Charged (musc)
by kdumd
"Maybe this will teach me not to wait until the last minute."
Probably not, but Evan thought it anyway as he sprinted across the parking lot of the sporting goods store. Not only was it 10 minutes until closing time, on the night before the company softball game (about which he had known for months), it was pouring down rain. Well, not so much pouring down as pouring sideways. A good old garden variety summer thunderstorm in Pennsylvania.
He darted inside the automatic doors, his shorts (and undoubtedly his wallet, keys and cell phone) dripping with rainwater, shaking the excess moisture off his shortish blonde spiked hair. He paused momentarily at the interior entrance to get his bearings before making a bee-line for the baseball section. He definitely noticed the dirty look shot his way by a young cashier.
"Oh give it a rest," Evan muttered. "I'll be in and out in two minutes."
Evan needed a glove, socks and maybe some wristbands for effect. The glove was easy enough; he simply grabbed the cheapest one that fit his left hand and moved on. Now he'd have to cross the main sales floor to get to the Under Armour section for the rest.
He got there quickly, passing another high school aged employee who seemed to be in a rush to go home for the night. Now Evan had to find what he came for. But before he could find the accessories rack, he stopped at the compression shirts.
"Ha," Evan chuckled to himself, but aloud. "I may be hitting the gym a little harder these days, but I'm a long way from being able to pull this off." He picked up a black long-sleeved compression shirt, the kind favored by baseball and football players. And with Under Armour, compression meant COMPRESSION. The gear was designed to fit the body like a second skin, allowing for ease of motion during exercise and competition; the fact that it showed off one's muscles in an almost obscene way added to the allure.
Evan was holding it high in the air, imagining himself one day possessing the kind of body worthy of donning a piece of clothing like that. Then he felt momentarily electrified, a pins-and-needles effect radiating outward from his right thigh. Evan only had a second to realize that's where his (metal, conductive) keys were resting before he blacked out.
When he awoke, he was face down on the floor of the sporting goods store, with about a half dozen employees standing over him in various stages of panic. Evan lifted himself up with his hands to his knees and asked the nervous crowd what had happened. They said he'd been struck by lightning, and each one asked if he was alright. Remarkably, he felt fine. There we no singe marks on his clothing, which wouldn't have been altogether unexpected. He felt no ill effects at all, save for a slightly accelerated heartbeat--not at all unusual for a guy who just had thousands of volts of electricity enter his body.
As the employees helped him to his feet, Evan shook them off gently and insisted he was fine. He continued to do so as they repeatedly inquired, "Are you sure?" Evan nodded and sighed, and said he'd just get what he came for and go home.
He was about to walk to where he'd find his socks and wristbands when he remembered the black compression shirt. It was sitting on the ground just inches from where he'd fallen, and just like Evan himself, it looked none the worse for wear.
"I survived a goddamn lightning strike," he said to no one in particular, "while I had this in my hand? Must be a good luck charm." Evan tucked it under his arm, then grabbed a pair of black Under Armour baseball socks and cotton wristbands, then walked to the only open register and set them down on the conveyor belt.
But the cashier waved him off. "Manager says that stuff's on the house. Just get home safe." Cocking his head in confusion for a brief second, Evan picked up his items, thanked the cashier and walked back outside to his car. The rain had slowed down considerably, but it was still sprinkling, and the air was so humid and warm it felt like he was walking through pea soup.
Evan drove home without incident, all the while shaking his head and laughing in bewilderment that he was just STRUCK BY LIGHTNING. "No one will believe this story," he said to the steering wheel. "Can't blame them, but damn, it's a good story."
After parking his car on the street in front of his modest rental townhouse, Evan walked inside and placed his things--wallet, cell phone, keys and Under Armour gear--on the kitchen table. He was drained after his experience, so he grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sprawled out on the couch for a while before nodding off.
When he drifted back into consciousness, it was well after midnight (and well past bedtime), and Evan hurried to get ready for bed. On his way to the second-floor bedroom, he picked up his new baseball gear and compression shirt and brought them upstairs with him. Evan had a tendency to be absent-minded, especially when he was in a hurry, and he had a feeling if he didn't put the glove, socks and wristbands on top of his shoes, he'd leave the house without them in the morning.
Evan brushed his teeth and changed out of his shirt and jeans into a pair of blue mesh shorts. He slept shirtless most of the time, but always in the summertime; he had central air in his townhouse, but he preferred the temperature a bit on the warm side. He turned the air on just high enough to clear out the latent humidity without turning his room into a walk-in refrigerator.
He was about to get into bed when he stopped near the mirror. Evan decided it would be fun to try on the compression shirt, just to see how it looked. "This'll be amusing," he thought as he considered his reflection. Evan was by no means an ugly guy, nor was he grossly out of shape. But that didn't mean he was overly handsome or ripped, either. Evan was the walking definition of average. Average height (5 foot 11 inches), average weight (178 pounds, with a bit of toned muscle in his arms but also a hint of love handles on either hip), average looks (brown hair that he kept in a conservative but youthful style, light brown eyes and pale skin accentuated by a bit of a summertime tan).
But the compression shirt was not meant for the average body. "It'll be my incentive," Evan said out loud. He'd been ramping up his workouts at the gym in recent months, focusing in broad terms on trading in his little bits of body fat for muscle. He really had no desire to bulk up to the proportions of a bodybuilder, or even a professional athlete. Evan just wanted to improve things a bit.
With a half-smile, half-grimace on his face, Evan pulled the black shirt over his head, reaching his arms through the sleeves. It was awkward first fitting his head through the neck hole, and then maneuvering his arms through the long sleeves. The stretchy material made it a challenge.
As he wiggled his way into the shirt, Evan thought he felt something. The same feeling he'd felt back at the store when he was struck by lightning: a gentle charge coursing through his body, only this time, he could only feel the electricity in places where the compression shirt was in contact with his skin.
Evan dismissed the feeling quickly as just a trick of the mind, reminding him of what he'd experienced hours earlier. He triumphantly pulled down on the bottom of the shirt and exhaled loudly. "It should never be that hard putting a damn shirt on," he said.
Again he considered the reflection, and as he'd predicted, it made him chuckle. "Wow," Evan said. "Fathers, lock up your sons..." The shirt accentuated every feature of his upper body, for better and for worse. His slightly bulging biceps were for the better; Evan's slightly-more-than-slightly pudgy gut and muffin top were for the worse.
"I got some work to do if I'm going to--"
Evan froze in place, his voice unwilling to finish the sentence as his body went rigid. Because what he saw happening to him in the mirror would make any man stop in his tracks.