, and out. And up, and down. Breathing, breathing deeper and deeper as you gradually begin to relax on my couch, relax as we breathe together, deeper. Deeper....

Jared wasn’t sure how long the session lasted. All he knew was that he was bored. He didn’t feel sleepy. He didn’t drift off. All he did was breathe and listen. Finally, he rose up to stare his therapist in the face.

“Now, I’m going to see about setting up a proper set of hypnosis files for you, Jared. However, before we leave today, there’s one last thing I wish to tell you.”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Being a square doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing.”

“Doctor--.”

“Ah-ah-ah. Hear me out.” He raised a diagram. “You’ll note that the square is what is known as a perfect shape. It is also known as a parallelogram. Perfectly formed, perfectly symmetrical. Its sides continue to face each other, regardless of how you turn or twist it, and they remain perfect, exactly the same. Back and forth, side to side, and left to right, spinning, spinning like this paper, a square within a square within a square as you blink, like a photograph. One square. Blink. Two squares. Blink. Four. Blink. Eight....

Jared panted as he finished the last set for his workout and shrugged to release the tension in his aching muscles. Weeks had passed, and what once felt painful now left the man with a pleasurable buzz that bordered on sexual. He quickly snatched a protein shake and guzzled it down, then let out a titanic belch.

“Nice one, Jare,” he chuckled. Then he stomped his heavy legs over to his computer and booted up the system. He inserted the CD the therapist had prepared, then smiled as a screen popped up and a large cube appeared in the screen. Dim flickers passed over the monitor as he plugged in his headphones and listened to the familiar voice.

“Hello, Jared. It’s time for the square to sharpen.”

The world shut down as Jared gaped at the screen. The polyhedron pulsed, danced as a subtle spiral began to pulse into existence. “Ready to grid,” he said dully.

“Let us review. What is a square?”

“A perfect shape.”

“And you are a square.”

“Yes.”

“So you must be in perfect shape, too.”

“Yes...”

“Square jaw. Square head. Square pecs. Square and symmetrical, because you are parallel, parallel to your peers. Squares lead to cubes. Cubes are called blocks. Head more like a cube, more like a block. A blockhead is square. Square is symmetry. Symmetry in muscle. Muscle in your head, your block head. Blocking old thoughts, blocking old habits. Blocking, forgetting, letting go, because you are a blockhead, you are a square. A square is a blockhead. A blockhead is a square. And a square is a perfect shape. You are becoming more and more that perfect shape, that perfect square, that perfect blockhead.

“You are becoming a blockhead, a blockhead who loves muscle. Muscle that fills your blockhead. Muscle that fills your head. Musclehead. Musclehead. Musclehead. Blockhead is musclehead. Musclehead is meathead. Meathead is symmetrical, perfectly symmetrical, like the square, like the block, like your head as you grow and transform....”

“I am a blockhead.... I am a square.... Becoming blockhead... Becoming square....”

“Square shoulders. Square abs. Square chin. Square jaw. Square. Square. Square.... So proud to be a square, because that is what you are....”

Jared strode through the campus quad. The sun shone down on his bare torso as he strode confidently in his shorts. The sun glistened off his toned frame. His body had filled out with taut muscle, and his hair had been styled with a potent hair wax.

“Yo, Square, ‘Sup, man? Wanna play some ball?”

Jared looked at the group of young men gathered in the field beyond. Sweat glistened off their toned abs. hair stuck to their faces as each looked hungrily, eagerly at the former nerd.

Jared stared in utter confusion at them. “I am a perfect Square. I am perfectly symmetrical. You are not. Why should I spend time with those who are not a perfect square?” He flexed his muscles, then fished out a wrinkled card from his pocket. “If you wish to be perfect, contact this number. He will help you to be a perfect square, like me.” His dull eyes flashed as he clasped the paper into the young man’s hand. “It is good to be a perfect square. It is good to be like me. Call this number. He will help you be square. You will call him.”

“Get the fuck away from me, freak!” the man tore arm away from Jared, but only barely. He hurried back to the team and resumed the practice, but not before pocketing the card in his haste.

Later that night, a certain therapist sat drinking tea and reviewing a book on hypnotism in his study, when his phone went off. He pulled it to his ear, pressed the receive button, and listened.

Silence greeted him, save for a raspy breathing in the background.

“Yes?” he asked. He heard the sound of a heavy swallow, the smack of a dry tongue trying to bring moisture into a mouth.

“I, uh ... I heard you could help me get bigger.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The Square referred me.”

The therapist smiled. It appeared the hypnotic training he’d given his pupil was a complete success. Square had managed to snare a subject and plant a post-hypnotic suggestion. What a marvel. The smile widened into a smirk. “Yes, why don’t we talk about that?”

Okay then! Thanks for answering again. Really appreciate those. Now one last ask. If I were to succeed, what do you think I would act like. A meathead or a cocky jock. Short story please ?:D

You sigh as you flop back down onto your king size bed. Your vascular frame shakes the bed and depresses the mattress with a satisfying creak that confirms the sheer bulk that you’ve built. It’s not so much a physical exhaustion as a mental one. Too many people ask you the same question.What kind of jock are you? Are you a jock? Are you a meathead? Are you just really dedicated to building?They just don’t get it.And you get so damned tired of explaining it over and over again. It’s not a matter of being one or the other. You’re all of them. You’re bold and cocky when you’re strutting your stuff with your bros, teasing, wrestling, posing, flexing. It all just sort off lows into the next and the next and the next.Heck, even work’s noticed the changes. Hard not to, when you’re so jacked. You told them about the gym, the football games, the team, your bros, the weights. You let them know about how you’ve been training your mind, pushing yourself hard to build your muscle. The results spoke for themselves.You introduced a few coworkers to your team, brought them to the gym a few times, showed them the ropes.Since then, works been sort of more relaxed. You wouldn’t say people have stopped thinking or anything like that. It’s more they’re ... focused on other things. Instead of gossip about underhanded business tactics, conversation drifted toward exercises and diets. Chips and other unhealthy snacks were replaced with protein bars, shakes, fruit leather, and other healthier alternative snack foods in the vending machines.Occasionally, you catch a few people on break with earbuds in their ears and a blank look on their faces. You know that look. You see it every day in the gym when you flex, when you pose, when you stare into the mirror and see the veins popping against your skin when you build up that sweet pump, bro.Covert fist bumps and whispered, “fuck yeah”s grace your ears from time to time as you pass through the cubicles to accomplish some task or another. Those became especially prevalent when upper management decided to add gym membership coverage to the benefits for employment.You can even wear your gear to work now, if you really want to. All management asks is that you finish your work and make sure it’s done right. Easy enough. You just flick the switch in your head to keep your brain focus and active. Then, after that, well, what else is there but to flex and show off?You’re not the only one. The summer sun’s brought out all kinds of posers. Sun’s out, guns out, bro. Makes you smile. Makes a bro want to chuckle, to laugh, to guffaw. And you’re okay with that dull, husky huff that leaves so easily, mindlessly, out of your chest.You don’t know if it’s some kind of virus, some sort of mentality shift, or something else. All you know is more people are acting like bros, and you like it that way.Meatheads, cocky jocks, muscle bros. It doesn’t matter. You’re all those things, and so are they. And if not, well ... They will be soon.Huhuhuhuhuh....